#Duke Needs a Hug

[strayswolf]

When Duke is overwhelmed, he flashes to Bruce—kind, parental Bruce, not Batman—to help him calm down and reorganize his thoughts to get himself back in the game and find a way out of a bad situation. (Also, Duke really just wants his dad. 🥺)

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures, Season Three, Ep. 118, One Bad Day Part II

[robinsfilm]

FURRY NEW BEGGINGS

navigation ; masterlist.

pairing : jason todd ✗ gn!reader.

summary : In which the cat distribution system catches up to you and Jason.

warnings : no serious warnings, just alot of fluff and a short lived (or not) rivalry between the cat and jaybeans.

word count : 1k.

notes : switching up the theme a bit, can't always find those pretty headers. wE NEED A NAME FOR THE CAT!!!

The first time he saw the cat, Jason was returning home from patrol. The rain was pouring down in streets, and he hurried through the storm, eager to get back to you as quickly as possible. The weather made everything difficult—the buildings blurred together, neon signs became unreadable, and the sounds of the city were muffled through his helmet.

But despite the downpour, he didn't miss the small spot of light orange in the corner of his eye. It stood out against the dark, murky colors of the alley it was huddled in. Nestled in a small, soggy cardboard box between two trash bags, something shifted.

What's that?

Jason knew he needed to get home. He was freezing and bone-tired, but his curiosity got the better of him.

What's the worst that could happen?

Turns out, the worst that could happen is making a new, vicious enemy out of a stray cat.

Jason landed swiftly in the dark alley, the shadows swallowing up what little light there was. He approached the cardboard box cautiously and gently lifted the lid, unsure of what he might find inside.

The first thing that caught his attention was a pair of greenish-brown eyes staring back at him, followed by the sight of ginger-striped fur. The creature let out a small, plaintive mewl.

Oh, it’s a cat.

In the box sat a big, angry orange tabby. A very angry orange tabby, actually. The cat gave him a fixed, piercing stare, its fur and tail puffing up as it let out a throaty, warning meow.

Jason instinctively raised his hands, palms open, to show he meant no harm, but it was too late—the cat swiped at him with a paw, claws fully extended!

"Alright, I got the hint! No need for violence, little guy. Well—not so little. I mean, just look at you." Jason chuckled softly, trying to diffuse the tension.

The cat's ears swiveled backward and flattened against its head, its body puffing up even more as it attempted to make itself look bigger, more intimidating.

"Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to... whatever you’re doing."

*****

The second time he saw the cat was when he was with you, just returning from a grocery run.

"Who even says that to a worker? It's not like they set the prices," you huffed, recounting an incident at the 7/11 you both had just visited. An old lady had been loudly complaining about the cost of a few products, taking it out on the poor cashier behind the counter.

"I know, baby, but you put her in her place." Jason wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. "So, don't worry about it anymore."

"You're right, it's just—" Jason’s ear tuned out your next words as a familiar spot of light orange caught his eye. A pair of greenish-brown eyes glared at him menacingly.

No way... it can't be the same cat...

"Honey? Jay? What's wrong?" you asked, turning to him, trying to catch his attention.

"Huh? Oh, yeah? Sorry," Jason replied, snapping back to reality with a smile. "Something just caught my eye." But when he turned to look again, the cat was already gone.

Annoying little bastard...

"What did?" you inquired, glancing around to spot whatever had distracted him.

"An orange tabby cat that I’ve apparently started a rivalry with." Jason deadpanned.

"You started a what with a what..?" you stammered, clearly confused by his response. But Jason just grabbed your hand and quickly led you away.

*****

The third time he saw the cat was in his apartment. In his goddamn home.

Jason dropped the bag of snacks he’d just bought from the corner shop out of sheer shock. How did the cat find him? Had it followed him? Was this how it spotted him last time near the grocery store? What was this cat’s plan?

Just then, you rounded the corner, emerging from the kitchen with a small bowl of wet cat food in your hands.

Your face lit up when you saw him. "Welcome back!"

"Hi, baby. Who’s this?" Jason pointed to the cat, now holding its tail high with a slight curl at the top. The cat purred softly as it rubbed its head against Jason’s boot.

"Awh! Look, he likes you!" You beamed, your face lighting up with a smile. "Is this the tabby you were talking about? I can’t imagine him being evil at all, isn’t that right?" You squealed with delight, setting the bowl down near the cat.

The cat slowly blinked at you before cautiously approaching the bowl and taking a tentative bite of the food.

Jason tried to ask how the cat got in, where you found it, and why you let it in, but you shushed him.

"Did you just shush me?" he muttered in disbelief, half-laughing.

"I think it’s fate!" you exclaimed. "You found him, he found you, and now he’s here! He belongs with us. Please, Jay, can we keep him?"

Now that was something he never thought he’d hear. Usually, it was Damian asking Bruce to keep some random animal he’d found—not as a pet, of course. Oh no, not at all.

Jason stared at the tabby for a few moments, then at you, with your big smile and pleading eyes staring back at him.

Crap, this is hard. No wonder Bruce never says no to whatever Damian drags into the house. Jason still remembers the cow...

"...Fine."

"Yay!" You celebrated with a little hop.

"How did it even find us?" Jason eyed the cat suspiciously.

"I’m not sure. But you’ve got to get used to him. I think he likes you!" you said as the cat wobbled back over and rubbed its head against Jason’s boot again. "See? Isn’t he adorable?"

Jason sighed softly, then gave you both a small, reluctant smile. "Yeah, he’s a little bit cute, I guess."

"Oh, I almost forgot! We need to name him."

Jason grumbled under his breath. This was going to be a long week—but maybe, just maybe, it might be a tad bit happier than the previous ones.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[crii-sis]

jason “cannot go a single minute without mentioning his death” todd

Batman & the Signal (2018) #3

[weewoow-20706030]

Reminder that Bruce Wayne is flexible. He is adaptable. He is Batman. And he will be whatever his kids need him to be because he is all of the above.

If his kids need him to be affectionate, if they need him to just be around him, if they need him to give them space. He can be whatever is needed from those he cares for.

[for-valour]

On this day, 86 years ago: 12th May 1937:

The Coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.

‘…Then came Papa looking very beautiful in a crimson robe and the Cap of State.’

‘I thought it all very, very wonderful and I expect the Abbey did, too.’

‘The arches and beams at the top were covered with a sort of haze of wonder as Papa was crowned…’

‘When Mummy was crowned and all the peeresses put on their coronets it looked wonderful…’

‘At the end, the service got rather boring as it was all prayers. Grannie and I were looking to see how many more pages to the end, and we turned one more and then I pointed to the word at the bottom of the page and it said ‘Finis.’ We both smiled at each other and turned back to the service.’

Excerpts taken from 11–year-old Lilibet’s account of her father’s coronation ❤️

Bertie looks so very anxious in some of these clips 🥹

All gifs made by @for-valour

Source: YouTube.

