#FYI THIS IS SATIRE I PROMISE

[sailfish-serum]

More fuckpowerlevels yaoi

[consanguinitatum]

David Tennant's Obscure Performances: His Involvement with Read Not Dead (pt 3) - What You Will

Okay - I promised to fill everyone in on the two unattributed plays David did for the Globe's Read Not Dead project, didn't I? So I'll begin the first never-before-talked-about-in-the-fandom play right now. If you want to catch up on the first two parts and understand a little bit of the history behind the Read Not Dead project before diving into this one, go here for the first part, and here for the second. Then come on back!

The second and third of the four Sunday afternoon staged readings David did while working with the Globe's Read Not Dead (heretofore called RND) project were written by the same author: John Marston. But before we get into the plays themselves, let's take some time to learn a little about John Marston.

Marston was an English playwright whose best known work is 1604's The Malcontent. He began writing in 1598. Much of his work was written for the boy’s theatre company Children of Paul’s and for the Blackfriars. If you went back to one of my previous posts about the Read Not Dead project and David's involvement in their staged reading of 1606's The Fleer by Edward Sharpham, you'll recall reading a bit about the Blackfriars (but if not, they were the Blackfriars Children, a theatre company wholly made up of boy actors.) Anyway, John Marston was a Blackfriars shareholder.

Marston's plays were very popular. He was a consummate satirist who made sure to include lust, violent imagery and impropriety in almost every play he wrote - his poetry was burned by church order! He even dared to satirize the King (though he had to apologize for that of course!) His satirical, critical work caused many a political scandal. Eventually in 1608 Marston was sent to Newgate Prison. After his release, he decided to abandon the theatre, move out of London, and take holy orders. He died in 1634, and to our knowledge never wrote another play. ( As an aside, I encourage you to learn more about Marston. As well as being a contemporary of Shakespeare, he's quite the fascinating character! Here's a good start.)

Okay. Let's go back to the "present" of 2002.

David was a busy boy! He began 2002 starring as Robert in Push Up, an ensemble play about ambition at work. Written by Roland Schimmelpfennig and directed by Ramin Gray, it opened 8 Febuary 2002 at the Jerwood Theatre at the Royal Court.

Push Up was a vignette-style play, and The Telegraph had this to say about it: "The meat of this 90-minute play consists of three edgy, aggressive dialogues between rivals in the firm." David played Robert, who "turns down a proposal from Patrizia for a new TV ad, identical, it turns out, to the one we have already heard described, except that the puddle is now located in New York's Central Park. The fact that these two once had great illicit sex together in Kramer's office, and were both too proud to contact the other afterwards, merely adds to their animosity."

(FYI, I've listened to an audio recording of this play, as it's archived at the British Library. It's stellar!)

David Tennant as Robert in Push Up, 2002

If you've read my previous threads, you'll recall David's first reading with RND was 1999's Edward III and his last was 2004's The Fleer. But now we're in 2002. And David hadn't done another staged reading with RND since 1999. But that was about to change.

Reviews for Push Up were very favorable. The acting was called outstanding, David's was called "a fine performance", and one reviewer said the "undertow of lust between Tennant and [co-star Jaqueline] Defferary [was] particularly riveting." Push Up's run ended in March 2002.

(Oh...I asked director Ramin Gray if there had ever been a programme for Push Up. He told me a printed edition of the play text with the cast list was available, but as far as he was aware, an official Royal Court programme wasn't made for the run. Published by Nick Hern Books, you can find it on Amazon!)

A month later (April 2002) David was treading the boards again as young security guard Jeff in Lobby Hero by Kenneth Lonergan. Set in the lobby of a middle-income Manhattan high rise, the play presented moral dilemmas about things like culpability, justice, and the dangers of truth. Lobby Hero opened at the Donmar from 10 April 2002 to 4 May 2002, then reopened at the New Ambassadors Theatre from 1 July 2002 to 10 August 2002. During its run, the play (& DT!) got rave reviews. It earned David a Olivier nomination for Best Actor, and the play for Best New Comedy.

David Tennant as Jeff in Lobby Hero, 2002

David was probably riding a bit high. Push Up had done well and he'd immediately gone to do Lobby Hero, which was generating awards buzz. But did you notice something about the Lobby Hero dates? David had a month off between runs. And he didn't just sit around twiddling his thumbs -- nope nope nope -- because we all know twiddling has never been David's style.

So on 26 May 2002, David showed up once again to participate in RND. This time it was for a comedy called What You Will, which the aforementioned playwright John Marston likely wrote around 1601 but which was not published until around 1607. What You Will was written while Marston was duking it out (in literary-fashion) with a contemporary writer called Ben Jonson. To say the two men didn't like each other was an understatement. They traded satirical jabs and placed caricatures of each other in their plays. And oh....if the play's title feels vaguely familiar to you, you're not wrong there either! Marston pinched the name of the play from a little old thing you might've heard of called Twelfth Night, written by some fellow called Shakespeare.

What You Will was full of song, music and dance, as it had been written for a children's theatre company. It had a large number of younger parts - pages and the like, and women - for the boys to fill (as I'm sure you'll recall, at this time women's roles were played by men and boys.) In addition to the music, it was also a satire as well as a romantic comedy. Set in Venice, it tells the story of Celia, who believes her husband drowned in a shipwreck. She plans to marry, but another of her suitors, Jacomo, schemes with her family to prevent this. David played the role of Jacomo.

And here's the cast list - again, all thanks and credit for the digitized list goes to the Globe Archives!

Here's a more in-depth look at the plot, and here's a link to the full text of the play, if you're interested.

This performance was recorded, though I haven't listened to it (and sadly, the archive notes the last part of the audio is cut off.) You can listen to the recording of the performance and others from the series, as the recordings are archived in the Globe Archive and Library in London. Access to the archive is available by appointment only for professionals and academics affiliated with institutions of higher education.

So on that Sunday in 2002, David joined in to perform the satirical musical romantic comedy What You Will, directed by James Wallace. And speaking of musical parts - there was singing and dancing to do, scripts in hand. And Jacomo had at least one song to sing!

I'm sure many of you have wondered whether David's done any honest to goodness musicals during his career. Well, I'm here to tell you that while he's burst into song relatively recently and briefly with Don Juan In Soho and Good, and quite possibly with What You Will as well (I haven't listened to the recording of the play to see if David actually sang) - I can provide a partial answer to that question. In a previous interview he mentioned an early play he did in drama school called The Hired Man and said he was a member of the chorus. Yes, that's true, he was, and yes, he did sing in that 1989 production (listen here to hear him sing part of what he sang then.) So he's certainly flirted with the genre. But as I've done much research into those early days of his, there miiiiiight be a few other productions in which he sang. *ahem* I'm just sayin'.

All that comes later. For now, here ends the tale of What You Will. But don't despair - I mentioned earlier we've got one more staged RND reading of David's to explore, and I hope you'll tune in to hear about it, too!

[polysprachig]

tell us more about these projects! i’ve struggled to pick up languages again after an extended break and no time and a project-based approach seems very refreshing!

Apologies in advance for the long post. I do plan on making a more detailed post on this at a later point hopefully a video but I make no promises these days.

Important note!! Before you start any short- or long-term learning projects, begin a polyglot journal outlining your objectives and check in every two weeks with an extra detailed summary of what you’ve done, haven’t done, dislike, feel needs changing, etc. either once per quarter or 2x year. Your micro-goals, methods and timeline should shift over time, showing that you can reassess the project and try out new things to suit your needs. If you don't update on time it's nbd, but at least try to write a note in your planner or calendar about what you did when because it can be extremely helpful one year later when you try to revisit where you are now and how you got there. 🧿🤍

The main projects from 2019 to today include the following

Greek - Conversational Speaking, 2019

Goal: meet for casual 30-minute lessons with a teacher, 2 or 3x per week to build up conversational skills and high frequency grammar in use as a passive bilingual (it being the native language which I actively lost growing up for various reasons).

Reflection: The real studies were repetition in speech and looking up key vocabulary I would need to use to tell my teacher about what happened in the last week, and my teacher supplied me with additional vocabulary to help me be more specific. Now I have a record of that vocabulary which I can review whenever by topic/story. Plus my family did notice my drastic improvement and asked if I had been studying.

Irish - The Merlin Project (Quarantine Project), 2020-2022 (+ ongoing, needs new methodology because I met my aims a while back at this point)

Aim: Go from A2 to B1 by learning to write so that you can have the skills to be able to read longer texts

Challenge: Rewatch an episode from the last show that you watched and write down what you see in as much detail as possible, making sure to use a grammar point you’re currently studying in your writing. Look up new words to make the text more specific and add them to the description. Correct your text. Watch the same scene again and add more detail, as in the following:

(Basically: first: do a grammar practice, then: watch 30 seconds, write using that grammar, translate dialogue if you want, consult dictionary, write again incorporating the new words and/or make the sentences more complex, at the end: correct your text yourself or with a teacher, start again and repeat until the scene or full episode is complete or you've exhausted the usefulness of the exercise.)

Alternatively just write or translate fanfiction, but I don't say that here.

By self-correcting you should become very confident on the basic skills at your level, whereas the rewriting itself allows for varied attempts at forming sentences and vocabulary acquisition in a specific context.

FYI I posted the project itself along with the notes to my website (here) and intend to share the presentation on the experience I gave in the Gaeltacht this past August soon enough.

Multilingual, select Romance and Germanic languages - The Diana Project, 2022-present

Challenge: dive deep into the rhythm, melody and sound of certain languages (which relate to a poet I’m analysing) via a slow read of poetry and familiarisation with the poet, poet-translator and poet-actor

Components: read, write, translate and recite poetry on the subject of Greco-Roman tragedy (now its shifting to satire after 1+ year or so of tragic influences) from select eras and in select styles, ex. ottava rima, rhyming verse & simultaneously learn about the rhetoric of poetics that influenced these authors and their poems or translations

These writings I’m still adding to my website as part of a translation, recitation and poetry portfolio.

