#A. M.: Send me a symbol to my Muse

[carabas]

Dragon Age Veilguard liveblogging -

Varric: "Normally, my advice on befriending abominations would be 'Don't.' In this case... just keep an eye on him." I'm happy there's an Anders reference at all in this game where we can import almost nothing of our worldstate, even if it is Varric's usual griping. I hope we actually get to see Varric interact with the newer companions at some point because I really want to see if he'll somehow wind up trying to adopt Lucanis too, make it three for three on breaking his own heart trying to help every spirit companion he meets.

Bellara's tour of horrifying ancient artifacts, one sealed room after another containing dangerous relics that break people down to their component parts or set them on fire or something similarly lethal, and then finally you reach the last sealed room, holding only...

...a wheel of cheese.

I'm enjoying running around performing rituals that honor the evanuris who we are actively fighting against without anyone on the team objecting to this. Mythal, okay. But Falon'din - a Rook who saw the Mourn Watch as his own form of devotion to Falon'din learns his gods were tyrants and then, having reached whatever level of acceptance he's at with that, nonetheless winds up performing a ritual before Falon'din's statue specifically, his specific blighted tyrant god whose symbols he's still tattooed with, and being tangibly rewarded for it. I love this. I hope we have to perform a ritual for Ghilan'nain or Elgar'nan next.

Talking with Lucanis, my Rook had the option to mention that he's nonbinary! In the part of the character creator where you pick Rook's pronouns and gender identity separately, there was a note that the gender identity setting doesn't affect gameplay, so pleasant surprise to see it come up in dialogue after all. (At least, I'm assuming that the gender identity setting in the character creator is what got me that dialogue option. There was also a clearly marked chance to establish Rook as being trans/nb while looking into Varric's mirror earlier, but I'd picked the option to muse about Rook's Significant Tattoos there instead.)

There have been so, so many appearances by beloved characters or references to previous events despite the limited worldstate customization, but one of my favorites so far was in Minrathous, encountering someone who'd been kidnapped from the Denerim alienage back in Origins by the Tevinter slavers, now working with the Shadow Dragons. Nice little followup I wasn't expecting. And now she's dead because of a choice I made. Thank you, game, for that particular stab in the heart, it's super effective. And Neve's whole city is devastated because of a choice Rook made, and this after she's been wearing very visible bruises for most of the game so far because of a choice Rook made, and the gods are free because of a choice Rook made while trying to save the world, and the game keeps sending Rook on these rescue missions for people he tries and fails to save... and in between all this Rook is living out the memories of Solas's regrets. And the game keeps asking you who you think Solas is. Do you think you can trust him. Do you think he's lonely. Why did they change the title of this game, this is the Dread Wolf game.

"In the name of Elgar'nan, First of the Firstborn, He who was called Lusacan..." !!!!!!!! Finally ;_; one of the correspondences confirmed ;_; tears of joy ;_; I was hoping Elgar'nan = Dumat but I'll take it ;_; I need to go back and rethink all the others now, who was Urthemiel, which god is the Warden's son (if this is actually answered in this game don't tell me)

"Because you're a Mourn Watcher, Emmrich talks in-depth about spirits and necromancy with you" - victory fist pump, this game just keeps giving me everything I want

Rook had SO MUCH Mourn Watch-specific dialogue on Emmrich's recruitment mission! I think it was literally every line, this is Rook's home and he knows all its rituals and do you think the wisps here remember me - it's like Bioware saw the jokes about Lavellan's "Who's Mythal?" and made absolutely 120% sure Rook knows where he came from. But there had been almost nothing prior to this mission - one line where Rook got to play up the ~spooky necromancer~ angle to tease one of Neve's contacts, that's about it - so getting this absolute flood of Mourn Watch dialogue now really makes it feel like it must be such a relief for Rook to be able to talk to Emmrich, especially when they've been discussing people's comfort level or lack thereof with necromancy outside Nevarra. Also, no wonder Rook settled into the meditation room with that greenish underwater lighting, feels just like home.

[bendingmuses]

💕 curious to know about weilin 👀

Shipping Interest Check!