[choccochocco]

I don’t see art of Fred often so I decided to draw him but as a Doberman

he looked lonely so I added cat Kurt

He used to do those fair show things, so I thought cropped ears made more sense for him

[the-coffeeaddict-tim-drake]

Just a Kid Next Door - Chapter 2

Bruce is finally back from being stuck in the time stream. Tim managed to save Batman and his loved ones. Now it is time for Tim to go home and rest. But the problem is that, Tim has no home. Or that's what he thinks so.

This will be a multichapter fic on how did Tim reconcile with his family. It will be full of angst, family feels and family shenanigans.

Masterlist

Here in the link to read the story in ao3.

-------------------------------CHAPTER 2---------------------------------

The first thing Bruce sees after opening his eyes is a flash of blinding light, followed by a very blurry face. The person had black hair and light eyes and was calling out his name, that too in a very panicked voice.

His first instinct was to become alert. Even in his dizzy state, he tried his best to observe and analyze his surroundings.

It took Bruce a minute to realize that the person in front of him is his son. The person is one of his kids from his brood of children.

But Bruce was not able to figure out which one though. It was maybe due to his very blurry eyesight or his very concussed head, he concluded.

One of his hand reached out to touch his son’s face. He might not be able to see clearly to find which one of his kid is in front of him, but he could definitely find out through touch.

He first touched his kid’s face and then went to feel his shoulder.

‘Mm, Too fair to be Duke, little shorter and eyes too blue to be Jason, too tall to be Damian and too built to be Tim. Oh, it must be Dick.” he finally concluded.

Bruce and Batman are two different people.

Batman is a powerful vigilante. He channels his grief and pain into protecting his city, Gotham. He’s a master of countless disciplines and he strike fear into the heart of criminals to bring them to justice.

But Bruce is first and foremost, a Father. Bruce Wayne, the Gotham’s prince (not a Prince any more though), the billionaire playboy and philanthropist is a Father. His first priority will always be his Family. His family is the most important thing to him, whether biological or chosen.

And in this moment, he was not Batman. He was just Bruce. A Father.

Bruce missed his kids so much. He still don’t know how many days or even months he had actually missed, but he’s more than glad that he is back. He is not going to let any of his kids and Alfred out of his sight for the next few days.

He then heard Dick’s voice, rough, like he’s been crying for quite some time now.

“Shit, B. You woke up. Do you- you want me to call anyone, like – like, shit …um like Clark or someone. Wait B, um…lemme”

‘Huh, he sounds very strange.’ he thought.

Suddenly he feels a hand under his head and sees a thumb and a forefinger opening his eyes wider. He then realized that he’s being checked for concussion.

“Oh, you are definitely concussed.”

“Grn” he groaned.

He reached out and embraced his kid. He don’t want to miss anymore of his time by waiting. He is going to smother all his kids with hugs until they put up a fight with him.

Dick went still for a few seconds. And then he started to weep, his whole body wracked by sobs.

As much he tries to be a good parent, Bruce is never really the one for dealing with emotions in a healthy manner. And he will never forgive himself for passing on that trait to his children, because his children rarely cried to cope up with feelings. Hence Dick’s sudden outburst threw Bruce off guard.

“Oh, I-I missed y-you so much B, please don’t ever leave us ever again. Don’t leave me al-alone, please. Everyone thought you died, Bruce.” His whole body was shaking.

Bruce’s heart ached. Each of his kid’s sob was like a dagger piercing his heart. Bruce never wished for his children to go through the same trauma he did as a kid when his parents died. And yet, here he is.

“But I didn’t be-believe them. I somehow knew you were alive. I-I never stopped searching for you”

Bruce hugged him even harder. He knew his children were smart, but he was doubtful that they would find out the minuscule clues he left and put two and two together.

But he had hoped.

He never lost hope in his family. He knew they would eventually save him.

And he is proud that he wasn’t wrong.

Dick was now quiet, but Bruce can still feel him crying.

“It’s okay chum, don’t worry. I’m here and I’m not going to leave you alone, sweetheart. Never.” said Bruce, his voice sounding foreign to himself.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Hm-mm, I’m going to bore you all with my facts about dinosaurs. You are going to love every minute of it.” He chided.

Dick let out a hearty chuckle. Bruce was glad to have elevated the mood.

They were occupied by comfortable silence for the next few minutes, Bruce lying on the med bay bed with Dick’s head on his chest and his arms embracing the boy. He felt dizzy, and his eyes started to droop due to his tiredness.

“You are my son, Dick. I’m never going to leave you alone. Never.” He murmured, before falling into deep slumber.

What he failed to notice before going to sleep was, Tim going very still, almost still like a rock.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rain pounded the streets of Gotham. The flooded sewers and subways forced the residents to walk in the rain, soaking wet. The Bat Signal almost invisible due to the cloudburst.

Gotham is a busy city. Social workers working days to fix the city, young CEOs and entrepreneurs walking hurriedly in the crack of dawn and the elites from the nicer parts of the town attending Galas after Galas to keep up their appearances and earn fortunes.

But the City is extremely busy at nights though. Stealth bodies clad in darker shades of Kevlar and spandex can be seen jumping from building to building, fighting rouges and lurking in the shadows, protecting the city.

But nights like these makes it extremely difficult to do their job. Along with the rain came the criminals.

Gotham is a busy City. Not even the dangerous calamities stopped the rogues in the slightest.

That’s why the Batman and the newest Robin can be seen launching their fists and using their acrobatic skills to fight the Penguin and his men

“You cannot catch me, Batman” Oswald snickered. He used his bladed Umbrella to fight against Batman

The Robin was using his Katana to block the blows while performing various impressive fighting techniques thought by the league to fight the Penguin’s men. They stood no chance against the young warrior.

Batman leaped from rooftop to rooftop while throwing his Batrangs at The Penguin, which he was able to block with his shield like umbrella.

The sound of bullet being fired dominated the swishing sounds of cape and the men’s grunts of pain. Many lost their stance and put down their weapon due to the sudden gunshot. Batman used this distraction to jump on Oswald and knock him down.

From out of the shadows emerged a built figure, clad in dark grey Kevlar, brown leather jacket and a very contrasting red helmet which hid the vigilante's entire face, pointing one of his many guns to the sky. The red Bat symbol on his chest glimmering due to droplets of rain.

“I thought you stopped killing” gruffed Batman.

“Aw, you’re welcome, Goldie. I will save you at any given chance. And, don’t be narcissistic. It’s a rubber bullet. And I did not shoot anyone by the way.” The Red Hood replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“tt, you did nothing Hood.” Robin came and stood next to the Batman after tying up the men for the officers.

“Be grateful, Gremlin”

“tt” Robin tutted, shaking his head.

“What are you doing here anyways, Hood?  I thought Crime alley is your area.” Batman asked, wiping off the blood from his lips.

“Surprise, seems like our cases are connected after all. I had an intel that Penguin and Black mask are working on some shady stuff together”

“Oh” came out of Dick’s mouth.