Most recently, I’ve started what I call the Secret Senecan Project which requires reading certain ancient and mediaevil texts on stories I’m familiar with in the original, identifying key words based on context then extrapolating the grammar from their features (declinations, location in reference to other word forms, etc.). The next step will be to compare these predictions with the bilingual translation and consult my grammar books in those languages to confirm or improve my predictions.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope to polish this up and make the details more learner-friendly sometime before 2024. (:

[olivieblake]

hi alexene! coming in as anon because you’re probably tired of me clogging your mentions every elsewhere <3

just wanted to nonchalantly (narrator: ha! she says, lying.) express how much i love and appreciate all that you’ve written (that i’ve read) (i’m working on it; you’ve written a lot) (i’m glad i’m not running out anytime soon too) and each mean so, so much to me in very, very different ways.

the atlas six is one of my all-time favorites for reasons this lifetime simply won’t be enough for me to count them all (reina and tristan are my faves but i love every single character that they keep switching ranks)

alone with you in the ether is the kind of book i never thought i’d adore and relate to this deeply with all that it was and it means the absolute world to me (charlotte regan and rinaldo damiani are my best friends they’re everything to me i want to give them hugs and third-wheel them at the art museum)

masters of death has one of the most chaotic and lovable ensemble of characters that will stay with me for a very long time (mayra and callix may be my faves but don’t tell the others i said that… no but really, i love them all it’s actually insane but i shouldn’t expect less because i love all characters crafted by you)

and these three have one (not really but let’s say that for the sake of dramatics) thing in common: they’re all written by you.

you have absolutely quickly become my #1 favorite author and. not to be that person but. that means a lot to me. i mean this in the humblest way possible, i’ve read a lot of books and admire a lot of authors but i realize none come close to you. your writing and craft just collects some elements that are closest to my poor fragile heart and i couldn’t ask more of in novels. the 3 single books i’ve read are all unique, have nothing to do with each other, each different from the other—and they all singlehandedly stole my heart.

i’m so glad (and incredibly lucky) to have stumbled upon your books when i needed them. they (weirdly, but very conveniently) came to me in appropriate times when i needed them most. does that make any sense? especially regan and aldo; i needed them a lot and, again, and forever, i admire what you did in that book and that story and these characters. they really have, like all of your characters in ta6 and mod too, squeezed themselves into the crevices of my heart and i am so, so grateful for their existence. thank you for that.

(narrator: if this is nonchalance, no one wants to see the chalance.)

this has been too long indeed but. i realize this “ask” has no ask for you to answer so i’ll add this: which book of yours do you recommend i read next? i already have my eyes on one for my enemy because that really looks like my cuppa tea, but i’d love to get your rec! also, what’s a book that is not by you but similar to your books in any aspect (or not, necessarily, just your favorite or a book you loved maybe) that you’d recommend me?

sending love to you always and to mr & baby blake !!! <3

fyi, I ALWAYS, without exception, prefer usernames to anon asks. I would always rather have a conversation with a person than the faceless abyss, so please don't feel the need to conceal yourself! you're never bothering me as yourself, I promise. anyway

this is so kind and I'm really so happy to hear it, especially considering how different these three books are! it's kind of crazy to think they could all be satisfying given their differences but I really do appreciate this. I would say One For My Enemy is the next choice, especially if you're already eyeing it, and for books that feel like me but are not by me? I think the top of the list would be White Teeth by zadie smith (mostly in terms of tone/humor) or any of cat sebastian's historical romances (again, her humor) and Gideon the Ninth is funnier than I am capable of being probably but I think if you enjoy my work, you probably enjoy that as well. I mostly like weird books? and think of myself as a purveyor of somewhat weird books (Masters of Death is certainly quite odd) and some of the things I enjoy in that category are Her Fearful Symmetry by audrey niffenegger (a weird ghost story) or Anxious People by fredrik backman (a weird not-crime novel) or My Sister, the Serial Killer (a weird, satirical thriller). oh, and Catherine House, which is kind of weird dark academia, though again, bear in mind that I enjoy difficult protagonists

anyway I have to go because my baby needs to eat (again) but thank you so much for reading my stories!! I love being in ur brain, thank u for letting me live there I appreciate it greatly

[boimgfrog]

Hey @ my new followers just fyi I'm not a toxic jpop stan this is literally a joke it's satire I'm rping with my friends please i promise im not actually like this

[notsolstice]

Hey!! So that post about wayward son (after realizing not the song) made me monkey side-eye my bookcase to the two novels on my bookshelf and I googled what ppl's beef w her is and long story short, books are in the garbage lol. I literally only bought them bc of the Kevin wada art and never got around to reading them, so yeah waste of money, but no skin off my nose. That being said, you got any recs for some good books?? I don't think I have a particular preference, but I'd def prefer non-fiction (I get enough of real life from daily news articles tbh). If it's too much work, don't hesitate to trash this ask, but I just thought I'd give it a shot since u seem well read and I literally don't think I've read anything extensively since I hyperfixated on the Sherlock Holmes anthology for 16 hours straight lol

oh hell yeah successfully tricked someone else into thinking i am well-read

and oh yeah i know i joke but yea don’t read rainbow rowell’s books because it doesn’t matter how many beautiful covers she gets from a collab with a high profile asian american artists there’s no excusing her first mess of a book. plus the fact that they’re apparently making a movie (???) she’s really not trying to apologize or rehab her image very well lol

BUT ANYWAYS idk if you meant fiction instead of non-fiction but if you’re after non-fiction unfort I will not be of much help since I’ve read like, 2 non-fiction books in the last 10 years and I almost exclusively read genre fiction so apologies in advance if this list is useless 2 u. also just fyi i don’t really read modern YA because I’m a crotchety grandmother so if you are looking for YA that is more woke then I will also not be of much help here. and don’t read the raven cycle no matter what tumblr tells u

the southern reach trilogy by jeff vandermeer. the books are probably my all-time favorite sci-fi literature ever, although calling them sci-fi is probably not accurate. more like magical realism science fiction? first book starts with a team of all-women scientists exploring an area that is hostile to humans on behalf of a shady institution and things get weird from there. the second book drags a bit but it is SO worth it trust me. don’t watch the movie

piranesi by susanna clarke. this is her most recent book, and I’m reccing it instead of her first book, jonathan strange & mr norrell because piranesi is a quick read compared to jsamn which is 800 damn pages long and dense as HELL and probably a little intimidating if you’re out of practice reading. however I do also recommend that if you have the patience.

DISCWORLD by terry pratchett. the discworld series is actually about like 50 books or something ridiculous and ugh ok I was trying to keep this not intimidating but it’s so worth it I promise. dw was a foundational text to my sense of humor which, actually hm. that might not be the best endorsement but whatever. it started out as just a parody/satire of those trashy fantasy books from the 70s-80s but it expanded into its own universe. also you may know it if you watched/read good omens, sir terry was the other co-author besides neil gaiman. you do not have to read them in chronological publishing order btw, they’re actually more like comics, where you can pick a character/set of characters and read their series within the larger canon. there are a lot of reading order lists out there so it’s pretty easy to pick one and start, but I can definitely help more if u want!!!

salt: a world history by mark kurlansky. ok this is a non-fiction book I just picked up and it is very interesting despite the title but this has exhausted my recs for non-fiction i’m sorry. or you can read the giant book about cancer the emperor of all maladies which was great but wiped me out on non-fiction for about a decade

the matthew swift series by kate griffin. i think it’s got some other fancy name as a series title but i literally cannot remember it right now oh well. not the highest brow of Great Literature but i loved this series about a sad man brought back from the dead to do magic with garbage bins and telephone booths. and it’s a series of books about adults doing magic but in no way can it be described as “harry potter for grownups” so that earns it points immediately

wilder girls by rory power. oh wait I did read one YA book that I liked!!!!! this is kind of similar to jeff vandermeer’s writing, although a little less intense. there’s a lot of body horror and feral teenage girls and is delightful to read if you were at any point in your life a feral teenage girl

the starless sea by erin morgenstern. skirting the edge of YA with this one but it was fun and gay and what you should read instead of wayward sons. or just read some spn fanfic i got recs for that too

I have a lot more books I’m trying to read now but I feel like this is a decent place to stop before I start recommending chuck palahniuk and embarrassing myself with my cishet male taste

[falling-pages]

😈 Takashi for "was he/she worth it?"

I ALWAYS WRITE TOO MUCH FOR THESE PROMPTS SO WE’RE GONNA MAKE THIS ONE A TRILOGY AND I HOPE YOU’RE OKAY WITH THAT. IT’S THREE AM AND I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN ABOUT TWO DAYS SO HERE WE GO. PARTS 2 AND 3 WILL BE POSTED SOON IN THE REBLOGS.

UPDATE: PART 2 POSTED HERE

Romeo & Juliet: Mori x reader (part 1/3)

FYI, this is an AU where Mori is not rich or related to Honey. He’s just a normal guy, rather poor, who falls in love with a celebrity’s daughter.Also, I don’t think this first part is very good because it is setting up for parts 2 and 3, which will be good, I promise!

Romeo and Juliet wasn’t just a warning about hasty love or a satiric play about class divisions. It was a story of love conquering all, creating a bond that severs societal expectations and lasts past death. Though often reviled by actors and mocked by shallow-minded literature snobs, you knew it to be a tale of love and sacrifice for the greater good. 

The young lovers were never meant to be happy. They were only pawns that had the unfortunate desire to act out.

You would know, because you’re living it right now. 

When you first laid eyes on Takashi Morinozuka, you knew you were bound to love him. Before you even knew his name, you were drawn to the regal way in which he carried himself, convinced he was of noble birth. But when you looked closer and saw the callouses on his skin and plain clothing, you could tell he wasn’t.

You felt your heart shatter over a future that could never be before it had even begun. 

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself.

It is fitting that you met in a pet shelter. It was the only place you could be yourself, because animals don’t ask for selfies or autographs, and it was the only place that Takashi wasn’t met with fear. Dogs can see everything humans can’t. When others saw a tall, brutish-looking teenage boy with a face of stone and hair of tar, the dogs saw a smiling, humble companion. And you–well, you saw the love of your life.

Takashi didn’t see you at first. He was too busy putting a dog back in its kennel after a walk when suddenly you were half-way to him, drawn in by that brooding air. The dog barked and like a trumpet from Heaven, the boy looked at you.

The look he gave you sent chills down your spine. His gray eyes widened, and he made a choking sound, so distracted that he forgot to latch the cage. Out scuttled the pooch, a wiry gray dog, who immediately pounced on you and tackled you to the floor in a giant licking fit.

“Benaya.”

You gasped at the boy’s deep voice, and then again as the dog, this harbringer, stepped on your windpipe in obedience. Benaya pranced back to his handler, a smile on that bearded face, as the boy ran to you in horror.

“Miss, are you alright?”

You fluttered you eyes open to see him crouched beside you, hand resting by your head. Close-up, you could see the worry etched in every gentle line of his face.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you whisper, rubbing the side of your head. You accept his outstretched hand, and when he pulls you to your feet, you see just how big he really is. You were tall for a girl anyways, but you felt so small, so feminine with him. It was a nice feeling to have his hand completely cover yours. And as you met eyes, you felt yourself fall.

Later, Takashi told you he never believed in fate until that moment.

“Is this your dog?” you asked, letting go of his hand and pointing.

The little rascal was sitting on his bed, paws crossed, with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Self-satisfaction reeked from him.

“No,” the boy whispered. “Not yet. I just volunteer here.” Your eyes wandered to his ID card in a lanyard around his neck. “But once I save up the adoption fee, they said I could have him. They gave me some other supplies for him.”

His voice filled with emotion, a spark you hadn’t yet heard in his deadpan tone. As if he understood, Benaya wagged his tail, giving a little “yip” of approval. It was obvious how much they both loved each other.

As you were about to ask him more, you spotted your sister, Etsuko, searching for you. You groaned at your babysitter.

“I have to leave,” you say, grabbing the boy’s attention.

“Will I see you again?” he blurts out.

You smile at the butterflies lining your stomach. Crazy fans always asked that, and you would be alarmed at such sudden desperation, but something was different with him. “Of course. I’ll be back next Saturday.” The back of your neck burns, as if Etsuko is lasering her disapproval into your skin. “Goodbye…?”

