#Fic: Their Little Red

[takaraphoenix]

Me: Oh, I really want to try my hands on Deucalion/Peter/Stiles that could be such an intriguing concept

Me: But it'll be the first one. So it'll be short. A Mischief Monday, under 5k

The previously blank word document, now filled with 320 words of just plot-notes: Ya think?

Me: ...

[seiwas]

you wear katsuki’s clothes to bed.

among all your cotton and silk pajamas, you prefer the thinning fabric of his faded tees. there are holes in some of them, just a few more seams away from their undoing as they fit far too large on you—but that’s why you love them.

they’re comfy and worn; lived in with love from the man that you love. when katsuki is gone for days or weeks at a time, you find his warmth intertwined within the threads of his t-shirts. when the fabric presses against your back, the bed doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it is.

(though it can never replace him. nothing can, you fear.)

“hoggin’ all my shirts,” he tuts, but you know it means nothing. the roll of white fabric is neatly folded unto itself, its crisp corners unfurling once handed over.

you giggle, shaking off its folds and fitting the hem right over your head. from the corner of your eye, you see katsuki’s gaze, watching you wrangle the fabric over you as the towel wrapped around your body slowly drops to the floor.

he turns away then, a little too quickly, a little too abruptly. if you look at him now, you’re sure you’ll find flushed cheeks and crimson eyes burning in shame for wanting you so inopportunely.

“guess you’ll just have to take me with it then.”

[strange-birb]

Cough*

Jason’s design……

Next time I’m going to go ham with platforms on him like 👀

Not really a design I app for him. I feel like he’s not gonna go all out he’s just vibing idk. He set the makeup being the most prominent thing. His theme is dead boi

He does actually have the scars but I figure paint them all glowey and no one questions it?

He has fun being the zombie on stage and watching his family squirm when they see him in all the makeup lol

Blue lips cold skin wrecked fingernails

Bruce would have an attack 🤣

I don’t really know what to do with Jason’s designs and I’m open to any ideas fr

Official secret band AU!!!

Steph is drummer. Tim singer. Jason guitarist

I’m debating adding another but it won’t be batfam 🤷‍♀️

Tim.

Steph

ROY

CASS

[canisalbus]

hello! i've written a short little machete fic, and i wanted to share it with you as thanks for all the incredible art and generous question-answering you've been doing these last few months. i hope that if you give it a look, you enjoy it. <3 keep up all your amazing work! archiveofourown [.] org / works / 50945128

✦ A Voi ✦

[indulgentdaydream]

Jason Todd x reader where reader and Jason just cuddle in bed and Jason traces her frekles

"So pretty," he mumbles.

You giggle tiredly, already halfway to sleep.

Jason Todd doesn't get to use his hands for gentle things very often in general. But he'd be damned if he wasn't gentle for every second he had with you.

"Makin' shapes?" You peeked one eye open, seeing the admiration in Jason's face as his pointer finger ghosted across your cheeks, moving from freckle to freckle to beauty mark to freckle.

Jason hummed an agreement in response. He trailed his finger over your lips briefly before moving it down to your chin, across your jaw, and down your neck, ending on your shoulder where he started to trace more.

"What kinda shapes?" You asked.

A smirk pulled at Jason's lips, "Sixth dimensional ones."

You faked a gasp, "Six dimensional ones?"

"Yeah."

"What talent you have," You smiled. "It's hot."

Jason snorted, "Why thank you."

[ebodebo]

Red Is Dead

previous

—you find a familiar friend in an alleyway

—red hood x f!reader

—2.4k

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The rain fell gently, a soft patter that barely disturbed the stillness of the evening. The smell of damp soil and blossoming flowers filled your nostrils as you made your way home. You felt a sense of calmness wash over your body as you walked. It was honestly pretty surprising that a city as crime-ridden and lively as Gotham could invoke any serenity.

You weren't even from the city, but people talked. They criticized the city for being perilous since it was full of criminals and villains alike reaping havoc on the city every night—well, except from the looks of it, tonight.

Maybe tonight was their night off, you thought, before following with a small laugh.

You glance at Tom, your newish bodyguard, steadily walking behind you—poised as always. Your father had insisted he hire one since Gotham was unsafe, and some people would love nothing more than to see your father hurt—even if it meant going through you to do it.

Your father had insisted, more like forced, that you take him with you on your little expedition. Truthfully, you had really no idea why you had decided to leave the apartment you stayed in when you were in town and walk down the strip.