Send 💕 (or “hearts!” if the symbol doesn’t show up) and I’ll fill out the following for our muses:

Have we discussed shipping before?: yes || no

We've talked about it briefly but not in depth.

My interest level overall: I’ve wanted this for so long || can’t wait || I think it’ll be fun || kinda feeling it || maybe with a lot of plotting || I need to think about it || not interested, sorry

How we should do this: jump right in || slow burn || pre-established || build up to it in a thread || anything goes

I'm honestly down for doing it however you're comfortable with. Just let the earth bender boys kiss and go on dates.

Dynamics I want to try out with our ship: friends to lovers || rivals to lovers || enemies to lovers || mutual pining || battle couple || childhood friends || high school sweethearts || star crossed lovers || long time lovers || old married couple || newlyweds || sickeningly sweet couple || secret lovers || fake dating/marriage || best friends hiding their feelings || arranged marriage || soulmates || other

Everything and anything, Al. Give me these boys. Gimme Wei being Bolin's first m/m experience. Give me the build up from friends to maybe they could be something more. Give me Wei thinking it will never happen, but Bolin slowly realizing that he might share those feelings. When I say everything, I mean it. Give it all to me.

[krovscastlerpg]

It’s a special Valentine’s Day Ask Tuesday! To participate, just reblog this post and remember to send asks to the other players participating!

Valentine’s Day Alphabet

send some letters to find out more about my muse   !

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

A  Valentine’s Application

copy and paste and fill out this form in my muse’s inbox if you’d like to be their valentine!

your name:

your age:

your perfect date:

make out in private or in public?:

do you like to cuddle?:

tell me something about you:

why do you want to be my valentine?:

Platonic Valentine's Day Meme

send a symbol for sender's muse to do something for/with the receiver's muse! all of these are meant to be platonic, but slap a +❤️ after it to make it romantic. and if you want to reverse it, add +🔄!

🎁 - sender gives the receiver a present

🍫 - sender gives the receiver a box of chocolates/candy

💐 - sender gives the receiver flowers

🍽️ - sender takes the receiver out to dinner

🍿 - sender watches a movie with the receiver

✂️ - sender does crafts with the receiver

☕ - sender gets coffee with the receiver

🎤 - sender and receiver sing karaoke

💆 - sender gives the receiver a back rub

👟 - sender and receiver go on a walk

🍳 - sender and receiver cook a meal together

🧩 - sender and receiver do a puzzle

💃 - sender and receiver go dancing

⭐ - sender and receiver go stargazing

☀️ - sender and receiver see the sunset/sunrise

😌 - sender and receiver have a spa/pamper day

❄️ - sender and receiver are snowed in

⛄ - sender and receiver play in the snow

🎲 - sender and receiver play a game

🚙 - sender and receiver go on a trip 

Ask meme credit(s): x x x

[countlessrealities]

@technodromes sent: 🍷 // Bishop walking into a wasted Rick? (Probably more likely than I think) Send in 🍷 to walk in on my muse wasted || No longer accepting

There's a sound echoing in the corridor, bouncing off its metal walls. It's one of the two voices that, while not belonging to any of the Technodrome's permanent residents, have become part of the noises that can be heard more or less regularly inside the mobile fortress.

However, this time it's not someone shouting out curses or yelling while engaged in a heated match of sharp jabs. It's not even complaints and grumbles, or gruff but perfectly in tune singing. Instead, it sounds awfully like an endless fit of snickering, too high-pitched and garbled to be normal.

Rick is sprawled on what was once a working table, but now half of the tools are on the floor, together with at least eight bottle of...something. From the smell it's easy to tell that their content was some sort of liquor, but judging from the weird symbols...letters?...written on the label, it's definitely not from Earth.

His shoulders are shaking with irregular bursts of badly muffled laughter, while his arms are stretched in front of him, clumsy fingers tinkering with a weird-looking exagonal device. The front of it is open, unhooked cables tumbling out freely.

An off-tune hum leaves Rick's lips as he drops his chin on the table, tongue sticking out as he tries stick out of the wires back in place. His movements are sloppy, betraying how impaired his eye-hand coordination is, and yet his fingers are unexpectedly steady.