“Call me Takashi.” It suited him, long and strong.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

He blinked, lightly wetting his lips. “Goodbye, Miss (Y/N).”

On the drive home, the situation rolled over in your mind. He was the first person in a while to not gawk or stammer when they realized who you were. It was refreshing to be treated like a normal person for once.

- - - - - - - - - – - - - - - – - - - - - - - - - - - - – - -

Weekly shelter visits progressed into biweekly walks in the park that turned into tiny daily after-school adventures with the boy with the hard face. As you spent more time with him, usually petting your favorite teacup chihuahua while watching him wrestle with Benaya in the park, you felt yourself drawn into his mysterious aura. 

He was different than all the boys who had tried to court you before. He was rough and often came back from walks dirty with a smile on his face. He rarely spoke, which was nice. It was a break from all the flattery you endured from hopeless rejects trying to get on your parents’ good sides. And though he did admit he was a fan of your parents’ music–they had redefined the category of modern Japanese classicalism, after all–he never spouted about them. He liked you, he enjoyed your company. He wasn’t using you to get ahead. That was a feeling you rarely got from anyone. 

Takashi lacked the charisma and social standing of any boys in your circle, but he possessed a kind heart and a certain innocence that poor people have, free from any ulterior motives. You had never seen such genuine loyalty before. 

The more time you spent with him, the stronger you felt that connection grow. You felt safest around him. His towering build scared off potential attackers, sure, and you felt comforted when his shadow covered you from nosy paparazzi. But feeling safe and protected wasn’t just about warding off potential thieves. It was about placing your heart in his hands and knowing he wouldn’t crush it. After years of being on your guard against people using you for your fame, you could finally show Takashi this hidden room inside your soul, unlocking your emotions just for him. 

He would always respond the same way: listening to you, drinking in your grievances and excitement. Occasionally he would mutter a “ya” to remind you he’s there, but most often he would pull you onto his lap or against his chest so you could feel him shielding you from the outside. 

He was never greedy with your emotions, always waiting until you were ready to discuss them. Your two worlds were so different, but through hard work on both sides, you two met in the middle and created a little world, a perfect Eden, of your own.

Your dates were low-key. You didn’t even know if they were actual dates or not. All you knew is that you wanted to be with him. Every time you were, you felt something in your heart grab onto him.

Your best day together wasn’t a spontaneous date. You suspected he had been planning something for the past couple of weeks, and when you met together at the secret rendezvous spot,  he held a picnic basket and a bright smile.

Gosh, that smile–you could look at it all day, and often, he’d let you. Most of the time you would just sit together in silence, or you’d meet at a cafe and just stare at him over tea as you read together.

But something was different today. Emotion cracked that strict facade on Takashi’s face as soon as you rounded the corner. He smiled, really smiled, and the light reached into his eyes. Since they were gray as steel, most people thought they were unfeeling, cold, and hard as he was. Moments like these, though, when your presence let the light in, when his pupils would expand, the steel would melt into just a slick, ashy pool, warmed into liquid by your presence.

You knew he would never say it. He never could. He barely spoke about anything, much less about love. But you saw it. You felt it in the strength of his fingers when he took your hand. 

These little touches made all the difference. You two had never done much of anything physical together, besides some hugs when you were upset. Just a few hand brushes here, fixing hair there. Like he knew he was big and wanted to protect you from himself.

That changed, however, when he led you uptown to a little clearing in a park you had never seen before. In the middle of it lay a scattering of dark blue roses with a checkered blanket. An angel fountain piped water into the air, casting a rainbow mirage over the scene. On the outskirts of town, barely any pedestrians, with bright grass and a vibrant sun overhead, he had surprised you with the most romantic moment of your life. 

“Takashi,” you whispered, “did you do this for me?”

“Ya.”

Without warning you jumped into his arms and hugged him. He didn’t even flinch or drop the basket, just held you close with one arm. With your cheek against his neck, you felt his skin heating with a blush. His cologne swept into your nose, odd because he usually never wore cologne, as his natural manly scent was enough to draw you in. But maybe he wanted to make a good impression today. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said, pulling away from him.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Takashi set you on the ground before taking your hand, pulling you into your own personal garden. You don’t know how this he got this space reserved or privatized. He was intimidating enough, but then he left to come get you. 

You both sat down on the blanket, careful not to crush the scattered roses. As Takashi unpacked the picnic, you dug your fingernail into the threads of the blanket. It was exceptionally well-made, soft as a cloud but thick enough to be a cushion from the grass.

He pulled out two crabs, a pot of mashed potatoes, and a container of garden salad. Your mouth watered as the smell hit your nose, but he looked at you sheepishly.

“I could only get two crabs,” he admitted as he passed you the bigger one. “I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t what you’re used to.”

You broke one of the legs and immediately dove into the fleshy tissue. “All I need is you here with me,” you reassure him.

The corner of his mouth tips upwards, and you both eat in silence. 

The crab is succulent, the butter coating the back of your teeth as you swallow. This, the blue roses, possibly a reservation fee for the spot…how much money did he spend on you? You knew he did not have that much to begin with, and that he was saving up for Benaya. How did he afford all of this?

You can’t help but look at him. Towering over everyone, his back in perfect, kendo-inspired posture, muscles rippling and peeking out of his button-up shirt. He had the disposition of a king with the humble swagger and good looks of a god.

And his skin–it was darker than everyone else’s. Odd for a Japanese man, and you wondered if it were his genes or just the amount of time he spent outdoors under the sun. But it looked nice. It suited his dark hair and kept him from looking sickly.

Unabashed, you kept staring at him. Shy as he was, only stealing glances at you every so often, you weren’t afraid of being caught. You had been shut in so much growing up, taught to be a silent figurehead for your parents. You needed to be noticed by him.

After the meal, Takashi packed everything up while you fell on your back, content to take a nap. Your eyes searched the clouds lazily; you checked out mentally, grateful for a full stomach and the sun on your face.

There’s some rustling, and you feel your upper half slightly lifted. Opening your eyes fully, you see Takashi lie down beside you, stiffly stretching his arm under your head. He never looked at you, only kept his gaze glued to the sky.

If your ambitious parents taught you anything, it was to go after what you want.

You shifted your body closer to his, curling up to put your head on his shoulder. Immediately you felt him gasp. Were you too direct? It’s only been two months since you’ve met, after all, though it felt like you’ve known each other forever. Were you misreading him?

But then the arm under you slides over to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, and he smiles again. You’ve never seen him smile so much in one day.

Snuggled up together, watching the sky in peaceful silence, you didn’t think this day could get much better. But then Takashi grew restless. 

He sat up half-way, still cradling you under his arm, and gave you your first kiss in a bed of blue roses. 

Finally. 

You sighed against his mouth, pulling his body into yours. You couldn’t even feel the sun or the grass anymore. All you could feel were Takashi’s fingers lightly graze your wrist, and then his full, warm lips pressed so firmly into yours. He arched over you, but you felt safe.

It was the best day of your life.

You had no idea that it would turn into a nightmare when you returned home.

That concludes part 1! Parts 2 and 3 will be posted in the reblogs very soon! Enjoy the fluff because the next parts are just full of pain and angst

[notdonenotdun]

ezra's pilots reclist

i have 90 somethin pilots fics in my ao3 bookmarks so i feel like maybe it's time to share some favorites. this is entirely my opinion/personal taste so if it's not your bag, you don't gotta read em. my ao3 bookmarks are here.

these aren’t really in any order, fyi. [⋆] indicates Iconic Hall Of Fame fic that i would die for. basically all are joshler except when otherwise noted.

⋆ artificial at best | edy | E | 53k | androids, amnesia, trauma, recovery i would die for this fic. if you want a really good forest fic with remarkable worldbuilding and excellent pacing, please read this fic. i promise you won’t regret it.

loved | olgushka | G | 2k | touch starvation, hurt/comfort what it says on the tin. just excellent, caring hurt/comfort. unbelievably tender.

good old fashioned lover-boy | cherryblur | M | 7k | 1980s, homophobia, ptsd, recovery fascinating characterizations. so vivid, josh is unbearably lovable. super different from the norm.

⋆ everything i never told you | magpie_03 | T | 18k+ (incomplete) | autistic characters, self hate, self discovery so vivid. the author has a remarkable ability to get inside characters’ heads, and make you feel what they’re feeling. it’s refreshing to have a fic where both main characters are autistic, rather than the usual one sided fare. not particularly shippy, just a good story.

⋆ take it slow | edy | M | 7k | deaf character, disabled character, vlogging, recovery the first pilots fic i ever read, and still my go to comfort fic. i’m hard of hearing and very picky about deaf characters in fic. this one nails it. their relationship in this makes my heart swell.

head in the clouds | joshiesfreckles | NR (mature) | 700 words | cock warming, subspace just a sweet little thing about tyler in subspace. 

⋆ peachy | flightlessnerds | M | 9k |  jenshler, gentle sex, light dom/sub my favorite pwp in the fandom, by far. so sweet, gentle and comforting.

the arc of conversation | jvshduns | M | 34k | slow build, small towns, self discovery when i first read this fic, i was in the headspace of it for hours after. such a gorgeous, tender telling about first love and what it means to become an adult in a world you’ve never felt like you’ve fit in.

⋆ ashes to ashes, stardust to stardust | headfirstfrhalos | T | 14k | reincarnation, disabled character, childhood, growing up i don’t know how to describe this fic other than it changed me as as a person it’s literally my finsta username inspo And i did a piece inspired by it for one of my art school finals lol please just read it

to pieces | marasa | NR | 1k | consensual violence, dom/sub, hurt/comfort in my head i refer to marasa as the king/queen/icon of hurt/comfort. this one is absolutely fascinating with a very satisfying ending.

⋆ who i am today (always) [series] | thisisnotwhatihadplanned | 16k | autistic character, RAB era, slow burn every time i get an update email on this fic i squeal lol. such deep and reverent characterization. takes something rather mundane and turns it into something fascinating and huge despite its gentleness. 