It was most likely to try to get a certain blue-eyed boy out of your head. It was odd; you couldn't get that guy out of your head since Bruce's gala. You two had slept together—on a roof. It was a one-night stand, and you couldn't forget about it. What was wrong with you?

"It's quiet," you say, trying to hide your embarrassment from laughing at seemingly nothing.

"Quite," Tom agrees. You sigh as you drudge your legs, irritated by his lack of conversion.

"Did you have to take a communication class before you got this gig?" You offhandedly ask as you walk past an apparent new burger place with a flashy sign that reads 'Between The Buns.'

"I don't believe so," he hums, not sparing the tacky sign a singular glance. You glance back at him, humming a sound of acknowledgment.

"You didn't need to trouble yourself with walking me home, Tom," you assure, stopping in front of him to admire another storefront, this time of a flower shop named 'The Flower Pot,' which is oddly next to an alleyway.

"It's my job to protect you, Miss," he informs, voice steady.

"I know, but—" you begin, turning your head to look down the alleyway, noticing a figure hunched against the shop's bricked wall, softly cursing. Your eyes widen, taking note of the reflective shiny red of his helmet that you could see even in the shitty lighting.

"What's the matter?" Tom questions, wondering what you're looking at. You spare him a glance before sprinting over to the hunched-over figure. Tom yells your name, trailing behind you.

Once you reach the figure, chest heaving, you look over the side of his abdomen, seeing blood spatters seeping through what looks like a shirt. You breathe out, hand coming to cover your mouth.

"Oh my—oh, he's, he's dead! Oh my—Tom! Tom!" You squeal, pointing at the bloodied and beaten person in front of you—that looked a helluva lot like a certain vigilante you spotted in a tabloid. Tom stepped closer to the guy, carefully observing him to see if he was in fact dead.

As he tried to reach down and grab the guy's wrist, his hand came up to grasp Tom's.

"Not dead," the guy murmured, moving his hand to hold his abdomen. "Kinda wish I was, though." Your eyes widen again, eyes scanning his helmet and the guns strapped to his thighs, and ears taking notice of the modulation of his voice.

"Hey, wait. You're that Hood guy," you announce, pointing a finger at him.

"Maybe, maybe not," the guy shrugs, clutching his side tighter, clearly trying to suppress losing any more blood.

"No, you're totally him," you tilt your head, bringing your hands to rest on your hips. "I heard about you from the Gazelle—Red Hood, right?"

"Hey, hey. Keep your voice down," the guy urged, slightly sitting up, hissing at the action. He leaned back against the wall, throwing his head back as he did. He flicked his eyes back to yours, briefly taking note of your soured expression.

"Fine. You caught me," Hood groaned, raising his hand to observe it and cursing as he saw it caked in a mix of fresh and old blood. You look at Tom before bending down, putting your body weight on your toes.

"Fuck. You need to go to the hospital," you murmur, looking into his eyes.

"No hospital," Hood's gaze flicks to yours; his tone is unmistakably serious.

"You'll bleed out and die," you attest, eyes glaring at his.

"I'm not going to a hospital," he says, turning his head away from you.

"I can't—are you serious?" You dryly laugh.

"Dead," he insists.

"Well, I'm not leaving you to die," you cross your arms over your chest, clearly not budging.

"Why? Would it hurt your feeble conscience?" He gibed, hissing as he brought his hand to grip the gash.

"I—you can't just ask me to let you die, Red," you affirm, bringing your hands to put more pressure on where blood seeps out.

"I'm not," he hisses. "I just said no hospital."

"So, then, where do you suppose we take you? You hiss, agitated at his lack of cooperation and appreciation that you didn't just leave his ass to bleed out. "That fucking burger place across the street?"

"Wouldn't chance it," he begins, wheezing as Tom picks his shirt up a little to expose the bloody gash, carefully pressing his handkerchief that was tucked nicely in his coat pocket onto it to try and stop the bleeding. "They might put me in the burgers."

"Gross," you roll your eyes at Red before turning to Tom. "What the hell are we going to do with him?" Tom takes a breath before pulling his phone out to text someone.

"No, seriously, they would put me in that meat grinder," Red deadpans.

"Shut up," you grumbled, pressing his abdomen harder. "Let me think."

"And then feed me to everyone," his voice is indifferent before it turns curious. "Wonder if I'm tasty?"

"Oh my god, you're impossible," you deeply sigh.

"The limo is pulling up," Tom supplies, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket and glancing at Red and then at you. “I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but I work for your family, so it's your call. Where do you want to take him?" Tom says coolly.