Finally, the thin cable slips inside its outlet and he lets out a slurred "f-f-fuck yeah!"...only to almost jump out of his skin when someone clears his throat behind him.

The scientist spins around, far too quickly for his unstable balance, and topples on the ground before he can even land his gaze on the newcomer. His hold on the device doesn't loosen, but he drags down with him a few tools and an empty bottle, which shatters, sending glass shards all around.

His back and nape hurt, or at least they are supposed to, but his senses are too numbed by the alcohol for him to register the pain. Instead, Rick squints, trying to put into focus the figure while the lights blind him from the ceiling.

Morty? No way. The other is far too tall to be his grandson. Not to mention that he isn't wearing anything yellow, just black and white. And...are those sunglasses?

"Ooooh, sh-shit, it's the third...pink ball! M-Morty's squishy buddy!" He exclaims as realisation somehow downs on him. "H-Hey, buddy! F-Funny...uhgh...meeting you here! D-Didn't know...W-Who let you in? D-Don't tell me you sneaked in! Y-You old...fox brain!"

Anything else he might have wanted to say is drowned in a mixture of laughter and giggles. Damn, that's good. He needed someone for...he can't remember. But there was something he wants to do...even if he can't remember that either.

...Oh well, he'll just make it up as he goes. As they go.

"L-Let's...W-We...Mort-...Shit, n-not Morty! W-We gotta go!" He starts saying, struggling to get back on his feet. His free hand is already reaching for the portal gun, so when his legs turn out to be too unsteady to hold him up, all he can do is face planting against the chest of Bishop's android.

"Gmoffaooo!"

The words are too muffled and slurred to make sense, but Rick doesn't seem to care. Instead, he shoots a portal right under their feet and they instantly fall through it.

To go where? Now, that is a great question!

[heartxshaped-bruises]

@indiestarter OPEN TO. m // f // nb ; mutuals && non-mutuals (beta editor) TESTMUSE. Ames Holbrook RELATION. your muse is a demon // otherwise supernatural entity that he accidentally summoned during one of his researches and now we have no idea how to send you back.

                                               ✧･ﾟ  𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑

       ❛❛Okay, I think we had A REALLY BAD START here ...❜❜ Not that the raised hands would do much to appease whatever stood in front of him, but it hopefully was a gesture that distracted from the fact that Ames was casually trying to bring some distance between them. And obstacles. Honestly, there wasn't much to work with. But the wobbly table of his motel room had to do.

       Boy, this was such an immense fuck-up. Even for his standards. Did the air conditioner die with their flamy appearance or was his stresslevel just rising by the second? God, it got hot in here. ❛❛But let's not overreact, alright? I get it, this isn't ideal, you're pissed off -- and I apparently won't get my deposit back when I check out - ❜❜ Well, not by the looks of THE BURNED FLOORBOARDS, the symbols still sizzling with invisible rage. ❛❛But I'm gonna fix this❜❜, Ames coaxed. ❛❛Give me 24 hours. I... this is my thing, alright? I can fix this!❜❜

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Hale Productions & ABO Movies Present their Christmas Feature films

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/51954064 by skargasm I went on a little bit of a banner spree for the 1 million words Advent 2023, and they somehow turned into movie posters! Maybe in 2024 I'll actually write the stories that match the banners but we'll see. I just want to say thank you so much for all of the support you guys have shown me - throughout 2023 and beyond. I truly appreciate every comment you ever wrote - whether it be a heart symbol or your guesses for where my muse is leading us. The world is in turmoil and so troubled, so my wish this Christmas is that every single one of you gets to experience some peace and love during this season, and that your 2024 is your best year yet. Sending you much love from me, my four cats and my Muse who deserves a mention all of her own cos she's such a cantankerous bitch! Be safe, be kind and stay well Skargasm x Words: 392, Chapters: 7/7, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Angel: the Series Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M Relationships: Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Derek Hale/Spike (BtVS), Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Jackson Whittemore, Aiden/Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey/Jackson Whittemore Additional Tags: Fanart, Community: 1-million-words Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/51954064

