Dc Comics || Jodi Picoult

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Take one.

Micah is strong. More magic runs through his veins than any other student his age. He’s a little too human for Shadow Weaver’s tastes but she’s sure that it can be trained out of him. Then she doesn’t train it out of him fast enough.

She pays for that. Dearly.

~

Take two.

Catra is angry. She’s full of desperation and rage and Shadow weaver can understand that completely. She hopes at first that the anger can be turned into drive, into a need it be the best. It works, sort of. Shadow Weaver can see that she needs greatness like Shadow Weaver craves it, but she buries it. Buries it under her need for connection.

It’s pathetic, Shadow Weaver thinks. Pathetic and childish. She writes Catra off as a failure perhaps a little too early.

~

Take three.

Adora is perfect. Start to finish. She’s Shadow Weaver’s magnum opus. But she’s also not quite right. There’s not enough doubt in her for her to belong to Shadow Weaver, and if she doesn’t belong to Shadow Weaver then she can’t control her. And at that point, what is the child worth? Really?

~

Take four.

Glimmer is untrained and messy and has just had far too much responsibility thrust upon her for someone so young. It’s the perfect breeding ground for dependence. Her magic is just like Micah’s and Shadow Weaver is reminded that if she’d just had a little more time with the boy then he could have been exactly what she wanted. She’ll have that time with Glimmer, she thinks.

She’s wrong.

~

Take five.

There is no take five.

It’s probably a good thing.

Excalibur, the legendary sword of King Arthur, was the mightiest weapon of that era. However, as time passed and mankind evolved, so did the sword. You work at a local antique shop when one day you discover something you don’t remember being there before: a rather peculiar looking pen.

Morgana and Merlin are in a cave together and they’re not fighting.

Neither of them are quite sure why. They’re definitely supposed to be fighting, but maybe that’s a reason in and of its self. Both of them have always been terrible at doing what they’re supposed to.

“We used to be friends.” Merlin says.

“You used to have a crush on me.” she snorts.

“Well you had a crush on me too.”

“I did not!” Morgana snaps. She manages to inject just enough offence into her voice that Merlin smiles at her a little like he used to before she learned how to hate.

“Well you would have if you’d known me.”

And, well, Morgana can’t say that he’s wrong exactly.

They keep not fighting. Morgana wonders if flirting is another word for truce.

Damian: Father make them stop

Bruce, fucking with him: what’s got you throwing a hissy? You’re whistling dixie son. Put a kibosh on the gobbledygook it’s time to break

It would be very funny to me if the Batkids started using slang from the eras they were created in. Like this doesn’t change their ages it just makes them all seem weirder than usual

For example-

Dick Grayson: And the old geezer was an eager beaver who helped us find the glitterati who was throwing the party. We all cut a rug but I tells yous clams he may have but Bruce is a dead hopper if I ever saw one. Anything he tells you is floy floy

*Everyone staring at him like he’s lost it*

Jason: Gag me with a spoon. I’m hella done you’re wiggin me out Dickie. Aight imma motor out of here dweebs

Steph: yeah not so much. gonna bounce with Jay.

Tim: That made sense...not. Dick you’re bugging out

Damian clutching Duke’s arm in a death grip: Thomas what is happening should we leave?

Duke: Bet little D we should dip. This is a big yikes

"No, I didn't know what I was getting into"

Me neither Jacobi, me neither

being gay is just

*consumes podcast* *yearn**consumes podcast* *consumes queer coded kids cartoon* *consumes podcast* *yearn* *consumes podcast* *yearn**consumes queer coded kids cartoon* *consumes podcast* *consu

Adora being op series: 1  2  3 

~

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind!” Adora cries as she dodges a punch. She’s so caught up in the rhythm of the fight that she almost misses the look of hurt on Catra’s face.

“Leave me behind?” she shouts, “Leave me behind!” She throws herself into a kick aimed at Adora’s face and Adora swats her away with the flat of her sword. “Like that would ever be enough for you!” Catra yells, “You’ll outlive me by centuries! No matter what I do, you get to watch me get old and weak and dead. You get to move on with your new friends and laugh until you forget I exist.”