You look back at an anguished Red, silently cursing from pain. Taking a deep breath, you look at Tom, nodding towards Red.

"I'll take him to my apartment," you declare. Red lets out a dry chuckle as Tom helps him up, bringing his arm to grip Red's lower back tightly, while Red's arms drape over his shoulders.

"Woah, woah. I'm not just some stray cat you can take in cus' I'm cute," Red groggily says.

"I don't think you're cute," you plainly say as you and Tom guide him into the back of the limo. The driver holds the door open, paying no heed to what is happening.

"I actually think you're a bit of a dick," you shrug, getting him situated in his seat as you sink into the seat next to him, gently placing your hand to put more pressure on his wound.

"Do those things have to be mutually exclusive?" Red quips, tilting his head back on the headrest.

"To me, yes," you simply say, hearing Tom mutter something to the driver. "To be considered cute, you can't be a dick, and if you're a dick, you aren't cute."

"Mhm. You're an odd one, alright," Red murmurs, putting pressure on the wound himself. Your eyes flick to his as you feel his hands lay on top of yours on his abdomen, surprised to find his eyes already dulling into yours.

"You—we probably, um, we probably only need one pair of hands for pressure," you feel your face heat as you pull your hands off of him, laying them on either side of your thighs instead.

"Okay. We'll be there in fifteen," Tom says, turning to look at you and Red. He raises a brow at how you sit straight up in the seat and your hands tightly tucked to your side. You are grateful when he doesn't question why. "Also, just for the record, I had no prior knowledge of this happening. Yes?" Tom asks, tilting his head towards you.

"Got it. You don't want to be my accomplice," you amend, tipping your head towards him.

Once you reach your apartment, Tom helps you bring Red inside to rest on the couch. You assure him you will be fine. He says he is only a call away if you need anything.

You were honestly surprised that Tom willingly left, but maybe he was finally starting to see you as an adult and not a child, or perhaps he didn't want Red's blood on his hands if he did die while under your roof. You hoped the former.

"So, uh, are you thirsty?" You yell from your place in the bathroom, opening the cupboard under your sink and fumbling with the cleaning supplies to try and grab your small first aid kit. "Hungry?"

"Not really," Red gravels, pressing a button on his shiny red mask to open it before ripping it off to reveal a simple black domino mask.

"You should probably have some water at least," you say, heading into the kitchen to fill a fresh glass with tap water from your sink. You walk into the living room, gently placing the water next to him on the side table while you sit on the coffee table, shuffling through the first aid kit.

"Thanks," he gruffed, reaching for the cup of water and chugging down almost the whole glass, wiping some of the water that dripped down his chin with the back of his gloved hand.

You looked up, a hint of humor in your eyes at his chugging before you saw it. His lips. You knew those lips. You were sure of it. You fiddled with a piece of gauze you dipped in saline in your hand as your eyes examined him further.

"What?" Red curiously says, taking notice of fervent staring. You dart your eyes back to his before moving back to the gauze.

"Sorry. You—you just look a little familiar," you admit, moving closer to him. He gently lifts his shirt just high enough so you can clean the wound.

"Ya," he winces as he feels the gauze gently pat around the gash. "Knew that wouldn't last long," he utters as he rips off his black domino mask, tossing it to his side.

You are slightly startled by his swift movement, pulling back. "Wha—Jason," you exclaim, shock and disbelief coating your face. "You—you're," you stutter, unsure of what to say.

"Ya," he awkwardly says, cringing from pain as he scratches the back of his neck. "Fuck."

"Shit. Okay, okay. We need to take care of this before we dive into—you use your hand to gesture towards him—that." He lightly nods as you delicately place the gauze onto the gash.

"Fuck—fuck!" He curses, throwing his head back, jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth.

"You okay?" You halt your actions, staring at him with more gauze in hand.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" He grits, tipping his head down to look at you. Your eyes are wide at his tone. He sighs. "M'sorry. Just—just keep going," he exasperates, laying his head back down, inhaling and exhaling slowly as you finish placing the gauze and taping it thoughtfully to ensure it was secure on his skin. He pulls his shirt down almost immediately after you finish.

"It should be okay tonight, Red. But you should really get it checked out tomorrow," you begin, closing up the kit. "You know, by a doctor."

"You can," he pauses momentarily. "Just call me Jason."

"Okay, Jason," you smile a little, "Please get it checked tomorrow." He nods as you get up to put the first aid kit back in your bathroom. You come back to see him staring up at the ceiling.

"I, uh, died," he mumbles as you take a seat on the couch cushion farthest from him. You let out a laugh, turning your head to look at him. His face is still looking at the ceiling, but it lacks humor.