[ase-trollplays]

Sonja - ✟ Hyleem - ☕

✟ : Religious beliefs

The Closest Th!ng ! Have To Rel!g!on !s My Always Endur!ng Love And Adorat!on Of My Starl!ght, Engela~ She's More Beaut!ful Than Any Goddess Above, And ! Am Blessed To Call Her M!ne~ !'ll Worsh!p Her For As Long As Fate Deems Us To Rema!n Together~

Belong!ng To Her !s The Only Rel!g!on ! Need~ All Others Are !nherently !nfer!or~

☕: Favorite food(s)

0|||0 Oh Man, I'm always a slut for a good ch==seburg=er and waffl= fri=s! Also, coconut milkshak=s, and just coconut in g=n=ral! 0|||0

Send me symbol for my muse’s opinion:

[weaimtomaim]

🩹🎆⛓👽

My Opinion On...

🩹 reblog karma

I don't strictly enforce it, and I don't mind if people reblog askbox memes from me rather than the source. I do try to send things when I see people on my dash reblogging them, even when I don't end up reblogging it myself. Sending an emoji or symbol or number takes two seconds and it'll probably make someone happy, so why not? Ones that require a more personalized addition from the sender can be a bit more difficult it you don't know the other muse super well, but for those I might see what others have sent in and build off that.

Anyways. I do it, I don't expect it from others, but also I'd encourage everyone to do it anyway because that's how you foster communities 👍

🎆 magic anons

I can be picky about them. I don't feel beholden to every one that comes into my askbox, and will delete or refuse them if I don't like them. I don't tend to like ones that are like "you turn into a bird!!" or whatever. That's just not interesting or fun to me. I'm a little burnt out on "forced to tell the truth" ones at the moment too, just because there were a string of those in a row a while back. But I'd accept something like that again in the future!

Something I'd personally like to do is send more M!A's, because I've not done it very often. Group ones/ones that get passed around are fun, but it'd also be interesting to devise more specific or personal ones for certain muses. Maybe one day!

⛓ RP timelines

I'll be honest, I'm not exactly sure what this means lol. So I'll try to touch on what I think the possibilities could be.

Timeline/time skips within a thread: I'm totally cool with skipping past parts if all parties involved are down. We don't have to go through every second of what happens.

Blog timeline differences: As in, some people RP muses as set within canon, others are post-canon. Whatever is fine by me, so long as it's clear on your blog. I usually keep my muses where they are in their own timeline unless I decide with the other mun(s) that we're doing a past or future thread.

👽 AUs

AUs are great! I've not really indulged in many on this blog, but I'm certainly down to discuss possibilities with people! Anything from just a single thread or a whole plot that could span several and involve multiple muns/blogs. I will say, I'm not super interested in ones that involve the Combaticons no longer being transformers. I've done humanformers before, and it was fun, but I'm here for the robots 🤷‍♀️ I see that fae AU several people are involved in, and I am content to just watch from the sidelines personally :)

[wexarethewalkingxdead]

(all muses) ✝: any religious beliefs my muse has →: is my muse any good with directions? ☮: is my muse a happy person? 웃: three people that are important to my muse ⌘: was my muse good in school? ✿: is my muse an outdoors person? ♐: is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush? ♑: is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

headcanon meme! send me a symbol and i’ll tell you…

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Andrea is not religious. She believes somewhat in a higher power, but it doesn't rule her life.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Andrea is very good with directions. She just needs to see them written down or on a map. Verbal directions are not her strong suit.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Overall, Andrea is a happy person.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Amy 2). Dale 3). Shane

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Andrea was good in school. She was in the top ten of her graduating high school class. And graduated law school with honors.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Not so much. The outbreak was really her first real experience outside of the occasional fishing and camping trip with her parents (mostly her Dad).