Their conversation was interrupted by sudden swoosh of wind. This alerted the three to jump into their fighting stance.

“Fucking hell, Superman. You could have warned us it was just you.” Said Red Hood, relaxing.

“Sorry, but I have an important news.” Replied Superman, eyeing the three of them carefully.

“Batman is back. We saved him from time stream. Wonder Woman and Flash managed to bring him back to the Batcave.”

[zetterbabe]

lightning/panthers full handshake line (04.29.24)

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 12

If you thought I'd make it easy for my boys to be together....honey, you've got another thing coming.

I'm so sorry 🙃

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13 Word Count: 3349 (average 25 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, homophobia, fantasy racisms. Steamy scenes will come to those who are patient. :) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

The Council was a group of old men who should have probably died or retired ages ago and they still believed their opinions mattered to generations much younger than them. I sat at the front of the long, rectangular room next to the seat of my father. There were nine council members, five on one side, four on the other, all regarding each other like they were better than all the others. I wondered if any of them even considered anyone else in this room their friend, or if they were all in this just to barter their way of life into this town.

I was equal parts frustrated by their traditional methodology and scared at the power they still held over a society that had evolved since their time. They were capable of so much simply because they had climbed up the ranks until there was nowhere else to go. 

My father had been summoning me to each Council meeting for the past week and I found myself bored to tears each time. I contributed very little to their conversations, and I already knew that I was doomed to disappoint all of them again today.

Most of the items of business were small, inconsequential things like adding more roads, where to expand for more homes as more people come to our town. With each one we offered our vote, when there really wasn’t much to vote on. I found my fingers itching to be playing with something other than the fringe on the hem of my sleeve. 

I couldn’t deny that my father - despicable as he is - was a committed leader. His attention was fully invested in each person’s comments, and he weighed all of the options equally. 

My father was an intelligent man, and a deep thinker and I think that’s why it hurt me so much every time that he didn’t seem to have the heart to make sense of me. I wasn’t worth his time mulling over and understanding - to him I was simply broken and in need of his repair.

Time moved slowly, but I did my best to keep my mind on the present conversation. I was surprised that my father didn’t ask more of me since he insisted that I be there, but I was also grateful to not be put at the center of attention in front of these old men. 

After a long laundry list of things, my father cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “Council Orin, I seem to recall you mentioned to me an issue you were having in the Northern district?” 

I watched closely as the man named Orin nodded sagely towards the Duke. “Ah yes, thank you, Your Grace. Gentlemen, I’d like to discuss the matter of a newcomer that’s been in town. A well respected innkeeper came to me with some concern that an orc has been staying in his inn for the past nine days now. He doesn’t appear to be here for any particular reason besides to loiter in our streets. We’ve been good enough to attract very little of the other folk in Faerun, and I wonder if there is something to be done with this newcomer?”

I gripped the armchair of my seat as I was forced to listen to these men discuss their distaste for orcs. With one mention of Drun’s race, they suddenly all felt it was their right and permission to exclaim their opinion - all of the despicable and completely wrong. They were talking about Drunrag, my Drun. They called him unclean, and one of the cursed races because they had sided centuries ago with the enemy. A long dead enemy that Drun had nothing to do with. They were formulating plans to get him out of town. I had to say something, but I couldn’t, not when I looked over and saw the way my father was watching me with such a smug look.

He shifted in his seat again and cleared his throat, the room fell into expectant silence. 

My Father spoke, “Altan, son, what do you say is the best course of action? Perhaps your youth can help us see a different light?”

I refused to look back at him. He was mocking me. I knew he was cornering me to fold and not say anything. I knew if I said what I felt, it would fall on deaf and racist ears. Instead I sat straight and held my fingers tight like claws on the armchair. “Perhaps it would be wise to avoid making a rash decision until we learn why he’s here.”

“The innkeeper says the orc won’t speak when he talks to him. Says he’s practically mute.” Councilman Orin responded.

Another Councilman jumped in, “I thought I saw him working with that Dragonborn Doxxah in the Northern District, perhaps they’re plotting something.”

I couldn’t believe them. Doxxah had been here for years and had proven themselves again and again to be an honest, hardworking contributor to the town. I opened my mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another round of the men exclaiming their dislike of Dragonborns, of Orc of all the races they felt uncomfortable around.

“It’s not as if we don’t want them in our town.” One of them said, “But it must be understood that our town was built centuries ago as a fortress to protect our ancestors from the dangers that these very same races brought outside our day every day. Do we ignore our past and history just to embrace these newcomers into our town?”

“I don’t see any reason why we should be the same as our ancestors from hundreds of years ago.” I replied. They all looked at me with furrowed brows. “Perhaps Berdusk is more than about keeping tradition, but about making traditions that provide comfort and safety for all folks who pass through. Neither Doxxah or this orc you speak of has caused any true offense that warrants this amount of distrust towards them. Perhaps change is not so bad for a town and we simply need more time.”

My father tapped his finger on his armrest, “So you would erase our history from us?”

I shook my head, “That’s not what I'm suggesting at all. I see it as an expansion of what we could offer.”

“But we can’t please everyone, young lord.” One man said, “We are not as impressive of a town as those larger, more advanced cities like Waterdeep, or Baldur’s Gate. We cannot easily accommodate them and our people would not be comfortable to change for them. Wouldn’t it be safer for them to not be here?”

“So you’re saying we force this gentleman to vacate our town?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a gentlemen, young lord. He’s an orc, he’s from the wild plains in the South. They’re undignified and so uncouth there.” 

My voice was shaking as I spoke. “I don’t see any sound reason to kick him out.”

“It’s for the safety of the town. You must remember that the North District is where families live. An orc living there is…well…it’s preposterous and it cannot stand.”

Tradition. Family. Protecting what’s always been. These were the grumblings that this town rested everything on. It was a narrative that had pervaded and infected the way the Council viewed anything. They had used the same disgusting rant on my mother when she had tried to change things here to help her children and other people's children. Remembering her then made my blood turn hot and I couldn’t listen to any of that bullshit anymore. I sprung to my feet, my chair making a loud clatter as it fell back. The room fell silent.

“You are the ones who are preposterous. Look at you! You all live in denial that times have changed since you were young. Times have changed since our ancestors. Time changes people, it changes us. We have a chance to be more than just Berdusk, a town where all Men live and thrive. Why must it just be humans? Because you’re more comfortable looking at someone who looks and thinks exactly like you! It's easier, isn't it? It’s too uncomfortable to have to consider that other races could be better at your job than you! It's too uncomfortable to have to recognize that maybe your traditions are worse than outright violence. You don’t like that the world is changing to make you less important and you would drive out every last race that isn’t human if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? Including me.” 

The silence in the room was deafening and none of the Councilmen would meet my eyes as I let them have a taste of what I thought of each of them.

I turned to look at my father, who was looking at me with a smug look. 

“I’m dismissing myself from this meeting.” I said, before stepping down and racing out of the room. 