"What do you mean?" You question.

"Just—I don't know," he raises his hand, trying to shoo away the question. "Forget it."

"Jason," you softly say, hand lingering closer to his own. "Tell me." You bring your hand to lay on top of his; he turns towards you swiftly at the contact. You lightly smile to let him know it's okay. He takes a deep breath before revealing more.

He doesn't go into detail about what occurred during his time in Arkham, but he did talk about his resurrection from Lazarus Pit; you didn't even know what the hell that was. He just said it can revive someone from the dead if they have just died.

"Then you became Red Hood?" You quietly asked, your hand gripping his tighter. You had not even realized it, but sometime during the conversation, you had scooted closer to him.

"Then I became Red Hood," he agrees, a light glint of humor dancing across his face. You hum a sound of acknowledgment, contemplating your following words.

"Does your dad know?" You ask, tilting your head a little. He raises a brow, clearly confused.

"Does my—" he begins to question before he lets out a slight huff, "Bruce?" You nod.

"He does," Jason affirms without the sarcastic commentary he would typically enforce since you just looked so sincere.

You both sat in silence for a bit, heads leaned back on the headrest of the couch, staring at the ceiling, fingers now interlaced. Oddly, it felt so casual—like you had just done this a million times before. You had only met him once before, but you felt like you could just trust him with your life—I mean, he had trusted you with his.

"You should sleep," you break the silence, slowly turning your head to face him, cheek smushed against the leather of the couch.

"Nah. Sleep is for the weak," he mumbles, turning his head to look at you. "Would you mind just, uh, staying here?" He awkwardly asks. "Please."

"No need to beg, Jason," you snicker. "I won't leave. I promise." He slightly flinches at your words. You don't question why; instead, you interlock your fingers tighter so he knows you aren't fibbing.

You get the feeling he's never really had anyone to take much care of him. So, you'll sit on the ugly brown leather couch you despise while the air conditioning turns on, sending shivers and goosebumps down your bare arm because everyone deserves to have somebody.

Even if that 'everyone' just so happens to be a stray vigilante with a massive ego.

a/n: posting this then running away (also still very new to dc so plz don’t be mean to me about the lore if it’s inaccurate)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[clarisse-doodles]

bat watching

[rebelsafoot]

this was the only way it was ever going to end.

art based loosely off of my fic in plain sight

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[gbirrd]

6/9 - Jason Todd tarot card designs for Complete Candor by @vexfulfolly as part of the @batfam-big-bang

Read the fic here!

Other cards:

1-Babs 2-Cass 3-Bruce 4-Tim 5-Damian 6-Jason 7-Duke 8-Steph 9-Dick

Image IDs

Image 1:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL". A symbol of a gravestone is visible behind the numeral "XV".

A young Jason Todd in his Robin uniform tugs at a thick chain around his neck that comes down from the top of the frame. Matching shackles are around his wrists and he is buried up to his waist in dirt. His head is tilted up towards the chain. There is blood on his hands, arms, chest, and dripping down the right side of his face as well as from his nose.

Image 2:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL" upside-down. A symbol of a flame is visible behind the numeral "XV".

Jason Todd faces forward, filling most of the frame. He is in his Red Hood uniform and has narrowed pupil-less white eyes. He is holding the end of a thick chain in his right fist. Flames fill the background and bathe him in an orange light. The entire card is upside-down.

[takaraphoenix]

Their Little Red… please share!! I’m so intrigued now!!

THANK YOU FOR ASKING <3<3<3

Okay so!!

It's going to be an AU, no Alpha Pack, no Stiles knowing either of them actually.

In this ABOverse world, Stiles is an omega who's lived on suppressants since he presented, because in human society, omegas are treated second class.

However, he recently learned that in werewolf society, omegas are veered as something precious to be cherished, someone every pack would be proud to include among them.

So, Stiles decides to go and see if maybe, just maybe, he could get lucky with a werewolf. He finds out about a club, called Little Red, that is specially for human/werewolf match ups to meet.

But when he first goes, he's still on suppressants, because as nice as it sounds in theory that werewolves would view omegas better, he 1.) doesn't 100% trust his sources and needs to see for himself, and also 2.) even if that is the case, he also doesn't want to be wanted just for being an omega.

His first night at the club, he meets Deucalion and hits it off with the werewolf. But since he forgets to ask for the man's number, he returns the next night, hoping to see him again.

Instead, he meets Peter, with whom he also hits it off right away.