⋆ eaten by birds | edy | E | 19k | depression, recovery, disfigurement josh loses his jaw. tyler finds him. and everything goes from there. inspired by the book invisible monsters, but it’s much more tender than that. less satire, more genuine meditation on what it means to be a person. 

exhale | trinaizmy | E | 7k | van days, hotel sex, porn with feelings literally the definition of porn with feelings. josh is so shy. tyler takes care of him. this shit hits different. 

in midwest hotel rooms | marasa | NR | 2k | van days, hurt/comfort, touch starvation, dissociation tyler takes care of josh. so sweet and gentle, it makes me wanna cry. a comfort fic. 

stay with me, you don’t need to run | sadonsundays | E | 4k | angst, trench era, canon compliant, polyamory negotiation they fuck, but they discuss relationship dynamics. how is this going to work? god, they’re so in love it kills me. 

there you go, my favorites. obviously everything i’ve bookmarked is fantastic, i’ve bookmarked it for a reason. but these are the ones very close to me. thanks for reading 

[boltwrites]

bolt, what fandoms are you in that you haven't posted about here? can we please get some movie/show recs?

uhhh sure! i watch a lot of horror and sci-fi so that's mostly what you're gonna get here. under a cut bc it's kinda long!

also i just wanna clarify - for most of these, especially movies and tv shows, i never produced fan content for them. i just enjoyed them! things i highly recommend will be bolded

my fav anime/manga of all time:

neon genesis evangelion (ultimate fav, but it's vastly fucked up, look up warnings before you watch and do NOT watch the dub)

fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood

death note

bleach (the manga - also this is a MASSIVE shonen just fyi)

psycho pass

ghost in the shell (movie)

devilman (just the manga and the ovas, not crybaby)

hunter x hunter

the promised neverland

tv shows

the flash (i was OBSESSED with this show oh my god)

sense8

the OA

i've posted about some, but various star wars shows: the mandalorian, clone wars, the bad batch, book of boba fett.... yeah

the umbrella academy

altered carbon

criminal minds

love death + robots (underrated!!!! watch this!!!!!!!)

supernatural (unfortunately)

movies

happy feet (my favorite movie as a kid.... i love it)

the matrix

all of the rest of these are horror movies:

sinister

the cabin in the woods (this is a horror satire! requires some knowledge of the genre to enjoy properly)

event horizon

the shining + doctor sleep (had a very intense obsession with doctor sleep a while ago)

hush

the ritual

the platform

the taking of deborah logan

it follows

the cloverfield series

honestly a lot more horror movies that i just can't think of rn

i haven't been watching too much new stuff lately because of the job. most of the time i come home, make dinner, and go right to sleep. this is what i could think of tho!

[seenashwrite]

Drabbles, Imagination Sanitations + Other Satirical Sundry: Master Post

Inspiration comes from everywhere, from reader Asks, to gifs, to the proposed scenarios we know as “IMAGINE...”. There are some premises floating around, however, that cause my imagination to go down a different path than the one the O.P. likely intended. You can find the results below. 

Oh, and there’s also The Flurps, wherein I got inspired by a gif or image or writing prompt or conversation, and went nutty. 

Go on. Have a laugh. You deserve it. 😆

*~* NOTE! *~*

Many of these are just a handful of sentences, so I’ve put one ⭐ at the ends of the titles that have a healthy paragraph/amount of dialogue, and two ⭐⭐ on the ones with an actual bit of story to them. Flurps are marked with【F】

PS: *none* of the poor grammar/misspells in any of the quoted descriptions are mine, but you knew that already. #humbly 

#FLURP Archer’s Cheryl Tunt and two handsome would-be firemen explain the reason behind the tag. [Spoiler: there is no real reason, as it’s not a real word, but it’s fantastic and better than other fake words]

Balmy “Imagine Mick taunting you after you lost a drinking contest against him.”

Blockage "Imagine texting Dean about your new boyfriend."

Buoyancy ⭐⭐ “Imagine Sam teaching you how to swallow.”

CASE #450-B20-1-4Y ⭐ 【F】 A confused spirit believes he can assist the Winchesters.

Castiel’s Brownies  ⭐⭐ A birthday party goes awry.

Cock-A-Doodle-Don't ⭐ “Imagine Sam seeing you cross the road.”

Dear Jack ⭐⭐  【F】 In which I address our - and Sam’s - initial encounter with Jack.

Everything  【F】 “.....a guy who was randomly passing by...”

Gas Giants “Imagine taking Human!Castiel to see his first fireworks show.”

Hammer Time ⭐⭐ “Imagine Demon!Dean is chasing you around the bunker.”

Headcanon  ⭐【F】 Headcanons should involve actual heads, right?

Heart of Dorkness “Imagine Dean messing with a fake heart asking you to be his Valentine.”

Heeled  “Imagine Castiel when you get shot.”

Hoedown  “Your mom admits to you...”

Hold The Garlic ⭐⭐ “Imagine […] on [a] hunt, you need to lure a vampire out of a restaurant, however things don’t quite go to plan when Dean […] barges in.”

Imagine This Review ⭐⭐ “Imagine Sam making home videos.”

Jackson ⭐ “Imagine Dean [is back from the dead], only to find out the music you’ve been playing in Baby [isn’t] classic rock.”

Mixed Signals "Imagine showing Chuck your new makeup."

Overextended ⭐ “Imagine kissing Crowley passionately on his throne.”

Patterns “Imagine your father John coming to comfort you at the hospital.”

Pitre Pit  【F】 In which Sam will likely sleep in the car.

Recovered Letters  ⭐【F】 A recovered letter which never reached its destination, written by a beleaguered hunter during what came to be known as The Great Flatulence Fracas of 2015, as narrated by Ken Burns

Red Pill  ⭐【F】 Let me tell you why you’re here...

Ruff Times ⭐ “Imagine accidentally breaking a glass and Sam coming to your rescue.”

Swabbies  ⭐⭐ 【F】 In which Nash tells The Commissioner about how parley can take a long walk off a short plank.

Smurf O’Clock ⭐ 【F】 In which Sam went and got himself smurfed like a mothersmurfer.

Soles ⭐ 【F】 Abaddon's house guest makes an unfortunate misstep.

Spare The Rods ⭐ “Imagine Sam being exhausted after spending the night with you.”

Strange Supernatural Things  ⭐ 【F】 In which Castiel consults an expert on WTF is up with this Jack kid.

Switcheroo  "Imagine switching bodies with Sam.”

The Case “Imagine Gabriel seeing the boys brought you with them in a case even though he told them not to.”

The Lebanon Apothecary  【F】 This explains a lot about that town.

The Little Lady  ⭐⭐ 【F】 In which special guest star Beka (@impala-dreamer) lets her feeling be known.

The Market ⭐⭐ 【F】 Sam takes you to the farmer's market - written with re-purposed show dialogue by way of random CASPN cards.

The Proposal  【F】 Mary reminisces upon her time with Ketch.

The Summons  ⭐ 【F】  In which Satan is summoned, albeit too early.

Twofer  "Imagine Dean crying, because he left you and now he realizes it was a mistake."

What The Hero Gets ⭐⭐  【F】 Dean saves the day - written with re-purposed show dialogue by way of random CASPN cards.

Yes, Chef "Imagine Dean trying to convince you to come living to the bunker with them.”

You're The Worst  “Imagine being a friend of the Winchesters, who has a key to the bunker and uses to show up at the craziest hours, driving Dean and Sam nuts.”

.

The Ask That Continues to Spawn Hundreds Of Cringes

“I wish you'd write a fic in which Dean releases a breath he didn't know he was holding before whispering "sweetheart" to Y/N over and over again.”

---> hit the re-bloggin’ button & in your drafts, open up the notes, expand the top thing, then you can follow all the ones under my name to see the carnage

.

The early versions, in lil' image form, via "Dear Nash" 

[Disclaimer: all were from a friend, as I'd faux-lamented I never got asked to write ridiculous things by the populous, and boy howdy, they delivered]

Shades :: The Laundromat :: “Crowlie” :: Acceptance :: One Final Choice   

.

The Minor League

Finally, ones where I've merely responded via reblog with a gif, as there were no words to be had - or else, it really only took a few:

...And, Done  ::  Dean Wins   ::   My Waters  ::  Possibly The Stupidest One I've Seen Yet  ::  Welp  ::  Sure  :: LMGTFY  ::  Chances  ::

.

Find an “Imagine” that needs a stern-yet-snarky talking-to? A writing prompt you think I can work over? A pic/gif that demands a story? *  

◄◄◄ Dazzle me ►►►

(* I make no promises as to when such submissions could appear - the ol’ muses have to be cranking in a snarky gear - just FYI)

Back to Main Master List  :  Back to Mobile Master List

.

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~ Updated: 22 Jan 2019 ~

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim: London Bridge is Falling Down

Anon asked: How would his vigilante boyfriends react were Doctor!Tim to actually get hurt at some point? Be it just by a simple mugger or even accidentally via their own hands? Up for any more of your lovely drabbles?

Second Anon asked: Up for some more Doctor!Tim? Maybe something soft and fluffy this time? If Tim came home from a long, long shift and just crawled over into his boyfriends laps asking for a bath and some warm cuddles? Where could it go..? 

Arkaedia wanted Dr. Tim in the field a bit and totally had the bridge idea, so I’m covering three in one with this little thing. We needed bad ass Tim, some hurt!Tim, and some soft and fluffy. Welp, here’s my attempt and making it all come out in the wash.

(FYI: @satire-please, @poison-basil, and @the-sky-is-a-lie are all my babes to read this when the muse was being mean)

**

Ride-alongs are his and now for something completely different.

It’s a chance to get out of the hospital, to ride with the EMTs, to take a chance looking for bolt holes and hidey places where criminals, victims, and nice vigilantes might, you know, hang out. (And if he totally has those spots mapped from his time running the streets of Gotham, well, then there’s that.) Besides, Kerry and Hailey, his partners for the night (and the same EMTs that kind of knew the night company he kept since that one time with Robin almost dying had him flagging down the ambulance for a bag of O pos), were so on to him about having a boyfriend that he’s having fun making them guess all the deets.

(But, he did tell them it’s “boyfriends” just to hear Kerry’s mad cackle and get a high-five from Hailey.)

There had been a few instances of need, shortness of breath with a little chest pain and numbness on the side down in the Narrows (yeah, he knows meth when he sees the effects, thanks). A kitchen fire in the Upper East Side neighborhood (his parents had lived here once, lived this life) with a bewildered housewife looking ashamed at leaving the oven on while he bandaged her hand and suggested a trip to the ER for just in case. (Of course not, Harold wouldn’t hear of it).

Even cooler, they’d received a call to swing by Arkham Asylum to check up on Nora Fries (even though he’s been one of the doctors permitted inside the Asylum, and one of the fewer that has taken the weak vitals of Mr. Freeze’s wife, it’s still a creepy place to go) when the power grid blipped for a few seconds. Any time the complex machinery keeping Nora alive in suspended animation has any kind of issues, the administration contacted one of four physicians in the Tri-State area Fries will allow anywhere near her.

Luckily, Dr. Drake is already en route.

Kerry is talking over the radio to the on-call guards at Arkham as they’re half-way across Trigate Bridge, and Hailey is detailing her Princess Serenity Cosplay for this year (and yes, she has the wig because some people do it right. He used to LARP when he had time, so they have plenty to bond about)—

When the first explosion rocks the ambulance, Kerry jerks the wheel hard, the instincts bred from running headlong into typical Gotham catastrophes shown when the ambulance balances precariously on two wheels for long, heart-stopping moments before slamming back down on the pavement, bouncing all three of them around.

The consistent traffic around them, however, not so lucky.

“Hold on!” Kerry turns around to the doctor and second EMT, eyes wide and knuckles white on the wheel.

The first car slamming into the side is poor timing, hitting hard enough to throw the ambulance into oncoming traffic in the other lane, supplies flying all over the place. The next hit is enough to break the windshield, which lets in the sound of screaming and shit just breaking on the bridge all around them.

Even after a toss into some very painful metal cabinets with supplies, Tim is just dazed enough to pick out some very, very not good sounds of heavy iron bending. He sucks in a breath because all the evidence is there.