I caught the eye of Commander Gideon who was standing outside the door into the room. He didn’t move, but I caught something in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. I didn’t bother dwelling on it as I continued my march out of the room, out of the building and down the steps towards the town below me. 

The guards weren’t prepared as I barreled passed them and down the street. They tried to follow me, but I shook them off quickly as I wound through the crowds and into another crowded street. My head was pounding, my heart was racing and I only had one place I wanted to be. 

I burst into Doxxah’s bakery, out of breath and heaving. “Where is he?” I asked.

Doxxah broke into a grin and pointed behind them. “In the back, young lord.” 

I didn’t wait for permission to walk around the counter. I wove my way through the various obstacles until I found my way into the back where the room was so much more warm with all of the ovens burning. There was Drun, covered in flour and sweat. He hadn’t seen me and was bent over a tray of rolls, sprinkling a dusting of cinnamon over the top of them. He was biting his bottom lip and was deep in concentration.

All of the tension inside of me loosened at being able to see him. He was adorable in that moment, and I would have loved to take in the image of him like this, but I needed him. I cleared my throat and waited for him to look at me. 

His eyes, his beautiful stormy grey eyes found mine and he raised to his full height. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He looked behind me with a worried expression. He seemed afraid to approach me.

“I just needed to see you.” I said. “I’m…” I felt hot tears as I looked at him. Why couldn’t they see him the way I saw him? He was gentle, he was beautiful, he carried himself so carefully and thoughtfully. How could someone look at him - sprinkling cinnamon on a roll with such care for gods’ sake- and tell me he was of a lesser race? There was nothing about Drunrag that I didn't find lovely and safe and good. I closed the distance and barreled into him, wrapping my arms around him with my head buried in his chest. “Please, let’s go.”

“Where?” He asked.

“Anywhere,” I said, my voice was muffled in his chest and I felt like some pathetic child. 

I felt Drun’s hands settle around me. Holding me around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. His body was so warm.

“Will we be safe?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer.

“Altan.” he said and he pulled me back so he could look at me, he took my hand and placed it on his chest. Oh all of the nine hells consume me, my name on his lips was sin. Gods I needed him.  “Do you feel it?” he asked, using the same words I had said to him.

And I felt it, the quick beating of his heart. It was strong and steady and purposeful. I pressed my hands there, feeling comfort in its power.

“Do you understand?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Do you trust us?” He asked.

“I trust us.” I said. “But my father will never allow me to be with you. We’ll never be safe.” I looked up at him, “The city intends to kick you out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan to do worse. If I can’t go with you, then promise me you’ll go and be safe.”

He shook his head, “Not without you.”

“Then let’s go.” I said. “I’ll leave it all behind, right now.”

I heard Doxxah’s throat clear behind me and I whirled around to see Commander Gideon standing next to them. 

“Your grace.” He said, his voice was gentle. “Your father asked that I get you…he wanted me to inform you that you should say your goodbyes now.”

It was a threat. Say goodbye to your lover and come back repentant or face the punishment. My body tensed and I resisted moving. 

“It’s alright, Altan.” Drun said softly, his hand was on my arm, and he gently coaxed me to return my attention to him. 

I nodded, my face wet with tears. “Drun…I love you.”

He nodded, his hand tightened around me. “And I you.” He leaned forward and his forehead was pressed to mine. “I’m yours, djenifad. Don’t give up on me.” 

He pushed me gently towards the door and I resisted every time. I saw the pain reflected in his eyes as I was being pulled away again from him. “Drun, Drunrag. I love you. I love you...” I could only say it again and again as Commander Gideon took my arm and gently began to pull me away. Drun was standing there, watching me and I saw a faint glint of wet light in his eyes. 

Commander Gideon was gentle as he pulled me discreetly into the carriage that was waiting outside the bakery’s steps. Of course there were still many eyes on us as I pulled myself in. 

“Commander,” I managed to say, struggling to stay composed. “What does my father intend to do to him?”

He remained calm, and he was gentle in his answer, “The Duke did not make any mention of the young orc, only to return you home.”

Somehow, that left me more scared, but I could do nothing else but nod and utter my gratitude to him. He was being surprisingly gentle and kind about all of this. 

Doxxah stood at the door, but not before approaching me and placing in my hands a small box. “He made this one, he added so much cinnamon I couldn’t sell them. I think they’re for you.” 

I laughed before immediately coughing and choking on my tears. My Drun, he remembered I loved cinnamon. I couldn’t speak. I was so overwhelmed with emotion. Doxxah closed the door and backed away, waving gently at me. They didn’t say anything, but I saw an ally in them. They would take care of Drun while I couldn’t be by his side.

The ride was silent, uncomfortable and the Commander was once again patient and gentle as he told me that I was to be escorted to the Duke’s chambers to meet with him. In all of this, I could sense a reluctance in the Commander’s actions. I’m sure he felt a bit like a babysitter and could easily resent me for making his job such a headache, but he continued to remain neutral and impassive. 

My father’s chambers was a room I only saw when I was in trouble and I only ever associated it with bad memories. I never remembered seeing it until I started to disobey my father’s rules and resist his instructions for me, and then I would be taken there to be given a stern talking to. When stern talkings to didn’t work for him, it turned into ridicule, chastisement and sometimes physical punishment. I hated that room.

The room was all dark wood panels, red velvet curtains that kept the room dark and moody. He had little furniture in there, just a round room that was dark and shadowy. When the Commander let me walk in, he waited outside and I stepped in alone.

“You made quite the impression in the Council meeting today.” The Duke said. He was sitting at a chair, a scroll in his hand that he was reading.

My jaw was tight as I took in the sight. “You can do anything you want to me, but you can’t hurt him, do you understand?”

“By our laws, we have no grounds to do anything to him yet.” My father said coolly, not looking up from his readings. “But if I hear or see that he has touched you in any way…I can promise you that I will remove him from your life in one fell swoop and ruin any chance of you seeing him again. I have him right where I want him to keep an eye on him. And you, my son, will be kept under a more severe supervision. So I know where you will be at all times. Be careful of your actions.” 

“Why is it so important to you to control me?” I asked, fighting back the emotion in my voice. I had to stay in control. “There is no love lost between us. Why must we suffer ourselves through this? I’ll never be the person you want me to be. Just let me go, let me be happy with him. I’ll never speak your name again. I’ll change my name if I must. But we don’t have to keep doing this anymore.”

“You ungrateful, insolent boy.” My father seethed, “You have been given everything since the day you were born and I have been the one to give it to you. I could have taken you from your mother as soon as I saw how she was turning your mind against me. But I let her keep you. You were always hers and I was gracious enough to let it be that way. But she is gone and you are mine now, and I will see you thanking me for the mercy I continue to show you.”

“I’m not grateful.” I spat, “How can I be grateful when you intentionally keep me from being who I am? Just…please…let us go.”

He sighed, feigning exhaustion. “I know the moment I set either of you free, you’ll be crawling right back to each other. I see it in both your eyes, you're sick for each other.” 