Now, what Stiles doesn't realize is that they're both not just werewolves, they're also Alphas, as in not just alphas but capital A pack leader type of alphas. And a mated pair. And the owners of this very club that is quickly becoming his usual hang-out.

Deucalion and Peter had been discussing adding a third for a while when Stiles first catches Deucalion's interest and though due to their nature as a mated pair of alphas, they'd been talking about an omega, he finds the quick-witted beta enchanting and when Peter goes to meet Stiles the following night, his husband seems of the same mind.

Still, they wait and get to know Stiles separately first, knowing that chatting someone up for a potential hook-up is a different beast than a courting offer, especially from a mated pair, especially from two Alphas who came with an entire pack (a pack that grows more and more eager the more often Stiles comes to the club, because they all work there and thus get to know Stiles too).

(And yes. The fic's title has a double meaning, since it's the name of their club. But also Stiles looks enchanting in that infuriating red hoodie he wears the first weekend he goes to the club.)

[the-coffeeaddict-tim-drake]

Tim Drake Fics On A03

These are my list of Tim Drake fics on A03. It has everything. Angst, fluff, funny sibling relationship, family fluff, The core four etc... There are few TimKon fics thrown here and there too. Have fun.

Tim Drake (Doesn't) Drink Coffee by BabblingBookends

Every year, Tim goes on a caffeine detox for a month and has to deal with the resulting withdrawal symptoms. He doesn't tell the rest of the Bats about this, because, uh, reasons!

Bang, bang by Ididloveyou_once

‘You shot me!’ Jason gasped, stunned, ‘Holy shit, you actually shot me.’

Tim’s eyes widened and he froze. They stared at each other for a second, dumbstruck and then-

‘Don’t tell Bruce.’

Or: The family enjoy a normal movie night. Except Jason has a gunshot wound and Tim’s the only one who knows and oh- that’s because Tim’s the one who shot him and they really, really need to find a way to leave before anyone finds out.

Play it Again by Jazz020

The manor feels too quiet without music. Tim and Damian bond over music.

Send to All by kerosceene

I, ___________________________, hereby acknowledge that this form represents my wishes should I contract phytoaphrodisiac-induced delirium (hereafter referred to as “PAID”) during engagements with or while apprehending Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley (“Poison Ivy”).

-

The bats have a sex pollen release form. Because of course they do.

This is on of the most funniest batfam fic I have ever read.

four brothers, one crush, and absolutely zero brain cells to be found by Ms_Trickster

Tim: i need to know what’s the best way to a boy’s heart 

Damian: Easy. The best way to someone’s heart is through their ribcage. Everyone knows that. 

Damian: Come on Timothy, I expected better from you. 

Dick: I-

Dick: Try again

-

Tim is having boy troubles.

Tim goes to his brothers for help.

Tim...did not think that plan of action through.

(In which the batbros give Tim advice on relationships, told entirely through texts.)

Their sibiling relationship is too damn funny.

Home by sElkieNight60 

“Why didn't you call home?” the Red Hood is scolding him, bizarrely making his head spin with how unreal everything suddenly seems. “Why didn't you call Dad? You've been missing for three days and he is losing his mind―he thinks you've been kidnapped again―everyone has been pulling double runs all over the city trying to find you! You fucking disappeared! Seriously, Baby Bird, give us one good reason why we shouldn't drag your ass back home right now and have Dad bench you until the end of all days!?”

The two vigilantes are staring at him equal parts furious and equal parts relieved, but there must be some kind of mistake, because:

“Who is Tim?”

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Cork Board Contingencies by PrinceJakeFireCake

If you don’t use a cork board to obsessively plan contingencies for every possible way a date with your best friend can go, how can you go on a date at all?

Excerpt: “Are you free next Saturday?” Tim asked, pretty sure that Kon’s jumble of words was agreement that he wanted to date Tim.

“Maybe!” Kon exclaimed.

“Cool,” Tim commented, taking another sip of his drugged grape soda (“Dammit, Tim,” he mentally told himself. “Do not give in! Buy new grape soda! Stop drinking the drugged grape soda! I’ve shotgunned another can of drugged grape soda, haven’t I? Dammit, that makes five!”) then saying, “That gives me just enough time to pass out for fifty-two hours and plan our first date.”

Bloodlines by chibi_nightowl for exiled-one (mistralle)

“Mr. Drake, I can’t think of a better way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. This file is for your first adoption. By the Drakes.” 

Tim blinked. “My what?” 

“You were adopted as a newborn by Jack and Janet Drake.” 