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Andrea is very blunt.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Andrea is somewhere in the middle.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Beth believes in God and is fully committed to keeping that a part of her life.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Somewhat. They can't be overly complicated or she's lost.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Yes.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Hershel 2). Maggie 3). Hershel Rhee

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Beth was okay in school. She excelled better in the arts and music than the academics.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Absolutely. She loves being outside.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Neither. Beth is quiet and doesn't really give her opinion unless explicitly asked.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Optimist.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Carol used to be religious but now she's questioning everything she ever believed. And she stays that way for the rest of her life.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Carol is excellent with directions. Even complicated ones.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Carol is probably a healthy mixture of all emotions. She's good at hiding them al though.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Sophia 2). Henry 3). Daryl

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Carol was good in school. It's what made her want to be a teacher so that she could help others be good in school too. Sadly, she never got to practice being a teacher.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Carol likes both equally.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Carol is blunt with some people and beats around the bush with others when it's necessary.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Carol is a realist.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Charley believes in the possibility of a higher power but is always questioning.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Charley is decent enough as long as they have a GPS.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Charley is a happy person.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Sammy 2). Sammy 3). Sammy

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Charley was top of their class in high school and college. Education is so important to them they wanted to help mold young minds.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Charley likes the outdoors well enough, but only in moderation.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Charley is blunt. Especially when to comes to the safety of their child.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Charley is an optimist.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Daryl doesn't have any religious beliefs.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Daryl is good with directions both verbal and written.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Daryl is a moderately happy person when he's left alone and not bothered by people that annoy him.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Carol 2). Rick 3). Judith

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Daryl was good in school and had decent grades, but he was forced to quit school in his senior year to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

He lives for the outdoors.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Blunt. He doesn't know any other way.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Pessimist.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Rick used to be religious and was in church every Sunday morning. Then his grandmother died and he stopped going entirely.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Rick needs GPS. He's gotten better though.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Rick is a happy person but he hides it sometimes or a lot of the time.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Carl 2). Judith 3). Michonne

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Rick was average in school.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Rick loves a healthy balance of outdoors and indoors.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Rick is usually quiet until pressed for his opinion then he's very blunt. Unless it's to do with emotions, then he beats around the bush.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

He's middle of the road.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Shane isn't religious at all. The only time he set foot in the church was when he went with Rick as a kid.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Shane is amazing with directions whether verbal, written, or mapping them out himself.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Shane is happy because he's full of himself.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Rick 2). Carl 3) Andrea

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Shane was average in school. He got grades good enough to pass but he didn't win any academic awards.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Shane likes being outdoors well enough.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Blunt. Very blunt. He doesn't know the meaning of beating around the bush.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Pessimist.

✝:  any religious beliefs my muse has

Sophia went to church with Carol as she was growing up before the Outbreak. She has talks with Father Gabriel frequently.

→:  is my muse any good with directions?

Sophia is decent with directions. Especially when reading a map.

☮:  is my muse a happy person?

Yes.

웃:  three people that are important to my muse

1). Carol 2). Carl 3). Judith

⌘:  was my muse good in school?

Sophia was decent in school before the outbreak. She has tried to keep up her studies after the Outbreak but life had more lessons than a book could teach her. She knows the basics; reading and math.

✿:  is my muse an outdoors person?

Sophia enjoys being outdoors a healthy amount of time. She likes the solitude it can give her.

♐:  is my muse blunt or do they beat around the bush?

Sophia does a mixture of both.

♑:  is my muse an optimist or a pessimist?

Sophia is an optimist.

[hadopelagical]

RULES

1. I go by L, I’m 29, pronouns they/he.

2. Mutuals-only, low activity. I only follow other adults.

3. If we’re mutuals, you can reblog whatever you want from me (as long as it’s not a thread I’m writing with somebody else).

4. When breaking mutuals, I hard block rather than soft block. I also preemptively block when I decide I don’t want to follow someone, just to keep things tidy.

5. I frequently add new muses and rarely drop them. You don’t have to write with all of them, but don’t follow if you dislike multimuses with a lot of muses.

6. If you’re uncomfortable with a muse, you can add my muse tag to your block list (m: [muse name]). I won’t hold myself from adding a muse I want to write due to personal discomfort, but you're free to block their tag.

7. If I don’t tag something you’d like tagged, let me know. I do my best with some more common tags, but things slip through the cracks.