“I’m not sick, I’ve never been sick. This is my choice.” I pleaded back, “Your Grace…Father. I love him, he means more to me than my own life.”

His eyes became wild at those words, “You would bring yourself this low to get the attention you so crave? If you desire to be nothing more than a whore, then I will find you someone better than this. You depraved child.” He rose to his feet. “I do not see how you became so wrong as you grew, but this would disappoint even your mother to see you as wanton as you are for that beast. You will not see him again, and if either of you seek each other out, it will cost him his freedom.”

I flinched, the words bit into me and I felt tears form once again on the surface of my eyelids, but I did not blink, nor back down, “So what will you have of me, now that I am your depraved, sick, deranged prisoner?” I asked “Should I worship you? Kiss your feet for your bounteous generosity for saving me from my own choices? Or would you prefer your prisoners to stay silent, meek and submissive?”

“You will be grateful and you will follow my instructions with obedience. Do you understand?” His eyes were cold and heartless as he regarded me. “Your life will be easier once you start to see what I’m doing for you and you’ll thank me someday.”

I could not bring myself to beg anymore. I saw the finality of his words in his eyes. He intended to break me, and I was afraid there was no hope to be free this time.

[ao3statistics]

This is self-made. Date: 15.03.2024

The Clinton Jones meant here is the character from White Collar.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available, NOT English only. Includes all fandoms on Ao3 connected to DC, Batman etc.

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

[spiritundaunted]

The Duke of York making his speech at the closing of the Empire Exhibition at Wembley Stadium., in October 1925.

Gosh, you can really see how nervous he is!

I just want to give him a hug! 🥺

So nervous.... 😥 😬

Elizabeth always makes it better..... 🥹

(my first attempt at gifs so be merciful! )

Source video

[robinsfilm]

Peccatores

Masterlist. Navigation.

Summary: In which two confused individuals try to pick up the pieces of themselves slowly, but together.

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Warnings: Gore, blood, description of harm and injury, panic attacks, manipulative behaviour, angst, fighting, explosions, don't worry theres fluff, reader has a life outside of jason, paramedic!reader, imposter syndrome, complicated family dynamics (not only the bat fam).

Notes: Hello to all of you lovely people! Again, thank you for your support for giving me the final push to finally post this. I am looking for advice to improve my writing so I would appreciate your feedback. This first post includes the prologue and chapter 01. In this first part you'll see about four original characters and reader: The unknown man in the prologue, Eden, Chief Rösli and Lorian. In two or three days I will post chapter 02 (you'll be seeing Jason in chapter 02). Chaper 03 was just written. (Meet cute! As cute as him bleeding out in your apartment is). Have fun reading!

Word count: 3.5k.

Dark blue sky, no stars, dark red blood turning bright. A quiet night, only the sound of squelching flesh and blood echoes. Does blood always stain this much? Last time it was already hard to clean out. It doesn't matter anymore. He directs his attention to something else.

Actually, someone else. Their cries go deaf on his ears. It's a job, a dirty one, yes, but a job. Something about a leak. Someone wavering in their loyalty. He just needs to tie the loose ends.

There was no loyalty here, anyway.

He hears a whisper, "P—please, I made a mistake!" They grab at his feet, "a mistake... a stupid, stupid mistake!" They look up at him, face scratched, eyes red, fingers bleeding, nails gone.

He looks down, thinking how feeble life is. How unfortunate.

But this is just a job.

He pulls the trigger.

The silence that follows is thick, almost tangible, a stark contrast to the earlier desperate pleas. The dark alley, hidden away from the bustling city, absorbs the last echoes of life. He watches for a moment, making sure there’s no movement, no final breath escaping. Satisfied, he holsters his weapon, his mind already moving on to the next task.

The city lights flicker in the distance, a reminder of the world that continues on, oblivious to the darkness that festers in its hidden corners. He walks away, blending into the shadows, just another faceless figure in the labyrinth of Gotham.

The night is still young, and the list of tasks is long. As he moves through the deserted streets, the weight of his actions settles in, not as guilt, but as a reminder of the grim reality he has chosen. This life, this path, is not for the faint of heart.

In the back of his mind, a thought lingers. It’s not about loyalty or betrayal. It’s about survival. And in Gotham, survival often comes at the cost of one's humanity.

He heads toward the dilapidated building that has served as his temporary headquarters. It stands as a relic of a bygone era, once majestic but now crumbling under the weight of neglect and time. The windows, shattered and covered in grime, offer no glimpse of the inside. The door, barely hanging on its hinges, creaks ominously as he pushes it open.

Inside, the air is cold, a biting chill that seeps into his bones. The walls are adorned with peeling paint, revealing layers of forgotten history. Dust hangs heavy in the air, disturbed only by his presence. He takes a deep breath, the musty scent filling his lungs, grounding him in the stark reality of his surroundings.

The building’s interior is a maze of rooms and corridors, each more decrepit than the last. Faded photographs and torn posters cling to the walls, remnants of lives once lived. The floorboards creak under his weight, threatening to give way with each step. He moves cautiously, the dim light from his flashlight casting eerie shadows that dance along the walls.

In one of the rooms, he finds a broken mirror, its fractured surface reflecting a distorted version of himself. He stares at the reflection, seeing not just his physical appearance but the person he has become. The coldness in his eyes, the hardness etched into his features. He barely recognizes the man staring back at him.

The sound of distant sirens pierces the silence, a reminder of the world outside. He turns away from the mirror, refocusing on the task at hand. He needs to gather his thoughts, plan his next move. The job is far from over, and any lapse in concentration could be fatal.

As he navigates through the building, he thinks about the person he just left behind. The panic in their eyes, the desperation in their voice. He had seen it all before, countless times. Each encounter blending into the next, a never-ending cycle of fear and resignation. It was always the same, yet somehow, it never got any easier.

He enters a room that appears to have once been an office. An old desk, covered in dust and cobwebs, sits in the center. Papers are strewn across the floor, their contents long faded and illegible. He pulls out a chair and sits down, the wood groaning in protest. For a moment, he allows himself to relax, to let the tension drain from his body.

The cold seeps deeper into his bones, and he wraps his coat tighter around himself. He thinks about the warmth of a fire, the comfort of a safe home. Luxuries he can no longer afford. His life is one of constant motion, never staying in one place for too long. Always looking over his shoulder, always ready to move at a moment’s notice.

His thoughts drift back to the cries he had heard earlier. The sheer panic in their voice. The way they had clung to his feet, begging for mercy. He knows he should feel something–remorse, guilt, maybe even pity. But there’s nothing. Just a hollow emptiness, a void where emotions used to be.

The job has changed him. Hardened him. He’s seen too much, done too much. There’s no going back now. He has accepted his fate, embraced the darkness that has become his life. And yet, a small part of him still yearns for something more. A glimmer of hope in the midst of the chaos.

But hope is a dangerous thing in his line of work. It makes you vulnerable, weak. And weakness is something he cannot afford. Not in Gotham.