So many people are going to die (and they might be thrown in that mix). The ambulance is five miles out from Gotham and another three from the island housing Arkham with a whole lot of Atlantic right under them. If supports have been blown, then it’s only a matter of time how long the structure would hold.

They had to get people off as fast as possible; they had to assess as many wounded as they could and get off this fucking bridge.

“Everyone all right?! Kerry! Tim!” Hailey shoves the gurney off her legs, swimming up from a pile of gauze pads. Dazed but functional because he’s the only one in the ambulance that’s come to realize oh shit time has kicked in.

(Then again, he is the pet doctor to a horde of terrifying vigilantes. That just gives him an edge in the ‘blow shit up’ department.)

He climbs up and over the front seat, looking at the blood on Kerry’s face from the glass.

“We need to get out there,” the EMT is saying, hands shaky. “Whatever happened, people are going to be hurt—”

“Explosion,” he fills in both EMTs in while flicking a penlight in her eyes, happy for no concussion and, you know, being alive (for now). “Something exploded on or under the bridge. We need to assess who we can, load up, and get the hell off as soon as possible.”

“I’ll phone Dispatch, but I have no idea how the mainland wouldn’t have heard it already,” Kerry shakes herself, finally lets go of the wheel. The soft burr of accent soothes over the resounds crash and sharp, biting sound of twisting metal. He grins a little and quickly puts a few pieces of tape against the cut high on her forehead, glad there was no concussion to worry about. Once they get outside the ambulance doors, though, all bets are off.

“Supplies,” Hailey mutters to herself, snatches up satchels, stuffing them full so each EMT can carry two-at-a-time. As usual, Doc Drake has his own bag around his shoulders, impressively staying with him through that little shift in gravity. “Okay! We get out and start prelims. What’s our radius? I mean, we can’t cover the whole bridge.”

“As far as we can,” he takes his time to scan outside the broken windshield, already reaching for the door, “I’m going to take off, get as far as I can, so don’t wait for me. You two take as many as this rig can hold and get to safety. I’ll hitch a ride with someone before it goes.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Hailey fills in, coming up between the chairs to give her partner a once-over, handing over supplies.

Kerry seconds that sentiment, “there’s no guarantee you’ll get another ride, Tim!”

“Someone needs to get between both points.” And yes, it’s reasonable considering half the bridge if pretty much gone and the other half is full of overturned cars, people panicking, broken concrete, and more chaos than he’s ever seen (and that? Is saying something). “There’s probably another ambulance somewhere further down anyway, so it’s fine. If not, then there’s plenty of functional cars already on the road.” His jaw tight, tingling with get ready, Tim eyes the two EMTs also with game faces on. (Really, all the fuckery that goes on in Gotham bonds people.) “We get out, get who we can, hit up as much trauma care as possible, and get the hell gone. Agreed?”

Hailey grins at him, heads to the back of the rig, readying the gurney to pull out. Kerry just sighs a little and gives him a decidedly arched brow, “sorry, Doc, doesn’t look like you’ll be gettin’ that easy night after all.”

“Believe it or not, I’m okay being busy,” he banters back so they both have a second of normal before the time to rock, and lets her call in to dispatch.

He takes a breath to prepare himself for whatever he’s going to face, and finally rips open the passenger side door as Hailey knuckles-down and shoves the damaged back doors open right with him, throwing themselves into the fray.

As expected, it’s fucking chaos.

The Trigate Bridge is the third longest on the East Coast, spanning from Gotham, breaking off to have a double-lane highway to the smaller island housing Arkham, and continuing on to the mainland near Somerset (thus Trigate, three directions). The explosion(s) were apparently meant to take out key supports and maybe send thousands of people into the water below with a mass of debris and oncoming death. As far as he can see, spans of the bridge on the north side and east have felt the burn. (Two sides the bridge were set with explosive charges…) Literally. Hunks of bridge and probably crucial structure have already been sacrificed to the murky water below, and the loud, creaking groan is only a punctuation on how close the whole thing is from giving way. There’s no way to assess how close they were to impending doom.

However, the next layer of oh shit are the vehicular accidents lining the bridge due of the explosion. On both sides of the ambulance, there’s screaming, burning, crumbling holy fuck going on.

Tim takes in a deep breath, the smoke starting to fill the air, gauging the areas of most need that he can immediately see. The plan starts to form even as he’s tapping the special clip on his name tag.  (The one Dick switched out last week and thought he wouldn’t, you know, notice.)

“Okay, Kerry gets to stay close and prep as much room as we’ve got,” the doctor turns in a circle, trying to place the immediate need during their very critical time window. “Hailey, take north. I’m going down the east side toward Arkham. Try to get anyone that can drive to start heading back to Gotham. Take anyone that needs transport, stabilize as you can.”

The two EMTs are wide-eyed, looking at the aftermath with professional assessment since horror and fear have to be on the backburner. Hailey squeezes his shoulder before she’s off to the blue SUV turned on it’s top and a teenagers trying to get out the window.

“Promise me!” Kerry snatches his arm before he even moves, “get off this bloody thing before it goes!”

“Scouts honor,” his vision narrows down, mind working with all the evidence and perceptions.

“All right! See you on the other side,” and Kerry is off too, slinging the satchel securely over her shoulder and moving, already gloving up, fast and efficient even with the owfuck. She’s checking on the driver of the car that hit the ambulance in the first place, taking his vitals and pulling the crushed door open with strength alone. A grim smirk is the last thing he’s got, and Tim takes off in the opposite direction, running full tilt through the wreckage, climbing over busted concrete and overturned, empty cars, checking them out before he moves on.

With the blood pounding in his ears and screams echoing all around them on the open water, he’s trying to keep an eye on the damaged bridge, check structural failure so he know about how much time he’s got before more important pieces would start breaking off. (Far out he sees the line of white ships that could very well be the Coast Guard on the way because a little bit of help here would be just fucking stellar).  

He’s already gloved up by the time he gets to the car hanging perilously close to the edge of the damaged bridge, the skid marks telling the story on how that happened. A bigger sedan had knocked into the little car, sending it skittering through the protective barriers and almost over. The thing is only precariously out of the water by sheer willpower and the rusty bumper snagged on a broken support line. The driver is terrified, one hand extended over the back where a small, blonde child (like Layla) is clutching a worn-out teddy.

(Cass is on after school babysitting duty. It’s fine, they’re fine. Dick is probably going to be called in to the Police Station once they hear about this. Jay might have woken up with the explosions. Steph is at Mercy and everyone is fine.)

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he talks fast, stepping carefully, already reaching the back door. “I’m right here, and I’m going to get you out. I need you to hurry, okay?”

“Mommy!” The child screams out when the car inches forward, tilting down more to the churning waters below.

“Karmen,” the wide-eyed mother puts on the voice, “take his hand and get out of the car. You need to get out Right. Now.”

The kid is panicking, and he completely understands, but, well, impending doom. The wrong move, the wrong breath, and the thing is going over, taking them and him with it. He moves carefully, gingerly, sweat making its way down his back with how he maps out the right way to keep the thing from going over. “It’s okay, Karmen, right? Hi, my name’s Tim.”

“H-Hi, Doctor Tim,” the child whimpers with tears in her eyes as she’s squishing further back in the leather seat, looking from him to the Atlantic Ocean through the windshield.

“What’s your buddy’s name, Karm?” He gestures to the stuffed animal she’s clutching like a lifeline.

“C-Carl. He’s Carl the Bear.”

“That’s cool. I used to have a Bear I called Robin. Made him a mask and everything.”

She blinks at him and her expressions changes into something like Steph’s right before she calls him the Nerd-Wonder (and yes, he’ll take that title, thank-you very much).

But it’s fine. It’ll be easier to her to jump if she’s laughing at him instead of terrified.

He gingerly pops open both doors on the driver’s side, tries to keep the weight dispersed to the back of the car, “Okay, Karm, time to listen up. I want you, Carl, and your mom to jump out when I give you the signal. I bet you can jump really good, right?”

“Y-Yes. I-I’m a good jumper.”

“Awesome. I need you to jump the very best jump ever, okay? Can you try that for me?”

But her eyes are filling up again, going from her mom to the churning water and back to him. “I-I’m scared, Tim! I’m too scared.”

“I know you are, but it’s okay. As long as you do what I say, you’re going to be fine.” And it’s a crazy balancing act to keep the doors open, try to make sure the weight doesn’t shift enough to send the car plummeting the long and painful way down into the water.

“Please,” the mother gasps out, eyes wet and dazed from fear, “please save my baby girl. Please don’t let her drown.”

“We’re working on saving you both. So when she jumps, so do you. I’m right here, and I’m going to grab you, so just Get. Ready.”

His hands are out, his other eye on the mother’s trembling hands as she gingerly unclicks her seatbelt.

“Mommy,” Karmen whimpers again, a terrified little girl.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much,” and the crack in her voice is enough to make his chest tight, to make sure he’s got them. “Get ready to jump to Tim, okay? Mommy’s so proud of you, my brave girl.”

When those eyes came back to him, wet but resolute, he knew they found the next kick-ass vigilante someday.

“Okay… Jump!”

He snatches with both hands, fast, pulling, throwing the three of them away. Mother and daughter watch as the car goes over, gripping each other tight, and Tim is absurdly glad for quick thinking and shit like gravity.

A rudimentary line of cars is flowing off the bridge at slow speeds, pausing to let others on foot get in. Carrying Karmen and gripping her mother’s arm, Tim flags down a truck with a few people already in the back. He lowers the tailgate and holds his charges up for waiting hands to pull the small family to safety.

“Tim!” Karmen calls as the truck pulls off, the strangers checking over her and her mother for serious injuries, “Tim! Thank-you! Thank-you!”

But her hero disappears into the smoke from the burning bridge, she only catches his back as he runs further into the crisis, one hand thrown up over a shoulder in a bye-bye, before he’s out of sight.

Four people are trying to push back a car pinning a young woman to concrete debris. He’s one of those people, muscles straining with effort. When she’s free, one of them has a working vehicle ready for transport.

(Gotham never ceases to amaze him. In a city usually overrun with every flavor of psychopath, you have to be resilient and adaptable. The people, however, always seem to come together in times of crisis and crazy assholes trying to demolish the city. It’s amazing when things like kicking bad guy ass brings out the best in people.)

Tim does as much trauma care as he realistically can, talking quickly to one of the people riding with her, giving rapid instructions for her to tell responders off the bridge.

The next breath, he’s pulling up metal and concrete, yelling with the effort, forcing his tired muscles to give more when some relatively unharmed civilians attack him with thank God hugs. The little blonde boy looks dazed, blinking with blood in his eyes from a nasty scalp wound, but remembers his name is Leo and he’s ten, Dr. Tim.

It takes a second to lift the kid up and brace the Father with his other arm, the group making a beeline for an empty vehicle that might still have keys in it. (None of them judge him when he cracks into the steering column and hot wires the damn thing. Because, you know, he has other hobbies.)

In no time, he’s using some pieces off a ‘79 Honda Civic to immobilize a broken leg, splints it like a boss.