Adora stares at her wide eyed as Catra pants from the exertion. She senses the other princesses come up to stand beside her and her thoughts of how utterly awful that must make Catra feel overshadow her relief for having more backup against the person that makes her weakest.

After staring at the group of them Catra shouts “Retreat!” to her troops, seeing that they’re outmatched. She turns to leave the battlefield with them but can’t seem to resist turning for a parting remark.

“Hope you enjoy eternity, princesses.” she snarls with all the nastiness that Adora knows she can muster which never used to be pointed at her.

As the Horde troops retreat they stand together in silence, attempting to present a united front against the enemy.

“I mean, she’s not wrong” Mermista whispers to whoever’s beside her. Adora sees Glimmer elbow her in the side in her periphery.

Adora watches her old family run away and thinks a lot about crying.

(she doesn’t)

When is a person not a person?

It’s a question that plagues Zatanna. Or, maybe not even that. When does a person become a different person? When does the helmet on your head twist and twist you into someone new and old and different who doesn’t have a daughter at all.

Zatanna wonders if the word orphan applies to her. She wonders if she’ll ever figure it out.

“I don’t know.” Robin says when she asks, because during one of their chats he let slip that he really is an orphan. Two whole parents buried in their graves, no waking up. The whole shebang.

“I want to know.” She answers. It feels like a big question, the kind you need someone to answer before you can move on and do anything with your life. “I want things to start making sense.”

The word orphan makes sense. She even looked it up in a dictionary, all very clear cut.

“Whatever the answer is, you have family.” He smiles and Zatanna thinks about how sweet he is.

“Wally’s a lucky guy.” she says, half because she wants the conversation to turn a little less serious, half because it’s the truth. Robin turns a bit red and Zatanna absent mindedly  starts thinking about what colour bridesmaid dress she would like.

“Shut up.” he groans, before turning serious again. “I don’t know what the right thing to say is, Z, but you’ve got to know that you’re one of us.”

Zatanna’s heart breaks a little even as she smiles. She does love the team, really she does. They’re bright and fast and beautiful and kind. They’re strong and clever and righteous and she does love them. It’s just that before she didn’t only belong with them. She had two places. She had a room in the mountain and a place by her father’s side.

It had made her feel whole, the duality of it all.

Maybe that’s why she packs a bag the next morning and conjures up a means of escape.

Every day with the team her soul shatters again. Every time she sees her father’s body, reduced to a vessel for a being that isn’t even kind, her heart breaks in two. Staying so close to reminders of all the things she’s lost isn’t doing her any good so she decides to leave.

Where’s the line between running away and escaping? she thinks, and finally there’s a question she doesn’t want the answer to.

Tell me I’m wrong

Tim is walking to his house after school when he spots his parents car in the drive and feels a flash of panic. He runs through a checklist in his mind of how he left the house and whether he’s done anything lately that his parents could be here to pick him up on. After a moment he’s certain that everything should be fine and the worst thing that’s about to happen is a far too formal conversation about whatever areas his parents feel he’s slacking in and he opens the door. When he doesn’t see either of them waiting for him he heads up to his room, dismissing the unease he feels when his door is slightly more ajar than he left it.

His initial flash of panic is nothing compared to the alarm he feels when he walks in to find his mother holding the robin costume in a perfectly manicured hand.

The look on her face is a sight to behold. Her normal expression of mild disdain suits her, it turns a face that would normally be described as pretty into something beautiful. Something that could be carved from marble. Now her face is twisted with enough anger to make her ugly.

Tim is struck for a moment by how this might be the first time she’s cared enough to look at him with real anger since that night at the circus when she told him to stop crying and he couldn’t deliver, no matter how hard he tried.

“This was not the plan Timothy.” she hisses through gritted teeth.

Tim takes the subsequent verbal thrashing with all the grace expected of him as a Drake. By the time it ends he thinks there might be a couple of cracks in the facade but he manages to keep it under control.

The only reason he doesn’t break down is because during her whole scolding Janet never once tells him to give up Robin. He can tell from the curl of her lip, the set of her spine, that she wants to. That she aches to. But Janet Drake has never once entered a battle knowing she would lose.

So she doesn’t tell him to stop. And in the face of such favour? Tim can handle anything.