He pushes the thoughts aside, forcing himself to focus. There are more tasks to complete, more loose ends to tie up. He cannot afford to dwell on what-ifs and maybes. His survival depends on his ability to stay sharp, to remain detached.

The wind howls outside, rattling the broken windows. He glances toward the sound, seeing the darkness beyond. The night is unforgiving, much like the city itself. A constant battle for control, for power. And he is just a pawn in a much larger game.

He rises from the chair, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. He needs to move, to stay active. The building offers little in the way of comfort, but it provides shelter, a temporary reprieve from the harsh realities outside.

As he makes his way through the corridors, he hears a faint noise. A soft, almost imperceptible sound. He stops, listening intently. The sound grows louder, more distinct. Footsteps. Someone else is here.

His hand moves instinctively to his weapon, his body tensing. He presses himself against the wall, blending into the shadows. The footsteps draw nearer, echoing through the empty halls. He waits, his breath shallow, every sense on high alert.

The figure comes into view, a silhouette against the dim light. They move cautiously, their head turning from side to side as if searching for something—or someone. He watches, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself.

As they draw closer, he steps out from the shadows, his weapon aimed. “Stop right there,” he commands, his voice low and steady. The figure freezes, their hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

They're a child. Blonde hair a mess on his head, clothes dirty and layered on him to keep out the cold.

“I’m not 'ere to cause trouble,” he says, his voice trembling. “I 'ust... I need help.”

He studies the kid, taking in his appearance. Disheveled, their clothes torn and dirty. There’s a look of desperation in the kids eyes, a familiar sight. He lowers his weapon slightly, still wary but willing to listen.

“What do you want?” he asks, keeping his tone neutral.

“Shelter,” The kid replies, his voice cracking. “'ust for the night. Please.” The accent seeps out of his voice. The childs green eyes dart around the room, ready to run if that's what it takes to keep himself alive.

He considers the request, weighing the risks. The building is a temporary refuge, not a safe haven. Allowing someone else in could compromise his own safety. But there’s something in their eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that tugs at a long-buried part of him. The child reminds him of someone.

“Fine,” he says finally. “You can stay. But don’t try anything. Understand?”

The child nods quickly, relief washing over his freckled face. “Thank you,” they whisper.

He gestures for them to follow, leading them to a small, relatively intact room. “You can stay here,” he says. “But remember, I’m watching you.”

He doesn't know if he should laugh or curse himself. There should be no mercy in this job. But he keeps contradicting himself. Every step, he holds out that feeble hope.

They nod again, settling down on the floor, grateful for the small mercy. He watches them for a moment longer, then turns away, his mind already shifting back to the tasks at hand.

The night is long, and there is much to do. But for now, in this cold, abandoned building, there is a brief moment of respite. A small spark of humanity in a world consumed by darkness.

*****

The alarm stopped ringing about an hour ago. It was a cloudy day with no sun—typical for Gotham. You opened the window to let some fresh air in as you leaned against the kitchen counter. The coffee grew colder with every passing second.

You couldn't help but feel anxious about today. You should be excited. You scored this job. You earned it. Yet the feelings of unease clung to you, tasting like rot in your mouth and taking root on your tongue.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the television. It was the news, Gotham News Channel - 08:00 AM Edition. A woman in her thirties looked over the paper in front of her before she gathered the courage to speak.

"Good morning. I'm Eliza Vádas, and this is Gotham News. Our top story today involves a chilling discovery in an abandoned building in the heart of the city." She tore her gaze away from the papers.

She took a breath before continuing, "Authorities are currently investigating the scene of a brutal crime at an old, dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of downtown. The building, long known for its derelict state, became the focal point of a shocking police investigation early this morning."

"Reports indicate that the victim, whose identity has not yet been released, was found under disturbing circumstances. Sources close to the investigation confirm that the scene was one of extreme violence, with signs of a struggle and evidence suggesting a prolonged and harrowing ordeal. Victim was found with torn fingernails and broken rips among other injuries." My god.

You could say typical Gotham, but that never succeeded in pushing down the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach every time you heard news like this. It traveled up, reaching your throat and gripping it tightly. You felt like you were going to throw up.

"Police are tight-lipped about the details of the investigation," Of course they are. "–but have assured the public that they are pursuing all leads." Of course they have. "They are urging anyone with information to come forward as they work to piece together the events leading up to this incident."

"This tragic event adds to Gotham's growing list of unsolved mysteries and raises concerns about safety in our city's neglected corners. We'll keep you updated as more information becomes available."

You could see it in her eyes. She was used to this. Gore, murder, death, missing people, and never-ending bodies to add to the list of other horrid things taking place in this godforsaken city.

The coffee had gone cold. Good job, you thought to yourself. What a way to start the morning. You should be getting to work. That shift isn't going to cover itself.

As you wallowed in your thoughts, you spotted vibrant colors in the corner of your eyes. Tango squawks, and Mango follows suit. They are loud, but what did you expect? The vet did say sun conures are quite vocal and come with colorful personalities. Right now, they were eating. Cute.

You gathered your things. Hair first, jacket next, then onto the shoes and grabbing the bag. A well-practiced routine. Never changing. You were used to it.

Stepping out of the apartment building, you felt the chilly air hit your face. Thank God for the jacket, you thought, making a mental note. You got into your car and started heading for the fire station. Working as a part-time paramedic was no easy job, but you enjoyed it. The people, the environment—it was good. As good as it could be.

As you approached the fire station, the building loomed ahead, a sturdy relic of Gotham's past. The red brick facade, though weathered by time, stood strong and unyielding. Large, arched garage doors, painted a vibrant red, contrasted sharply against the gray sky. The station's name, "Fire Station 21," was emblazoned in bold, white letters above the doors, a beacon of safety and service.

To the side, a tall, narrow tower rose, used for training and drying hoses, its silhouette cutting through the overcast sky. The building's windows, framed in dark metal, were clean but hinted at the wear and tear of years of service. A small, neatly kept lawn with a few hardy shrubs and flowers added a touch of color to the otherwise utilitarian structure.

You pulled into the small parking lot, the gravel crunching under your tires. As you stepped out of the car, the chill in the air made you pull your jacket tighter around you. The familiar scent of smoke and faint traces of engine oil filled your nostrils, mixing with the crisp morning air.

Taking a deep breath, you walked towards the entrance, your footsteps echoing softly against the concrete path. As you reached for the door handle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of nerves and anticipation. The building, solid and dependable, seemed to mirror your resolve. You were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, or that's what you told yourself.

First, check in. As you step in, you can already hear Eden's voice, elegant but firm. You look around before you spot her curly brown hair.

"Eden, what's got you so worked up?" you questioned, hearing people getting out of briefings, talking, and catching up.

She turned to you, her face softening before she continued. "We unfortunately have a few problems with the paperwork. Documents got mixed up and now they've ended up here." She gestured to the small pile of paper she was holding.