Charlie is seven and has a better iPhone than he does. The bus full of first graders on their field trip out of Gotham are calm, but the bus is done for. He manages to rope three transports, checking quickly over the class, and helping their shaky teacher get on the flatbed. Charlie give him a low five and they’re gone while he pulls the first aid kit out of the bus for just in case.

Streams of cars are passing him by, some stragglers helping others, and it’s moving fluidly enough that he can guess emergency crews are on the other end, flagging traffic to get the evacuation moving. He’s caught by the arm a few times, but just puts the usual amount of authority to make people thinks he’s in charge of something before he takes off to the next cry for help.

Climbing over a ten car pile-up is a tricky enough business with things pretty much holy unstable, Batman.

He slices his damn hand open on a broken window, loses his grip for a breathless, heart-pounding second. On the way down, he manages to tape gauze over the bleeder and see that his phone—

The screen is cracked to all hell.

Fuck. He can’t even call for a very nice pick-up right about now.

The bridge gives an abrupt groan, a sound reverberating down his spine, making the oh shit feeling swell in his gut, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and every instinct in his body screaming to run. He tries to move (but there’s nowhere to go). The hard twang echoes when a few of the supporting cables lining the bridge snap, iron bending dangerously, concrete on either side starting to crumble and break.

He can’t throw himself out of the way fast enough, gets knocked off his feet, slams into crumbling debris while more falls around and on top him. A hard chunk pins him, agonizing, terrifying. His leg is wedged by iron, sharp, biting pain from his calf and the torn, jagged bicep trying to lever enough strength to shift something to free him without bringing more down on him. With other frightened screams and groans of almost giving up happening further down the bridge, he doesn’t have time for a whole lot of this bullshit.

He calculates fast and furious, gauging the stability of the pile he’s under and starts kicking at the concrete with his other foot viciously. Sweat and blood makes his gloves slippery, makes him pant with a strike of panic while he pushes harder against the shit blocking out the light.

Tim has to shake himself, yell at the stupid fucking debris (Damian will never let him live it down if this is how he dies. Seriously). One more hard kick and a piece crumbles enough to get his damn calf through, gives him the leverage to shove the piece at his back away, climb up and out, to cough and gasp in a breath of dirty Gotham air.

There’s a few sparse people still running. One stops long enough to help him out, pulling him quickly with both arms locked around Tim’s upper chest. “It’s going to collapse! You’ve got to get out of here!”

“I have to see if there’s anyone else. Get going!” Tim gives him a shove and takes a long moment to assess. He still has time. Dammit, he still has time. So he takes off again, making his leg work, holding the bag to his side, unconsciously fishing out a new pair of gloves.

He hits the halfway point where the bridge bisects, going toward Arkham or toward Somerset, glad he can’t see anyone in the long, damaged span of twisted, falling iron and crumbling supports.

Still, he’s limping, dropping some random blood spots from his shredded calf while he checks abandoned cars and piles of debris for a last, frantic attempt. Even with the leg as it is, he can start back now and make it in less than fifteen minutes, maybe even get one or two more that might have been missed. He can still try, dammit—

But as luck would have it, his calculations are off, and he runs out of time.

His heart takes an abrupt journey to the back of his throat when the heavy twang from earlier echoes again. Faster, heavier as the support cables give way in rapid succession. The tension finally enough to start the unavoidable collapse. Helpless, he’s alone for a far as he can see, watching the cables snap, each one flipping sharply out of control because of the tension, slamming into remaining cars and breaking up more concrete. The echo makes a roll of dread hit him stomach, the things snapping all the way back to main Gotham and the inevitable destruction ensues as sections of the bridge start to crumble at the lack of support. A large section twenty feet in front of him gives a sick, metallic scream before the whole damn thing drops a foot down, and the loud snap catches cottony as all he can do is watch the section break apart and drop down into the ocean.

Can’t go that way.

Swallowing down his thundering pulse, his hearing goes wonky even before he’s spinning, throwing up his arms when the progression keeps going, snapping cables right past him. He’s not fast enough to dodge a mess of concrete from a flying cable, taking the heavy hits to his back, trying to keep his feet under him.

The horror movie moment when he looks over his shoulder and sees the rest of the bridge for the next mile finally give way, the concrete and supports under the thing cracking, crumbling, falling into the ocean (no way for the Coast Guard to make it anywhere near here), puts enough fear that he can keep his feet under him. The only way to go is toward Arkham (the horrible irony, being safe at the asylum known to house crazies of all flavors), and he makes himself run. He has to try staying ahead of the crumbling concrete quickly gaining on him. And even with the pain in his calf, the agony in his back, the burn in his lungs and thighs, the way his eyes are getting wet, making the way blurry and unfocused, even if it is so pathetically, sadly useless because there’s no way he’s going to outrun this.

He’s going down in the murky Atlantic, buried under cars and shopping bags with milk and eggs, under girders and cables and concrete. He’s going to be down there with anyone else that didn’t make it off, and he couldn’t even say goodbye to Dick or Jay or Steph or Ives because his goddamn phone is busted. He couldn’t say he is so fucking sorry about this. That no matter what, he loves them. They are his family, all he has in the world, and they are the best. And if he could only—

There isn’t time now, and the realization, the fucking agony of it strikes him as the ground under him gives a sick lurch, slamming down abruptly on the weakening lower support beams, giving him some kind of false hope while at the same time, bringing him to his knees.  

He holds his breath, shaking, bent over, eyes wet, and just please, please.

He doesn’t want to leave them.

A drop of blood from his cut cheek hits the pavement and groaning metal tells him it’s so far past too late. Gravity falls out from under him as the supports under this section of the bridge finally give way. The immediate weightlessness makes his stomach lurch sharply and fear strikes in his spine, getting him on his feet for the last-ditch attempt from his brain pan has him leaping up on a bumper, breaking the windshield in his mad dash without enough breath to really make it.

But again, he’s got nowhere left to go when the world falls out from under him, and his heart gives a hard, painful beat.

His brain blanks out when he’s hanging suspended in mid-air for terrifyingly still moments caught in time, and everything is in a crazy kind of slow motion; the sounds of the world around and under him are muted and cottony, only his panting breaths echoing in his ears. The only thing he can see is Dick’s face relaxed in sleep, and Jay’s eyes, so blue, when he’s laughing—

The choking sob makes it up out of his throat, spilling out instead of I love you, I love you and I’m sorry.

Because he is. Fuck, he is.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere between a dying vigilante on his fire escape and now, he’d come to believe in them wholeheartedly. Knew they’d never abandon him, never hurt him, never die on him even if they risked their lives every night. He believed in their strength and their convictions, believed they would fight through Hell itself to make it back to him.

They would never leave him the last one left standing.

(And how fucking ironic is it that he’s the one going to leave them? The Joker would really get a kick out of it.)

His chest aches with the revelation (or the fact he literally can’t get enough air), and God, he only wanted to a few minutes, a few seconds even, just so they would know, so he could just tell them—

(Even though they were both his Robins, he’s in love with Jason and Dick, not Robin, not Red Hood, not Nightwing...and now they’ll never know. It’s too fucking late.)

Everything.

The world comes back abruptly when the weight of his body takes over and he starts to drop, his medical bag caught up at his side.

Already grieving for them, for his only family, Tim closes his eyes while the sounds of cars and debris, of shit breaking and falling, of the fucking world ending in the depths of the ocean, all of it infiltrate, give him a sense of how fast it’s going to be over. There’s always a chance, always a plan, but with his leg torn up, he won’t be able to swim with enough strength to get back to the surface before his air runs out, taking into account he doesn’t get crushed by the pressure and debris already down there—

(But...but at least, his brain does him a solid in the seconds before he’s going to die, just a little reminder that he should be grateful he’s had them, to think about all of them, and all the good times, all the love and laughter, all the things they gave him with hearts open. At least....at least he had that much.)

And he’s not sure if his eyes are wet because he’s crying or because of the air, but the pain, the fear, the sensation of falling, it’s Death opening up its’ great maw, ready to chew him up and spit out his slightly damaged soul.

(I love you. I’ve never had anyone to love like this. I’ve never wanted to love like this, but now that I have, you two are all I never knew I needed.)

He hopes they don’t mourn, he hopes they keep moving, he hopes they take care of each other. He hopes they remember him without remorse or regret. He hopes he doesn’t make some imaginary list of things they never finished.

He hopes they know without hearing the words one last time.

(And fuck, now that is him crying, isn’t it?)

The rapid blast, a sonic boom, hits his senses, cutting through the thousand things in his head, even with the air rushing around him dampen everything.

Tim doesn’t open his eyes until the last second (because who really wants his last sight to be of his family), gasping in hard enough to be fucking painful because it’s like he’s a nine-year-old kid again, standing down in alleys or crouched on roof tops clutching his camera. It’s the same awe and amazement because at this very second, he’s watching the Dark Knight in all his fearsome power fly.

The silhouette has dropped out of the dark shadow against the sun, thrown himself out of the plane without a thought, the tracking signal bringing him right here where he feared the young doctor would be in the middle of the mass crisis.  

(He didn’t need Dick’s panicking tone to get his ass in gear because Tim’s signal wasn’t moving off the bridge by the time the first sections broke apart.)

Tim’s lungs scream for air he can’t seem to get, his eyes going wide as the Batman swoops down a flawless arch, arms tight at his sides to be even more aerodynamic and forces the speed of the fall, determined Tim isn’t going to hit the damn water.  (Hold on, Tim. Hold on.)

He’d yell if he could, tell B it’s too close, there’s no way he could pull up in time, to save himself. (Gotham would always need saved, would always need him.) But no words can escape and his eyes are blurry enough that the dark shadow is fuzzy, the whiteouts gone for electric blue eyes. He can’t even gasp as the Batman reaches him mid-death drop, catches him with an arm that has to be made of iron.

The abrupt change in direction almost makes him vomit, only strength of will keeping him from painting the vigilante’s back with stomach juice.

Even though his brain pan is fried, he gets handfuls of leather and Kevlar, fists tight his shaky hands into the cape while he tries to get his air back and hides himself, huddled against all that strength.

He might have been more terrified (since, you know, imminent death) than he let on because he has no clue how they’re just suddenly in a plane, sitting his shaky ass down on one of the seats in the back while B is kneeling down with his leg in both gloved hands. B must have taken his satchel off, laid it down somewhere, and the arm of his scrubs is torn open to the bleeder on his bicep.

His mouth opens, closes wordlessly because he’s trying so hard to say it, “thank-you for coming for me.”

“Calm down,” is a little less the night than in his usual dealings with the Batman, “you’re going into shock.” And B doesn’t wince for the obvious damage done to Tim’s leg, but it’s a close thing. Instead, he is very relieved he’s not going to have to be the one to tell his sons their significant other met his end at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The Batman’s (Bruce’s) voice gives him a little bit of air back, just enough to wheeze, “th-thanks...for the save.”

Still, he’s blinking rapidly, shaking too much, hitting the wrong side of adrenaline and fear, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stop it.

“The Coast Guard is already on site, taking care of people. So far, the fatality numbers are incredibly low for an incident of this magnitude. I’m sure you played a hell of a part in that.”