8. I don’t like writing smut. Suggestive RP may happen.

9. If there’s something in my bios or hcs that contradicts yours, let me know. As long as it’s not something essential to my portrayal, I can adjust for you.

10. There will be dark themes on this blog, including abuse, torture, violence, death, gore, manipulation, and more. Sometimes explicitly written, other times implicit.

11. I don’t do exclusives, affiliates, or single-ships. I do have informal mains for my muses, though, and they affect my portrayal of characters.

12. I do enjoy shipping, but I’m not actively seeking any out. Unrequited feelings are ok.

13. You can just drop a thread at any point or delete asks that I send you that you’re not feeling, no need to let me know (though you can if you want to).

14. Consider tagging your character and ship hate. Even if I don’t like them either, I just don’t want to see it.

15. Just chill, and we’ll be chill.

 Some good ways to get started with me:

Send a meme. No need to tell me where it came from, I can find it myself, if it’s a symbol, just let me know what the symbol memes. I have no time limit for memes. I reblogged it 2 years ago? No problem, send it in.

Jump on any IC post. As soon as we’re mutuals, it’s all game. Anything your muse feels like responding to, I’m more than happy to get.

Like one of my meme calls.

[galaxofmuses]

🌕 ― a vivid memory (sonic and/or sei)

🐝  *  ―  𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑬.(  send in a symbol to receive a drabble or meta about one of my muses’ memory.  )

🌕 ― a vivid memory // Accepting!

"M-Mom!" Sei goes to support their stumbling frail mother. "Please...be careful going down the stairs. Yet Miyako laughs and looking at her son. "Oh Sei.....You've grown so much, yet I am worried about you."

"M-Me? I've been going to school more mom I promise."

She shakes her head with a smile as she lets her son lead her to the dining table. Gripping the oak cane aside and looking at them with that ever gentle look.

"I....I do not know what you are hiding Sei, but...What ever it is...I'm sure you will find the peaceful solution you are looking for."

Biting his lip and knowing that her mother knows them more then his father. He can only just nods and hopefully wait for the right moment to finally come clean for both of them.

"Y-Yeah....I'll find a way...."

[kokoronbain]

Jemmes 🤝 Flare ( Flare is hidden a joy buzzer in her hand 😈)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[earth394hqs]

meme under the cut. reblog to participate. remember to send some if you do. only interact with this post if you're a member of EARTH394.

 l o c a t i o n s

send me one of the following locations for a starter based there.

coffee shop central park a cemetery a restaurant  a movie theater somewhere they shouldn't be gym stark tower avengers headquarters shield an alley a bar the hospital a concert a museum  at a party the library an office

e m o t i o n s

send me one of the following emotions for a starter based on it.

fear anger sadness jealousy disgust distrust betrayal amused cheerful discouraged empathetic cranky self-consciousness nervousness happiness hopefulness

s e n t e n c e s

send me one of the following sentences for a starter based on it.

“You’re cute, but you talk too much.” “Don’t laugh. You’re next.” “What do I do now?”  “People don’t change. Opinions do.” “How could you do that to me?” “What were you thinking?” “You need to stop beating yourself up over this.” “You need to stop being so self-centered.”  “On a scale of one to trying to slam a revolving door, how drunk are you?” “At what point are you going to stop lying to me?” (or specify another person) "You're not going without me."

s y m b o l s

send me one of the following symbols for a starter based on it.

😡 for an angry starter 😄 for a happy starter 😲 for a shocking starter 😭 for a sad starter 🤔 for a confused starter 😶 for an angsty starter 🥰 for a fluffy starter 👻 for a scared starter 💢 to start a fight with my muse  💀 for a jealous starter 🤗 for my muse to comfort yours

[miss-choco-chips]

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ��em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed. 

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.” 

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is. 

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing. 

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him. 

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of  orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters. 

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second.  If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive,  but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms. 

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion. 

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind. 

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him?  It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof. 

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets. 

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death. 

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now. 

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard. 

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 16 April 1837

..

..