Her brown eyes found the archive room, gesturing to it. "There's even more to organize. It's medical records, so we are the only ones on the job." Being the only two paramedics on the job, there was alot of work on both of your shoulders.

You couldn't figure out how to react to that. Happy because that is all you have to do, or disappointed because there's nothing else to do. You sighed before replying.

"I'll get to it. You go take a break. You're always early," you said with a small grin. Eden's always working. Her sienna-colored fingers crossed over her stack of papers before giving you a thankful nod.

Eden sighs, looking at you. "Do not hesitate to ask me to join you. I am more than ready to help. It is my job after all." she answered, giving you a rare smile.

"No, no. Absolutely not! You always do this. Work and work and no breaks." You narrow your eyes at her. "C'mon, leave this to me. I'm grown, I can handle it."

She chuckles, "Of course, so mature and grown. What would I do without you?" She teases. "I'll get going then. Chief Rösli needs me."

You give her a wave and turn towards the archives room.

The archives room was a hidden gem within the fire station, tucked away at the end of a dimly lit hallway. As you pushed open the heavy wooden door, a faint creak echoed in the quiet space. The air inside was cool and slightly musty, filled with the scent of old paper and leather bindings.

Rows of tall, metal shelving units stretched from floor to ceiling, each shelf packed with meticulously organized boxes, binders, and folders. The shelves were labeled with faded, handwritten tags, indicating the years and types of records stored within. Some shelves held large, leather-bound logbooks, their spines cracked and worn from years of handling. Others were filled with neatly stacked boxes, each containing a treasure trove of documents.

At the far end of the room, a long wooden table stood under a single overhead light, casting a warm, yellow glow. The table was cluttered with various files, maps, and old photographs, remnants of past research projects and investigations. A few chairs, their cushions faded and threadbare, surrounded the table, inviting anyone who needed to delve into the past.

Against one wall, a row of filing cabinets stood sentinel, their metal surfaces cool to the touch. Each drawer was labeled with precise detail, cataloging the contents within. The cabinets contained a mix of official reports, personnel records, and incident logs, all carefully preserved for future reference.

In one corner of the room, a small desk with an old computer and a vintage typewriter sat side by side, bridging the gap between the past and present. The computer was used for digital records, while the typewriter bore the weight of history, a reminder of how things were once documented.

Soft light filtered through a single, narrow window high on the wall, casting long shadows across the room. The window, partially obscured by dust and cobwebs, provided a view of the outside world—a stark contrast to the timeless atmosphere within the archives.

The walls were lined with framed photographs and newspaper clippings, each telling a story of the station’s history. Faces of firefighters from decades past stared out from sepia-toned images, their expressions stoic and proud. Yellowed newspaper articles recounted heroic rescues, devastating fires, and moments of triumph and tragedy.

As you moved through the room, the faint rustle of paper and the occasional squeak of a drawer were the only sounds. The papers that needed to be looked through were on the table.

Time to get to work.

The medical files were... well, just medical files.

Patient: Ravi Patel

Incident Date: June 14, 2023

Description: Patient was involved in a multi-vehicle collision on the Gotham Parkway. Sustained a broken left femur, multiple lacerations, and a concussion. Initial treatment included stabilizing the leg with a splint, controlling bleeding, and administering pain relief. Patient was transported to Gotham General Hospital for further treatment and surgery.

Patient: Jody Chastain

Incident Date: July 5, 2023

Description: Patient suffered from severe anaphylactic shock after exposure to peanuts at a local restaurant. Immediate administration of epinephrine and oxygen therapy provided on-site. Patient’s condition stabilized before being transported to Gotham Medical Center for observation and further care.

One file did catch your eye.

Patient Name: ///////////////

Incident Date: July 24, 2022

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, East Gotham

Description: Patient found with severe injuries consistent with violent assault. Evidence of a prolonged struggle.

Injuries:

Lacerations: Deep cuts on torso and limbs.

Facial Trauma: Bruising, swelling, cuts on face.

Fingernail Damage: Torn fingernails.

Fractures: Broken fingers, possible rib fractures.

Contusions: Bruises on chest, abdomen, back.

Shock: Rapid heartbeat, low blood.

Initial Treatment:

Stabilization: Secured airway, administered oxygen, started IV fluids.

Wound Care: Applied sterile dressings.

Pain Management: Administered analgesics.

Immobilization: Splinted fractures.

Transport: Taken to Gotham General Hospital for emergency treatment.

Notes: Patient regained consciousness en route. Showed signs of distress and disorientation. Immediate surgery required.

Follow-Up: Admitted to ICU for monitoring and recovery. Further imaging scheduled. Psychological evaluation recommended.

Talk about déjà vu. Isn't this just like that crime from the news? What is something like this doing here? Shouldn't this be with the police? Similar place, similar injuries..

As you ponder over the file, the door opens. You tear your eyes away from it to look at the intruder. One of your colleagues, obviously. Who else would it be?

"Lorian, there's a thing called knocking, you know. You scared me," you say, giving him a light chuckle. Lorian runs his hand through his blonde locks, his green eyes darting around the room before landing on you, and then the record in your hands. His freckled face filled with unease.

He straightens his posture, his voice soft and low. "The chief needs that," he says, gesturing to the paper.

You look at him, confusion furrowing your brow. "Why does Chief Rösli want this? It’s just a medical record.

Lorian hesitates for a moment, his gaze shifting uncomfortably. "I'm not sure. I was just asked to retrieve it. It’s not really my place to question, you know? But it seems urgent."

You nod, a bit reluctant. "Alright, I'll hand it over." Chief Rösli is his father. Alot of people say that's the only reason Lorian got the job. Your opinion is a bit different. Yes, he's a bit aloof and distant, but he does his job brilliantly.

You carefully place the file into his hands. Lorian gives you a quick, appreciative nod before turning and leaving the room.

As the door closes behind him, the room is swallowed by a heavy silence. You stand there, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls, your mind racing with questions. Why would the chief need this particular record? What connection does it have to the crime from the news? Why send his son to retrieve it? Maybe you're overthinking it.

It's just a medical record.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. The archive room, once a comforting haven, now feels oppressive, filled with unanswered questions and unsettling parallels. You take a deep breath and gather yourself, preparing to face whatever comes next.

With a final glance at the room’s cluttered serenity, you turn off the light and make your way out, leaving behind the mysteries of the archives room and the unsettling echoes of the morning’s news.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[spinning-angel]

BRO!!!

Bro.

A Batman fanfiction called ‘Must Have Been the Wind’ about Tim Drake leaving Gotham to pursue self-betterment after realizing how badly the batfamily treats him. Dick was nice at first before Dick wanted to send him to Arkham for his ‘mental instability’ and Tim Drake is desperate for love from being so starved of it from his own family. He’s used to being treated badly, explains it away, and even expects it because he’s never known better in his life ever.

Bruce is always too late, for being a detective he is rather blind to actual problems until they have already occurred. He can solve a murder, but he can’t save anyone. He deals in facts, not sensitivities.

