She Slithers Over Draco To Curl Up On Top Of Them, Resting Her Head On His Stomach. “You’re Warm.”

Literally whipped this up in like 10 minutes, so it's terrible. Anyway;

At age 8, it was like all of the barriers that had been erected had come down in one fell swoop.

He was Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, son of the Bat, Ibn Al Xu'ffasch. He was Danny Fenton, the hero Phantom of Amity Park, King of the Infinite Realms.

He was both. He was neither.

He was an assassin. He was half a ghost.

He was both. He was neither.

Wait. Where was Phantom? Where was his other half? Where was his counterpoint, his soul mate?

He didn’t have time to worry about him though – his personality change had been noticed, despite utilising the rigorous training that had been taught to him in this life. His Mother – Talia? Maddie? Which was his? – chalked this up to his father citing his soft heart.

Ha. What would she think if he told her that he remembered another set of memories? What would Grandfather think if he told them he was half a King?

No, best to hide the information, until he could reunite with Phantom.

He was sent to his Father, the Bat, to receive training. Who was his father? Bruce, with his mission of cleaning up Gotham? Jack, with his mission of hunting down ghosts?

Both. Neither.

Gotham, with its shadows, with its violence was as different to Amity Park as it could be. One man, and his sidekicks cleaning up the grime and the despair that seemed to fill it up to the brim. The rogues here were so different to what he was used to, to what he remembered. Joker, instead of Freakshow. Poison Ivy instead of Undergrowth. Mad Hatter instead of Nocturne.

They were so similar yet so unlike.

He grows up, looking for a moment where he can finally look for Phantom; where he can hunt down a natural portal and embark on a quest to find his wayward partner. He waits, biding his time. Phantom had waited thus far; he can wait a couple more years.

He walks through the Zone, hearing from other ghosts of a ruler who reigns over the Realms with an iron fist; a ruler who although isn’t violent isn’t kind. It makes him smile to think that he – Damian Wayne, titled ‘Demon Brat’ – is the one who was essentially the moral compass of the two.

As he gets closer to Phantom’s Keep, there is so much nostalgia, so many mementos of his old life. A telescope that he loved, a constellation that he was particularly fond of. The love that Phantom had for Danny Fenton was quite literally palpable here.

And then they meet. There is still a bond between them, despite the many years apart, despite the burden of kingship on Phantom.

They were different, sure – unable to fuse as they once could before, but they still knew each other, inside and out. They embrace, talking, crying, laughing. Something that Damian didn’t know was missing was filled in, a perpetual ache gone.

He was Damian Al-Ghul Wayne. He was Danny Fenton.

He was both. He was neither. He knew who he was.

He was one half of Danny Phantom.

Dcxdp #22

Danny's human half dying as collateral during a fight. That human half goes into reincarnation and is reborn as Damian Wayne. He isn't born with all of his memories but he definitely feels that something is wrong. they would get their Memories Back at about 8 and have a horrible time dealing with being an assassin. Danny would try to stick to the personality they already had before but there's definitely slip-ups of them being like yeah this is wrong and Talia thinks they take after their father because of it. 

The first thing Danny does when they're not being monitored by their mom or the bat family is to look for Phantom. Phantom to have run away to the ghost Zone and has built a reputation as a merciless ruler. He's a good ruler and he's not a tyrant but  he doesn't have the reputation of kindness. Damien as the moral compass of the duo is really funny to me.

 There's a situation later that involves ghosts which is where Danny/Damian and Phantom meet again. I want there to be a very big misunderstanding that heroes think Phantom is obsessed with Damien but in reality they are literally other halves of a soul. Phantom keeps doing and saying things that no one else would get away with around Damien. Phantom would be saying things like making fun of his height or giving him nicknames but as far as anyone else sees Davian doesn't even flinch.