Slept in the kitchen chamber (as since the 11th) my eye so much worse (last night the cheek so much swollen just below the right eye) feared something of Erysipelas – on going into the blue room at 11 ¼ found A- gone to bed and fast asleep – lay awake till about (near 2) and till then with my washing basing on my bed with cold water kept a perpetually moisted towel on my eye – this did it much good – so that I fell asleep, and, in the morning, tho’ I had not sent for leeches the 1st thing as I thought of doing, let A- send for Mr. Jubb – on awaking still kept on the cold towel system till breakfast (in bed – tea and teacake) about 11 – slumbered a little during the morning when A- was not with me – she was hardly gone to church when Mr. Jubb came about 2 ¼ and staid about near ½ hour – recommended more pills tonight and a [draught] in the morning and lying in bed and taking and I should soon be well – no erysipelas – A- back at 5 – Mr. Fenton had done all the duty – Mrs. F- at church – snowing hard, so A- took her to Cliff Hill but did not stay above a moment – A- dined at 6 ½ and I had tea and tea cake at 7 – had just before shewn A- my purchase at Whitleys yesterday Russells’ Jerusalem, she [w]as much pleased with the work as I, and, before and after dinner, read aloud 2 or 3 hours – gave me my pills, and left me soon after 11 pm – I never got up at all the day – in much perspiration in the evening after tea and this did me good – between six and seven incurred a x think[ing] as usual on these occasions of π. mused over the names of Adam and Even Ad-am (because made of red earth – clayey – al-um (um for Am?) Ham the son of Noah. Ham or cham (earth? Χαραι  [?]; and all its compounds Χαράί ζαρος humilis rubus,  [Χαραί ζατου] fragum, strawberry red etc chemia, alchemy Arabic from chem. or cham   with reference to fire –

Ham uncovered his father’s nakedness

Lingam or Ham – to uncover one nakedness generally means   to complete or the act itself?

Eve because the mother of all living   promised something Euoe Evor etc Yoni? reminds me of hymns to Bac-chus

Tamug or Tham-oz Ad-on-is

Penis  from pen  high erect   Pennine alps high ditto

was the grove    [Troovea] hollow or fault in the sacred Yoni or Eve privy part of female

Dr. Adam Clark fancies that the serpent was in the form of a monkey ourang outing he must have beguitted Eve; for Adam and she had dominion over all the beasts of the filed

they had been longer created and had procreated   the beast might make even understand

the use of the penis   or she might him copulate and ask Adam to try

and the seeing that they were naked and the eating an apple may be but a [m]anner of e[x]pressing their having copulated   the context hints this   the woman was immediately sentenced to conceive in sorrow   apples have always been symbolic     are your apples ripe are they fit for sucking

‘Malo me Galatea petit’ etc viz.

Moses was skilled in all the learning of the Egyptians and his uninspired writings breathed the traditions that were old even in his day – his human learning was derived from the same source as the Eleusinian mysteries – the laws of the druids – perhaps the oracles of the sybills  

Ζευς   θεος  , Thot, Teut (Teutonic), Teutch Dutch Jupiter (Zeus Pater) Jovis (Jehovah) very wintery snowy day – the ground voered with snow 2 or 3 in. deep tonight

[firsthumandisaster]

❓

Send the symbol for answers || @duofang

Does my muse trust yours?   "Y-yes? Nick trusted you, so I do, too."

Does my muse dislike yours? "No, not ..really." But looking at you reminds him Nick is gone...

Would my muse kill someone for yours? "......." He did, yeah.

Would my muse kill your muse? "No!! Absolutely not."

Would my muse save yours?  "100% yes!"

Does my muse find your muse attractive? "..Maybe a little. You're kind of charming..." 

Is my muse disgusted by yours? "Not at all."

would my muse go on a date with your muse?  "M-maybe?" Vash's not blushing, I swear.

would my muse kiss yours?  Yeah, he would.

would my muse betray yours?   Absolutely not! "Nick would never forgive me, for starters!"

my muse’s favorite thing about yours is, Livio's a great guy, and he likes that.

the thing my muse dislikes about yours is, how the hell did you get so TALL??? Vash though he was tall, but Livio, you beast, your a giant.