Alfred is either silent or an appeaser to both sides.

Dick tries to send him away to Arkham.

Jason tries to murder him.

Cass tried to murder him in the beginning, and even with their now good relationship she abandons him to go to Hong Kong when he needs her most.

Damian tries to murder him multiple times, actively antagonizes him, and still hates him.

I’d like to think he’s scared of anything else at first because he’s used to silently suffering, and something new is much scarier than something familiar. Tim thought it was normal, that his life with his parents and the Wayne’s was love, but ever the detective he starts to question things when he goes to Ives’ house. He has so many questions; like why do his parents ask about his day? Lean in close, rub his shoulder, look at him so affectionately? Playful arguments, laughing at the dinner table, helping each other with dishes, taking care of the other when they’re sick? Why do they want him when to Tim, children should only be around when they are needed without exception? To Tim, children are a necessity because they are expected, not wanted, because Tim is and feels unwanted so much and seeing a family acting like this..he gets a little emotional and confused.

He might act out, yell rage and scream, ‘why do your parents love you, but mine never did!??!!’ And cry while being hugged and soothed. Or he might watch on with scientific integrity, with no spoken opinion, only to politely ask Ives carefully formed questions later in the comfort of only his presence so no one else will be able to hear his voice tremble, see him break whilst his theories are confirmed. He has been abused. By both his parents and Bruce, and not in entirely dissimilar ways either which is probably why he didn’t notice. If Bruce hit him he would have said something, if Bruce touched him he would have went to Dick who would keep him safe, but Bruce hurts him with his inaction. He hold back on touch, love, affection, everything Tim has already been deprived of. Dick gives plenty of hugs, but it’s different from someone who’s supposed to be your father, it is something Tim has never experienced before and fears he never will.

So he leaves, keeps in touch with Ives who showed him what a loving family should act like and anyone else who he thinks would care (Kon, Bart, Cassie, even Duke!!), then disappears into the winds one day. No one notices for months, could even be years, it’s not like Tim is keeping track. At first though, he does. He dreads the fact he left immediately, starts counting the days from the first, hoping and wistfully wondering if one of them is frantically searching for him…but after a while those feelings fade away and he is left feeling utterly content in the knowledge that he got away before he became another dead robin. It was all he would have been in the end, no name, no Tim Drake, Tim Wayne, or just Tim.

He’d have been another faceless robin who died at a time when he should have been going to friends houses, going through puberty, going to parties, teenage angst, petty arguments, hate, love love love —having a life that didn’t revolve around covering up broken bones and bruises in time for school with 30 missing assignments cause he was too busy fighting crime— normal kid things. Instead, he was given two parents who were never around enough to care about him, and gained a brother and a father who only saw his dead successor in everything he did. It made him feel fake, a complete fraud, inhuman. He had to earn their love when he should have already had it.

Now he’s willingly lost everything to start over again, and he’s okay with that. Tim has accepted that sometimes you need to let things go to let other things in. Two steps back to take five steps forward.

Present day, Tim lives in a nice suburban neighborhood where everyone knows each other and the community is small but strong. The type of community where you’ll walk your dog and everyone who passes by will wave and ask about your day, even invite you to their house for dinner. It’s not what his parents would have wanted, but it’s what Tim wants and Tim doesn’t think he has ever had the chance to freely want something before coming here.

He’s not hiding either, he still goes by Tim Drake, Ives comes to visit him when he feels well enough to, Kon, Bart, and Cassie call weekly to talk about life sans superheroing. Even Duke visits in the evenings on weekends and sleeps over on saturdays before leaving late on Sunday because he’s got school tomorrow.

Anyone could find him anytime, but no one has—Dick, Jason, Cass, Damian, Bruce— because they don’t realize they lost him. One day they might finally understand, or attempt to make amends when they try to become better.

Bruce might hug him and say he loves him

Alfred might call him ‘dear boy’ and ask if he’s been eating

Dick might congratulate him for finding peace

Jason might apologize and make it up to him by cooking one of alfreds recipes

Cass might come home permanently and just lie down next to him, no words needed

Damian might pet his dog and call him Timothy

Though, for now Tim doesn’t worry about waiting because the only thing he’s waiting for everyday is walking his dog in the morning and talking to friends who love him. That’s all he needs.

SUMMARY: fanfiction idea about tim healing from toxic family relations and learning how to love and appreciate himself the way he shouldve since the beginning, but he went from shitty parents to even shittier parent so he never had the time to take a breather and think that he doesnt deserve this treatment

[thedragonemperess]

Episode 22 of the Vampire Diaries and I'm looking for a filler episode. Where is the filler episode. This is episode 22 of Season 1 and I am in dire need of a filler episode. These characters are great, I love seeing them interact, I want a little bit less of the rapid fire plot progression in which nothing gets the time to sit in itself or grow. How high is the bidding for a filler episode. I am desperately searching for a filler episode. Can someone please get me a filler episo-

.....What's that?

............There is no filler episode?

............................................

Well, fuck me.

[starlooove]

So which is it? Did Bruce treat everyone like that or was he only super mean to Steph bc of the writers? Like I’m tired of the excuses being made, if it was one and done whatever but the way Bruce treated steph did impact her story and then changing stephs personality to golden retriever blond doesn’t change that at all lmao

[cherchersketch]

The Northern Duke Needs a Warm Hug

The whole premise is basically “what if the ~Cold Duke from the North~ can’t actually withstand the cold. Lolol

Not sure if the title is too generic, or this is just a super obscure manhwa, but it was basically impossible to find the og Korean cover design. ;;;

Summary Our main girl was isekai-ed into a romance fantasy novel... as an extra who barely exists. So she decides to be ~big-brain~ and takes a vacation while the events of the og novel happen. But oops, now that all the trouble is over, OG!ML thinks her actions were super sus. So he sends her to the ~*cold north*~ to investigate the Duke’s curse. Except the King is just straight up trolling (and lowkey a matchmaker), there’s no curse... but that doesn’t mean there ain’t no plot happening because some villains ain’t dead yet.

Tropes   - isekai-ed but I’m just an extra!??!?   - past life explained in one chapter   - the main plot has already happened this would technically be sidestory material

FL - Imperial Wizard Nisha

 - girl just wanted to be lowkey but that just made her stand out more  - the definition of book smart street dumb

ML - Duke Lanfel Delore

 - it’s a *DUKE IN THE NORTH* with the furry blue cloak  - when “cold duke of the north” is not refering to a duke of the north with a cold personality, but a duke from the north who’s always getting a cold  - I love it when a guy do the blushublushu ///UwU///  - the guy always falls in love first ;w;  - bundle up the cinnamon roll, keep our mans warm

Rating: I enjoyed my time reading this It seems like a cute fun read Status (as of 5 Mar 2023) Ongoing. Pretty new, though I don’t think it’ll run for that long. I’ll be surprised if it hits 100 episodes.

Same Same but Different  - Happily Ever Afterwards

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