“Excuse me, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

No words. This fic is just mind blowing.

fill in the blanks by mindshelter

“You?” Tim blurts. Holy shit. “You’re Kon?”

A nod. “Are you in any pain?” he asks again.

Kon’s skin is sun-kissed, cheekbones dusted with a fine smattering of freckles; he is, without exaggeration, the prettiest person Tim has ever seen. “No, I’m—great,” he says, fidgeting. “Do you, uh, come here often?”

Kon raises a brow. “To the medbay?” he intones. “Definitely more often than I’d prefer.”

Road Rage Robin by heartslogos 

"I'd be doing humanity a favor." Tim grinds out, "And I would get away with it. I could totally get away with it. I've done worse."

Only A03 users can read this fic

Liberal Usage of the Bro-Code by heartslogos for protagonistically (the_protagonist)

“You’re never going to guess who’s blood is on my shirt – similarly, this is not my shirt but these are my pants.”

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Here's a Reminder (That You Haven't Fallen Through the Cracks) by popsunner

If it’s a salesperson, he’ll shove them a hundred dollar tip and tell them to go away, if it’s some religious do gooder, he’ll direct them to Metropolis. If it’s a Rogue, he’ll tell them he’s busy and to please get in the fucking line. If it’s one of his siblings--

“Hey, Tim!” Dick says brightly, forearm braced against the doorframe.

Dammit.

i totally don't have amnesia by impravidus for odd_izzy

Based on this john mulaney bit: “I also think it's weird in movies when someone has amnesia and they wake up in the hospital. A lot of times they'll be surrounded by friends and family, but when they open their eyes they go "Who are you?" Because that's not how you act when you don't recognize somebody. That's very rude. It would be chaos out there if every time you saw someone you didn't recognize, you went, "Who are you?" I always try to be really polite in life, so like if I had amnesia, you'd never know it. I'd wake up and they'd be like "Hi John, we're so happy you're awake." And I'd just be like, "Oh, hey, man, how's it going?", "Oh, hey, dude, nice to see you again." because that's how you act when you can tell that someone recognizes you and you have no fucking clue who they are.”

Detective Timothy Drake and the Mysterious Case of the Unclaimed Dildo by JpegDotJpeg

Tim had a lot of experience with problem solving. Every goddamn day he was solving problems. There was no shortage of problems in Tim’s life. He’d learned how to deal with overbearing parents, underbearing parents, malfunctioning equipment, in-team conflict, lawsuits, emotional breakdowns, financial difficulty, broken ribs, ill-timed boners, and a whole host of other bizarre, anxiety-inducing, or life-threatening issues that plagued his existence.

None of them had prepared him for finding a dildo in the dishwasher.

I had so much fun reading this.

Little Overlooked Dreams by Lunette3002 for Marzue

Tim weighed his options. He was alone at night in some alleyway in Gotham. He had nothing except the clothes left on the ground by someone and the cloak wrapped around his skinny shoulders. His camera was nowhere in sight. His backpack was gone too.

He brought the device to his ear. “Hello?”

Whatever talking had been on the other end of the line immediately cut off at his hesitant greeting.

“Who is this?”

Family Photos by KelpieCodyne 

“I thought you quit your photo stalking?”

“In my defence, I never said I was quitting, and you never asked if I would,” Tim immediately counters. “So really, this is kind of on you.”

Just because Tim became a bat, doesn’t mean he stopped taking photos of bats. Several times Tim took photos of the batfamily, and one time they took photos of him.

One of my all time favorite fic. And only A03 users can read this fic too.

picture perfect memories by Fandom_Trash224 

“I… require assistance with something. I believe you are best-suited for it.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, but motions for the younger boy to enter his room. As Damian does, he slowly closes the door behind him, and Tim notices a small piece of what Tim assumes to be paper in Damian’s hand. Then, he realizes it’s not just a piece of paper: it’s a photo.

Damian approaches Tim, holding out the photo at arm’s length once he’s close enough to do so, saying, “I would like you to explain this photo to me.”

Tim glances down at it, and to both his surprise and mild horror, he recognizes the photo.

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Biphasic Reaction by renecdote

People may have allergic reactions all the time and be fine, but they can also die from them. He has a flash of sudden, morbid curiosity about what the exact statistics for fatal allergic reactions are.