But Tim’s still on the mindblown side of things, woozy and light-headed, still not feeling the real owfuck of the sitch yet to say much. The leg of his scrubs is finally just ripped away so they can both look at the raw hamburger he’d been trying to run with. “Hn. The boys aren’t going to be happy about this, Tim.”

“I…” The boys. Oh God, he’s going to see Dick and Jay and flip the utter fuck out. “I-It’s-it’s okay.”

Inside the cowl, B arches a brow (oddly enough, that’s what Robin might say. Any of them.) “That’s the adrenaline talking. You’ll feel it soon enough.” B turns just slightly, “Bat Computer. Alert Agent A. We need prep for an incoming.”

He gets a little less fuzzy as the whole alive thing sinks in. So, time to make his brain switch gears from perpetual screaming to oh, who’s the bad guy of the week again?

“Anniversary,” he tells the kneeling vigilante, “B, it’s the anniversary.”

The cowl pauses in looking over his injured leg and slowly moves up until those eyes are on him, gears turning.

“Sal Maroni’s trial was ten years ago today.” His voice is hoarse, but dammit, he’s right on this one, leans forward enough to grip the dangerous gauntlets in one shaking hand. “It’s...it’s too good for Harvey Dent to pass up. He had the bridge set with charges, and there’s another one. He’s going to set a second one because that’s how he works with his shitty traps, and you have to find it, B. You have to...”

And it’s a crazy thing, seeing the Batman smile.

“Dick told me you were good,” is a calmer voice, one laced with amusement. “I contacted Gordon hours ago when I suspected Two-Face would have something devastating on the roster for tonight. Police crews have been combing the city and all his old hideouts while I’ve been researching in the Cave. He only sent the clue to GCPD an hour ago, and if Dick hadn’t been on shift, I wouldn’t have gotten it in time to stop the Robinson Bridge from blowing up already.”

Tim blinks, leaning down almost in B’s face, staring into those eyes while his brain catches up.

No other hurt civilians. Damn...the day is starting to look up. Well, you know, World’s Greatest Detective, of course he would have figured it out in time.

“O...Oh.”

B presses his shoulder, casual strength making him sink back into the chair.

“Again, good work, Tim... I’m not going to stop being surprised about your “hobbies,” am I?”

“I’ll try to keep you riveted.” But he’s sinking down with things like blood loss, trauma, and utter fucking relief, tongue getting too thick in his mouth to be especially witty.

“Do that. It’s a nice departure from the normal psychos I deal with. And by the way, don’t move. We’re going to do a full assessment once we land. I’m sure Alfred is already wearing a path in my Cave.”

Tim blinks, tries to nod but the motion is a little jerky and uncoordinated. Conversation apparently over because the Doctor is sinking deeper into shock and has lost enough blood (for a civilian) that the vigilante is concerned, B stands up and fishes a blanket out of a storage compartment, wraps it around Tim’s shaking form.

“Just relax and try to stay awake. We’ll be home soon.” And the cape swishes with a sigh of sound, being easy while the plane rumbles under his ass.

(He probably imagines a gloved hand resting on the top of his head before B strides back to the controls and takes the plane off autopilot. Not that it matters because his brain is pleasantly all about white noise when he starts to crash from the adrenaline overdose.)

And since he’s very, very safe in the plane, by himself while B’s back is turned, he fades in and out, holding the blanket to his chest tightly, his eyes filling up and clearing out at odd intervals. He’s about forty percent with it, drifting in and out with calculations and diagnosis from the bridge skimming over his thoughts, taking completely by surprise when the cockpit is invaded by whirling tornados of concerned boyfriends.

(His heart picks up, and Tim tries to shake off lethargy and strain because they’re both so fucking beautiful right now.)

“Tim! Timmy!!” Dick looks haggard, his eyes astoundingly blue.

Jay is right on his ass, jaw tight with obvious worry, “JesusfuckingChrist, Sugar.”

Dick is still in his uniform, tilting Tim’s face up to look in his dazed eyes with such utter relief he shakes a little with it, those steady hands weak for just a moment in time (I love you. God, I love you). Jay leans in around that hand and presses a fast, hard kiss to the top of his head, and goes for the blanket, knows he’s looking for something. He gets jackpot when the scrubs beneath are blood-stained, torn and dirty, making Jay’s heart beat just a little faster.

“B, what the fuck? Couldn’t cha at least bandage our boy up a lil bit?!” He bites it out sharper than intended, but his boy ain’t looking good, and the last images O managed to get off the bridge cameras as they went down is the mound of debris falling right on top a kid in scrubs. He and Dick had only been reined in by Dami and Alfred with appropriate threats of tying them down should they even try it. (He can take Demon, but Alf? Nope. That’s a fight he’s always gonna lose.)

“We weren’t far.” B defends lightly, pushing his cowl off and kneeling by Tim’s feet again, unabashedly gripping an ankle to stretch the leg out of the blanket so the owfuck can air out. “I also wanted Alfred to look at this before I did anything.”

“Oh my God, that’s a lot of blood.” Dick is now even more concerned, latching on tight and pressing him close.

“Damn right it is.” Jay and B exchange the look.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles against Dick’s hand on his jaw, staring dazedly up, eyes sluggishly sliding to Jay. “I’m okay.” Because, dammit, looking at them, being absurdly fucking grateful for this, for them, everything is really just…

Fine.

“Yeah, Timmy, just fine. Right here with us, ain’t cha?” Jay crouches down, and he’s careful, easy about it when he takes a wrist and gently unwinds the dirty, frayed gauze to the nice slice taken out of his hand.

“Fuck.” Because that ain’t good. Timmy’s a surgeon, lives by his damn hands. “We need ta getcha bandaged up. Let Alf gedda lookit that leg.”  Jay shoos Dick back so he can wind both arms around their civilian sweetie and lift him, blanket and all while B holds the leg up and stable, walking back without a hitch with the doctor between them.

And laying there in Jason’s arms, it gives Tim plenty of time to stare up at his profile, trace the line of jaw and the crooked line of nose with his eyes and be utterly grateful. So, so grateful.

(I’ll never deserve you, but I’ll never stop trying either.)

Alfred and Damian are monitoring the clean-up from the bridge, leaving the live footage as Jay and B ease Tim down to the medical gurney. It’s second nature to press his mouth to the top of the doctor’s head while B just smirks to himself and lets Dick slide around them to be on Tim’s other side.

Jason steps away to scrub and glove fast while Dick stays holding on a little too desperately and Alfred begins preliminaries. Dami does his usual, “tt,” and goes back to monitor the sitch (but the little asshole always looks back when he thinks they don’t know any better.)

Once B is satisfied Timmy is in good hands, he starts up with the search for Harvey himself and tracks the police reports Dick happened to copy while they were hot off the printer.

Jay is absurdly careful, even by Alfred’s standards as he stitches the slice in that precise hand and fervently hopes he’s not doing more damage.

Slightly slurry, tired with strain now that the adrenaline and other stimulants in his system have worn off (chemicals balancing, he thinks slowly, and added opioids because it took a bridge collapsing to admit he was completely in love with these two. Fuck, is he really that dense?), he answers Dick’s careful questions as well as he can, rambles on about the car pile-up, the people he hoped were able to get help, the sound of the cables snapping (that’s a sound he’s never going to forget), the new iPhone he is going to get. To try staying out of the way without going too far, Dick lays his head beside Tim’s on the pillow and listens, squeezes his hand at the hard parts.

He vaguely remembers, “need...need to know if my EMTs...made it.”

“B is looking into it. We’ll have an update soon, okay? Just relax, baby.” It’s something soft and sweet to his muddled brain (Alfred...must have given him something before starting on his leg. It’s a distant, dull thing.)

“I should...I should go to the hospital—”

Jay pauses in finishing up with his bicep, raises a gloved finger to wag close to his face, “don’t cha even try it, pal. Steph already said they got the sitch under control.”

“Nu-uh, Timmy. You can’t even stand right now, so you’re going about as far as the main floor.”

“But…”

There’s no use in trying to argue. He’s one against four (and dammit, five because Damian is standing right by Dick’s hip, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at him for upsetting Grayson. Dammit, Drake, he’s a Robin that needs Peace and Quiet. Shut these fools up and give in.) Still, he says he can walk, really it’s fine, but Dick gives no shits getting to be the Bat carrying him this time, talking low and soothing while taking him upstairs in the Manor and pretty much deposits him in the utterly comfortable sitting room on the First Floor.  

There are blankets and food, intermittent sleep between episodes of some reality show, and one or the other of his significant others close while the sedatives and antibiotics run their course in the first few hours post-injury hours.

Night must be falling because at some point, they’re talking about Two-Face and the second stage of his dastardly plan.

Later, he’ll vaguely remember his leg and other bandages taken off, being held in warm water while the dirt and dried blood is washed off with careful, patient hands (someone is holding his leg out of the bathtub and being so absurdly gentle). Hands in his hair to get the worst out, but the sedatives and painkillers make him useless to do much more than lay there and let it happen.

Time skips and he wakes up in the middle of a massive bed, half-aware enough to know his leg is on fire and just, fuck it all hurts.

There’s cameras apparently everywhere because Alfred and Jason are through the door before he even makes it to the edge of the bed. He gets one vigilante boyfriend crawling in with him to keep him down, pills to swallow and tucked back in (after the butler quickly assesses under the bandages).

Jay talks low and soothing against his temple, while the pain eases and things are just… good. So, so good.

**

A few days later, Tim Drake is laid up on his couch with his healing leg wrapped up and elevated on a few pillows (even though the thing is really much better, Alfred, you don’t have to call for an update every day anymore. It’s...it’s really thoughtful though). Since his significant others have that kind of humor, Scrubs is playing on the television and a scattering of things are literally everywhere. A laptop is open on the floor with half a dissertation on the effects of Joker venom on cellular growth, a copy of Catcher in the Rye is stuffed between the cushions, a knitting project pokes him from a corner in odd moments, a manila file folder with notes from the recent bout of tainted heroin is dangling just oh so enticingly on the stand closest to him (dammit, Dick. Touché).

Tim gives it ten minutes after his significant others leave for patrol (finally) before he looks around his empty living room with narrowed eyes and gingerly pulls his foot down off the cushions and plants it on the floor for literally the first time in a week.

(The first three days of being carried—even by Damian, believe it or not—were actually kind of nice. By day six, however, the novelty had worn very, very thin.)

So he might be grinning a little to himself since he sounded completely sincere when he promised Jay he was not going to get up while they were on patrol, that he had everything he could possibly want right here, and they had to get going because Gotham needed them. He made sure to catch the shadows falling from his fire escape before he even turned in his seat, gave it an extra few minutes for, you know, just in case.

So he’s got a hand on the arm of the couch, ready to shove himself to his feet and just go into his kitchen to make a damn cup of coffee himself thank-you very fucking much, ready to put weight on the injury.

(Really. He should have known better.)

The abrupt, jarring slam followed by the mini-tornado doesn’t even give him a chance.

The move is too fast for him to counter, but he’s just suddenly held high up against a broad chest, staring up in the blue eyes of Superboy, noting the obvious displeasure by his frown and drawn brows.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” is more deadpan than he imagined, which just makes Superboy frown that much harder.