Danny/Damian and Phantom have lived Separate Lives for a while so they don't automatically fuse into one person. I think they would fuse for a few hours just to feel themselves be one Soul again but they have Separate Lives so they can't stay that way. The bat family is very concerned with Damien continuing to talk to the obsessive ghost that keeps possessing his body.

thinking about that post of people assuming ao3 has an algorithm and also about how bonkers persistent the view is that ao3 is social media lite. like with startling regularity I get comments saying something along the lines of "it's probably weird to comment on a fic this old--" no it isn't!!!! this is an archive I am literally just assuming you searched for a selection of specific tags or sorted by kudos or looked back on my pseud or any other number of completely normal ways to use an archive site ?? kill the tiktok ghost in your brain and comment on old stuff it's NOT weird

I can never understand how Snape apologetics can stand up for him when he CANONICALLY does this shit.

I can maybe, maybe, understand those who haven’t read the books standing up for him, because honestly the movies don’t cover all the horrible stuff he does. But those who have read the books and still stick up for him baffle me.

I mean, you don’t see anyone sticking up for the Dursley’s or Umbridge, when they do the same stuff to Harry as Snape. How is Snape any different?

Thinking about Billy Batson again and about how unconventional he is in his approach to dealing with villains and their scheming and battling them in such a creative but ultimately childlike way that it psychologically befuddles his enemies.

Imagine Mister Mind using a phone to relay his monologue message via calling through it and saying something like-

"Hello Captain, I've been working on another, but better and newer scheme! This time, with my brilliant mind I've devised to kidnap half the citizen's in Fawcett city! And strap them to a beam that can vaporize the OTHER half of the citizens! A trolley problem of sorts! So meet me in the middle of the city and we can—"

"kshhk-- chhkkkk-- ch ch-- sorry, what? Kshhk-- kh kh-- you're breaking- cccchhhkk--"

"What— what are you doing?! The phone lines aren't even damaged!"

"sorry what?? Can't— kkkhhhh-- hear— shhhk shhk-- you!"

"Why, you INSOLENT LITTLE—"

Meanwhile Marvel has already found and rescued the citizens held hostage with the use of his speed, while Mister Mind was just getting distracted by a childish prank, and then Marvel broke the beam thingy and flew to find Mister Mind in the center of the city and put him in a jar again, Mister Mind didn't account for the phone being taken ahold of and carried around as he was monologuing, winning Marvel time to get info and also distract him.

Also also! He could do something similar like use things that aren't typically expected of a "Demi god with ultimate magic powers who looks like he lives in a gym"—

Picture this, Dr. Sivanna in his lab and he is ambushed by The Captain and uses every single thing at his disposal, grabbing ahold of a prototype acid or something he invented and holding the vial and then Marvel grabs it too and now they're wrestling each other but it's so stupid because Marvel literally is powerful enough to rip it out of his hands but instead he does the petty "Gimme! No! Mine! No, Mine!" Thing and then when Sivanna is distracted enough with this pettiness Marvel let's go and Sivanna is defeated by sheer gravity alone because he fell over and spilled the stuff on himself, thus ending up defeated by such silly trickery!

Imagine Marvel doing stuff like this around the League while they're fighting a super race invasion of aliens or something like that and Marvel just outdoes everyone by screaming "PILLOW FIGHT!" and whipping out a pillow out of nowhere and hitting the aliens and they're surprised and are all like "Oh it's nothing lol it's just a soft pillow, how could that harm m—" and it turns out there's magic rocks in the pillow and marvel is just socking it in their faces and laughing like it's a fun sleepover and the other aliens don't understand what the fuck is happening because That's A Pillow, but then they get absolutely destroyed and it's so funny, because Batman is minding his business taking out enemies and then he looks over and his teammate The Captain is piling bodies like a mountain with the use of one pillow and nothing else and there's feathers everywhere and his laughter is just ringing in everyone's ears and the aliens are running screaming stuff like "BROTHERS, RUUUUNNN" and then Marvel just bashes in their heads and he's covered in a little bit of blood and he's laughing and his smile is genuinely cheerful because he never had a sleepover and this is him taking a chance, but to the outside world it looks like he's experiencing bloodlust, but he never killed anyone of them, Batman just stares because the aliens are all running away and he's just so so tired and confused, while Marvel is covered in feathers and his unconscious enemies blood—

Anyway I just think it would be really, REALLY funny to see him do stuff like this

INTRODUCTION AND MASTERPOST

Hi! I'm Mae, a long-time lurker, and occasional poster. I mainly post in the DPXDC community, but am active in the DCU, DP, Spider-Man, Miraculous Ladybug, Percy Jackson, Epic the Musical and Harry Potter fandoms (as well as some more that I'm pretty sure I forgot).