Only A03 users can read this fic.

miles and miles (in their shoes) by JUBE514

Where is Damian? Why can’t he see anything clearly? Where is the little brat? Damian had been by him in the cave when everything had exploded, they had been arguing like always when the two of them had gotten the punishment to go clean the trophy room, stop yelling at each other, stop being at each other's throat for two minutes and go clean the goddamn trophy room-

They had been cleaning, got into another knock out drag out argument, and it had come so close to blows and they had been screaming more than cleaning and-

The stupid fucking shoe, in the magical section- exploded out-

--

Tim and Damian switch bodies, the two of them realize exactly why the other does the things they do.

The Waynes, Damsels in Distress by hitthedeck

Roses are red, violets are blue, Bruce Wayne and his kids get kidnapped every other week. Some things are just universal, undeniable facts of life.

Or, in which Bruce Wayne is still Batman and his kids are still Robins, but they keep letting themselves get kidnapped because they think it's funny.

Have You Seen My Kids!? by Cute_Bear

Five Times Bruce's kids interrupted him as Bruce Wayne and One Time they interrupted him as Batman with the Justice League.

This is not Tim - centric, but it has really nice batfam fluff.

ten cents richer by Ms_Trickster

You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

That’s how the saying goes. Take enough punches from the universe and eventually it becomes harder and harder to pop back up, to see the worth in fighting back, to stop yourself from turning around and delivering some punches of your own.

Tim never wanted to become the villain—

“Appendicitis,” Tim breathed in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

—but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to burn the world to ashes when shit like this kept happening to him.

A Saturday Evening by malcyon

Jonathan shrugs, catches the expression still on Tim’s face. “We did throw out the cyanide.”

“Only because it expired.”

“Marty.”

“Well, it did.”

*****

Kon invites Tim over for dinner. Tim's not sure if he should have accepted that invitation.

unfurl by shipyrds

"Hey, Dick," Tim says. He's in costume, and fiddling with his gloves, but he doesn't remove his mask: nervous, and trying to hide it. "You've had sex with aliens, right?"

"I'm not going to like where this is going, am I?" Dick says, resigned.

"How did you deal with the whole. Junk situation," Tim says, in his best professional Mission Report voice. Its success is kind of undermined with how red his face is below the domino. — Tim asks some questions. Bruce and Clark come to some realizations.

The Conner Kent Conspiracy Board by Hayleythewriter

Tim figures out Kon’s feelings before Kon does.

His Baby by Musafir

Bruce once made Tim a promise that he would never break, just have to reaffirm later in life.

“Hi Tim. I’m Bruce and I am always going to be here for you.”

Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)

Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.

When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.

But most of all, Tim is alone.

(If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)

The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks 

What the comics neglected to cover after Bruce returns from being lost in time.

Only a03 users can read this fic.

charity by Valkirin for Ms_Trickster

The biggest downside of being adopted by Bruce Wayne is putting up with rich people events, including one where Jason will be in a room with a bunch of rich kids for a couple very long hours while Bruce goes to the adults' meeting. Jason is ready for a very bad time but the Drake kid listens to him from the start and keeps backing up Jason's ideas even though they've never met.

Jason warms up to Tim Drake long before Mad Hatter tries to take over the meeting and Tim backs him up again.

city of stars by lovelyre

College friends-to-lovers AU with Tim Drake.

This is Tim drake x Reader fic. Trust me its really good.

Tricks of the Trade by Jazz020

Jason and Damian learn about Tim's fool proof method of getting what he wants from Superman

Security Updates by Jazz020

Hal, Clark, and Barry find an unexpected guest playing with the watchtowers security.

Vacation at the Watchtower by Jazz020

A continuation of Security Updates

It may have been a mistake to let Tim stay at the Watchtower while he heals from his injury but the kid really needed to get away from his brothers.

“Wait, what if I go to the Watchtower with you.” “I don't think-” “It’ll be great. I'll even help out if you need me to. I'll be the best unpaid intern the Justice League has ever had.”

Birthdays by Jazz020

Bruce was always aware that Jack and Janet Drake were bad parents, but every once in a while they give him an unfortunate reminder.

Loss by Jazz020

Out of all of Tim’s self-destructive tendencies, it was his willingness to die for his loved ones that frightened Alfred most.

Sick by Jazz020

Tim’s never quite figured out the proper behavior for someone who’s sick. Instead of resting, he often makes his way to the Watchtower.

We Can Work It Out by blackash26, Tigrislupa

Damian endeavors to make up for his treatment of Drake and apologize properly; however, Drake refuses to forgive him no matter what he does. Tim does his best to deny, avoid, and ultimately deal with the fact that the demon brat has a crush on him of all people. (Pulling pigtails never felt like quite such an understatement.) Meanwhile, the rest of the family takes sides.