“Yo! Doc Drake!” Kid Flash is right there, holding a hand out for a serious high-five. “Totally nice digs, man. You? Are so obviously in the mode.”

The annoyed noise comes all the way up from his toes because this? This is just not even necessary.

“I can’t believe they’re wasting your time with this,” Tim groans aloud, doing such an epic facepalm the sound echoes. “It was just...a collapsing bridge, okay? I’m really fine.”

But when he looks up, really looks, something is just off because—

Superboy is in jeans and a plaid shirt, sporting a pair of wire-framed glasses. Kid Flash has no mask or body suit, but huge sneaker and—

They’re not in the masks.

He sucks in an abrupt breath and almost chokes.

“Oh yeah,” Superboy looks at KF all nonchalant. Just, you know, NBD man, here’s our secret idents.

“It’s cool.” KF shoos the shock away, “Dick said you were totally on the level, so we’re good showing you the real faces, you dig?”

“I...Are...are you sure you’re okay with this?” He can’t help but ask, looking from one to the other.

The super clone just shifts his weight to hold him up by one arm and stick the other by his chest, “Conner Kent.”

Dumbly, he shakes the hand, staring up at the blue eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Bart Allen. Time traveler extraordinaire.” Bart completely takes the initiative and shakes his hand super-fast.

“Ah, yeah, wow...this is- this is kick ass. Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Both Titans give him wide grins and Conner turns to gently put him back down on the couch. Bart fluffs the pillows before his legs goes right back where it was before.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” he hedges, “you know, my leg is just stellar, and I should start putting weight on it—”

“Dick and Jason would probably kill us in horrible ways if we let you do that,” Conner shrugs easily, “so it’s okay, I’ll make you some coffee.”

The loud gasp by his television makes both of them crane around to see Bart going through his X-Box One games with huge eyes.

“I want to play this one right now,” the speedster bellows, swinging Arkham Knights around in one hand.

His inner nerd sparked, Tim grins a little viciously, “I already beat it, so all the cheats are unlocked.”

“Holy shit, man! I totally call Batman!”

“I want Harley Quinn,” Conner calls on his way to the kitchen, “if I’m going to watch someone run for an hour, I want it to be someone with a sweet ass.”

“Totally feel that,” Bart nods while he sets up the game. “How about you, Tim?”

“Robin,” he says quietly, “I’m usually Robin.”

He gives them both a hundred vigilante points because neither of them say a word.

[itsskipclass]

THE WIZARD RETURNS

After a 5 year hiatus, the time has come to return to typing these sacred and slanderous scriptures upon the world wide web waves. For those of you around during the SDTW era.....welcome back. And thank you for all the messages over the years. For real. I still get DMs about the blog. Y’all are wild. 

I never believed a blogspot would become something I would be “known” for or that it would get me hired into the world of ad agencies. I worked on all types of crazy shit. Microsoft commercials, Pepsi, and had to sit in meetings with numerous laser pointers and guys named Dylan with laceless chucks. FYI, I eventually quit that world a few years back and went solo. 

So why come back? Why bring a blog back, especially now? Why write words when the whole world is busy scrolling through millions of IG model booty pics and memes all from the same 10 accounts? Nobody is fucking with reading, Skip! Ain’t nobody gonna read words again. Books are for rollerbladers, my guy!

Scientists have found those statements to be 4,320% false and instruct you to call the following hotline:

The other question some may have, how are people gonna even see this blog if you ain’t got the blog juice no more? First off, fuck your juice, your juice cleanse, and Orenthal James Simpson. If you build it, they will come and if you assholes go tell a few people that there is a blog with actual words on it again there’s a good chance I’ll keep doin’ the shit. Feel me?

Without getting long winded (crazy lying already) I believe scrolling and image based internet culture will lose the crown of the internet. It won’t get Myspace’d outta here or nothing like that, but something new will come along and dethrone it. 

My real reason to have a blog again is to reconnect with my people that share the same interests, hobbies, taste, and sense of humor. That sounds amazingly bland, I know. But a lot of your favorite creatives are where they are because of extremely influential blogs from back in the day. And also possibly from working hard.

Blogs like:

IMNOTATOY 

GETNLOOSE

IGNORED PRAYERS 

BROWN CARDIGAN 

THEWORLDSBESTEVER 

VICTORY-LIGHT 

Cocaine Blunts

Reading those blogs on the daily was a huge reprieve during my shitty work day. One’s day would improve dramatically by simply seeing a meme or from a finding a link to a t-shirt you would’ve never known where to buy. Long gone is that game changing feeling when someone posted music or a movie you never might have come across and it proceeding to blow your mind. That “knowledge” is sorely lacking in this scrolling culture. Those “let me put you on, son” moments became a line of dots that lead creatives to draw inspiration from sources they wouldn’t have normally have had access to. And they in turn used that knowledge to create something new or pushed themselves to get better at their craft. 

Also...

I believe there was a “certain” component on SDTW that people rather enjoyed:

Which was...

Me getting high on iced coffee and talking wild shit and satire*

Note* whenever I use the word satire it means I’m talking ENORMOUS amounts of Buffalo Wild Wings Extra Spicy Level SHEEEEYYIITTTTT, but hiding behind the literary device the we call satire.

I don’t plan on changing the flow of what I used to do. This blog will be lots of music, downloads, art, books, graffiti, movie/tv shows I’m feeling, Youtube gems, and humans being crazy disrespectful. And on occasion, I will, when the mood strikes, zero in on a subject that MIGHT invoke the wrath of the Slander Gawd aka Lord Send Ya Back To The Essence Esquire aka Baron Von That’s Gonna Be A ‘No’ From Me Dawg or more eloquently known as Skip Class.

When I talked shit it was mainly because it was the shit that YOU LOT were all thinking, but since you didn’t know how to make the words sound pretty, you kept the shit to yourselves. I didn’t ask for this X-Men level shit talking power. I was born into it. Molded by it. Nobody wakes up dreaming that their calling will be to channel their peer group’s collective conscious of “this is bullshit, like that dude/brand can not be serious with this shit, right?”. So it falls on me to sometimes call out these false ‘for the culture” herbs and type some shit that snipers their dome and JFKs their whole back seat. It is merely for the purposes of catharsis for you and me. And b-t-w, 99% of the time, I truly do not care.

I get up in the morning like everyone else. I pour myself a big ol’ bowl of Woke Wheaties and avoid whatever that Dorito colored motherfucker has done or tweeted at 5 am to distract us from living in a better world.

Enough! Let’s do this blogging shit. I encourage anyone to email me, submit shit, I can’t promise to post it up. If I like it, then I like it. If I don’t, it ain’t personal. Please don’t cry in audible range of your Alexa and have her hear you sounding like a little mark ass mark. Get better at whatever bullshit you tried to get shine for. And try again. Fail upwards. I did. And now I got health insurance.

Now play my theme song and tell your Aunt that I’m back and I’m not sorry for dine n’ dashing at the Red Lobster on her. 

Cheese Biscuits > anything you’ve ever done, on God, dawgie.

[ratuvictoria]

Must Watch: PK Movie

My aunt had been talking about this movie for ages but I just watched it last night. I don't think many of you have watched it too, knowing that this is an Indian movie (but with minimum epic Bollywood style!) I had underestimated Aamir Khan's previous hit movie 3 Idiots (that I became a fan of), so I knew this movie should be good--but I always forgot to find it anytime I wanted to watch a movie. But last night, I finally watched it and felt so grateful I did. (FYI, this movie is India's third highest grossing film worldwide!) The movie plot starts with an alien--later called PK, mistaken from the word peekay (drunk)--who arrived in India to study this planet but got his remote control stolen so he had to stay and adapt in the world's most dense, heterogeneous, developing nation. In his search he had to learn about people from the scratch: about human nature and their need to seek and praise God. The movie is all about religion and its importance, but also criticize the ways some religions 'contact God's wrong number' and drive their followers in the wrong direction when religion is made a tool for some party to gain wealth. I like everything about this movie: the plot, the message, the casting, the chemistry, the costume, the setting--everything! I love the girl playing Janggu (Anushka Sharma) for being so flawlessly beautiful with her pixie cut hair that already shows her rebellious soul, Sarfaraaz (Sushant Singh Rajput) for being Janggu's compatibly handsome boyfriend, and of course, the weird-looking alien PK (Aamir Khan). I really think everything is well-thought in this movie, unlike the infamous Indian movie style that sometimes 'so out of the box' it drives us crazy. Everything in this movie is proportional and natural (well except for the Belgian grandpa who speaks Indian on the first scene). Just another reason to be a fan of Aamir Khan! (And you should watch his latest movie Dangal--he's being all-out there!)

I think this is the kind of a movie everyone should watch. The two-and-a-half hour movie gives us details on PK's progress in search of this God from zero, with some witty touches here and there, and a bit of satire on daily habits found in India, like losing sandals in temples--they're shown explicitly so even those who couldn't 'get the hint' would understand the message. The movie duration may be lengthy, but one thing I assure you: you won't get bored watching it. PK is us when we first came to this world: naked, pure, know nothing about how things work here. We then learn from our surroundings; adapting with the culture, the language, and later the life principles. First we copied the others, we drink what is offered. But like PK, we must too be critical about life. We must ask ourselves if it's reasonable or are we doing it merely because of our fear and just because we want the reward promised in Heaven? And is it done in the right way that would give benefits to the others, peace for the world--or does it bring hatred and war instead? Are we doing it right? The movie is a reminder to us that there are many religions, teachings, ideologies, sects, cults, etc. in this world and each of it claims to worship the right God in the rightest way. And sometimes, having too focused on this, we forgot the true essence of worshiping God. Sometimes it all became too fleshy, too materialistic, and made us feel the most righteous of all. It would drive us to arrogance and--worse--fanatical and hypocritical. This movie would definitely open our eyes and broaden our mind. The movie also reminds us to always differentiate which God we are praising: is it The One who created us, or the one we created? The comedy drama goes way deeper than it shows: it really triggers us to reach within and ask ourselves: is the image of God that we have in mind is really the God that is out there?

I guess not just in India and Indonesia, this movie could relate to everyone in this world, especially now that we've become too attached with labels and could be too hardcore and would go to the extremes. We need to reevaluate our values in life: is it really that important, these labels, that made us gods to our neighbors and judge them by what we see? Since when we're so knowledgeable about everything, when what we really know is just a tiny dot in this universe? The movie speaks about humility, humbleness, sincerity, pureness, love, and most of all, our relationship with God. Although there is a UFO and alien in this movie, the movie isn't about atheism or science. It combines the facts with the human need to find God within ourselves--and to not merge our beliefs with our social lives. What we believe--our religions--is private. Don't let it interfere with--or hold us back from--the people we love. It's something that is hard to understand, especially here in this eastern part of the globe. Ironically, while the innocents could teach us so much about true love and purity, as Janggu said, what we teach them to be human is how to lie--although it's for the better good, although it's a sacrifice for a beloved one. Sad, but true. And it's really a part of being human we sometimes learn the hard way. So, if you haven't watch this movie, you really should! Even if you're already so broad-minded. Even if you don't believe in God. And especially if you think you're already the most righteous person in the world.

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