I have a discord server for my fics, and you can find that here!

Anyway, I'm also a freelance writer, who's commissions are usually open. My carrd usually has all of my stuff, including my socials, prices, how to commission and more.

ANWAY, onto to the Masterpost!

[MULTIPOSTS]

[Phantom & Fent—wait, that's a Wayne!]

[Kingmaker]

[ONE SHOTS]

[A haunting image]

[Jazz & Darkseid]

[Billy telling the truth]

[It's a nice day]

[PROMPTS]

[Maddie & Talia]

[Historical DP, Modern DC]

Mae's Writing

Mae's Writing

A freelance writer of over 2 years. Thank you for looking around!

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

Very quick fan art for the latest chapter (ch 6) of Better Halves (and other such falsehoods) by @aster-draws

Shits already been great in this fic, but we’re about to go to troupe heaven (I.e. I love ‘there was only one bed’ so much.) I’m so excited for the next chapter

Hello 👋 🤗,

I hope you are well 🌺.

I am writing to you with a heart full of hope and faith, asking for your urgent help. My family is in great danger due to the war, and I am running a fundraising campaign to save them.

Please, could you reblog the post about my campaign on my account? Every share can make a difference in my family's life. 🙏

Can you reblog the pinned post on my account titled **Trapped Family in Gaza Appeals for Help to Survive**?

Don't hesitate to save a family with children, women, and newborns from death and war.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any help you can provide 🌹🌺.

Of course!!!

It's so common to have first war Snape be some super badass high ranking Death Eater, which is really odd imo. All the evidence points to Snape being not at all remarkable among existing Death Eaters. Karakaroff named him as a last resort, and didn't attach any specific crime to his name, unlike the other names he gave. Sirius didn't know he was a Death Eater, and Voldemort thought he was low profile enough that Dumbledore would not know he was a Death Eater and hire him as a teacher (though Dumbledore did in fact know). He wasn't trusted with a Horcrux. His soul is also intact until he kills Dumbledore, which wouldn't happen if he had directly killed anyone (which doesn't remove the possibility of him killing people indirectly like he did the Potter's).

The crime that is consistently emphasized with regards to Snape isn't active malice or sadism. Rather, it's indifference. Whether it's Mary McDonald or James and Harry, the crime that is emphasized were he's involved isn't hurting them, but not giving a shit when others do. Only when the one person who he does care about beyond himself is murdered, by his own indifference to the suffering of an innocent by delivering the prophecy, can Snape's moral journey begin. Evil prevails when men do nothing. Snape learned that lesson painfully, and so he embarks on a journey to learn by actively fighting against evil, so that what's left of Lily can live. In the process, he expands his moral universe beyond Lily, culminating in his year as headmaster, where he gives everything of himself to save others, including those he hates. He also accepts that Harry has to die, acknowledging that Voldemort's defeat and saving the wizarding world is more important than his personal atonement to Lily. He loves the wizarding world, more than he ever did Lily. Snape's arc is one of moving from selfishness, to selflessness.

I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.

Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.

Que pranks!

I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.

-🎃

"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.

Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.

It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.

Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.

Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.

Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.

It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.

"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.

Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.

He can't afford to anger the beast any further.

"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.

Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"

The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.

"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."

"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"

"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.

Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.

"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"

"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.

"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."

"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.

He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.

It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.

The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.

Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.

"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.

Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.

Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.

His little Timmy is growing up-

"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"

"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.

"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"

"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"

"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.

Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.

Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.

Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"

Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.

There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."

"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.

Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.

Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.

"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."

Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"

"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."

"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.

Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."

Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.

Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.

The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.

It's a nice dinner.