In all of this, there's only one thing everyone agrees on.

Don’t tell Dick.

Only A03 users can read this fic.

you'll never find a thing like today by remrose

"I'm just saying, I don't think I've ever been to one of these things that hasn't ended in explosions," Bart tells them, eyes on the crowds as he tugs at the ends of his cuffs.

To the Boy Who Called Yesterday by Shirokokuro

Bruce wonders when six-year-old Tim changed, when he shed that sad look he’s wearing now.

Or, perhaps, when he got so good at hiding it.

Cough syrup by Stardustwrites17

It’s the coldest night in the year. So of course Tim falls into the Gotham-fucking-harbor.

Featuring a worried dad, Tim's missing spleen, and of course, Tim battling with himself between being independent and letting himself be loved.

Chili dogs seasoned with tears by Robin_The_Robiner

Ever so slowly, Tim looked down at his plate. On it was a steaming chili dog, topped with fried onions and fresh parsley.

“Oh.” he whispered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Taking the place of a beloved dead boy was difficult, but Tim managed to do a decent job. He's smart, confident, and put together, so he wasn't effected by their devastating grief at all.

Tim is also a dirty little liar when it comes to his mental health.

A Pile Of Pillows By The Couch by reinersbigtits

Tim has always hated getting sick. He hates the haze and the pain. But, when he finds out his family is sick he jumps in to help without a second thought. However, without a spleen, he's incredibly susceptible to the illness and quickly realizes just how much he's missed out on.

Or: Tim Drakes repressed trauma followed by worried family feels and lots of comfort.

stepping on landmines by Ms_Trickster

There is a scar curved around Drake's neck that Damian does not understand.

So he asks Todd.

the butler's neighbor by deargalileo

It starts with a baseball, thrown onto the wayne's property. it's alfred's job to deal with such happenings, of course. but over tea and galas, it turns into so much more.

after all, why should bruce be the only one allowed to adopt any child that he finds?

Stranger than Fiction by foxy_mulder

"There are details in this document that absolutely no one should know unless they have inside information on us. There’s hints that they know our patrol schedules and regularly keep tabs on us. I don't know who's behind this, or what they want with Batman, but tracking the writer needs to be a priority."

"And this document is… a fanfiction?"

_________

(Tim Drake writes Batman fanfiction. He doesn't expect Batman to actually find it.)

There are many many more fics which i will post later. Have fun reading

[salty-fryingpan]

I'm not a fan of feminin Stiles

HOWEVER

(Possible period piece) kept boy prized possession Omega Stiles forced to dress like THIS

And paraded around the kingdom as a sign of status and power by someone or other to get people to listen to them and Derek rolls into the kingdom

And just goes absolutely fucking feral

[crescentmoonsandroses]

Drew Vamp-Chan and Skulls from @theskeletongames' fic The Skeleton Games. It was fun, I love how much shorter Sans is than Vamp-Chan. (Actually, I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be a bit shorter, but I forgot to check the height chart before I drew it. Oh well.)

Underfell was made by Vic the Underfella. The Skeleton Games and Vamp-Chan belong to Poetax.

[ghost-bxrd]

Jason opens his mouth to retort when his phone starts ringing.

And not any kind of ringing, no. It’s the fucking Spooky-Scary-Skeletons song.

This is a goddamn nightmare. He should have stayed in bed.

He has exactly two options.

One, not pick up.

Which would be a good option, the best option, if it were anybody else. Because Jason knows the fucker isn’t above trying to ring up the manor itself if he feels slighted.

Two, pick up. And suffer the most awkward birthday congratulations since… well, last year.

Jason glares at each and every curious Bat watching him from the sofa as he excuses himself and heads into the hall, pressing the green button with a long suffering sigh.

“What?”

“It has come to my attention that you have not yet contacted my daughter for your name day well wishes.“

Jason thunks his head against the wall.

“I’m busy.”

“I am aware,” Ra’s says smoothly, and Jason just knows the bastard is stirring his sinfully expensive blend of tea with some golden spoon, “And yet this has not stopped you before.”

“Is there a point to this call?”

“Yes. Do make sure to call my daughter soon. She is being quite insufferable.”

Righteous indignation rises inside Jason like hot coals.

“She isn’t—“

“She has disposed of three potential tutors since this morning,” Ra’s cuts him off, and Jason’s mouth snaps shut, “Yes, I do consider this to be insufferable. And your brother has brought it to my attention that the likely cause of her irritability is your lack of communication.”

“I’m busy.” Jason repeats, but it sounds petulant even to his own ears, “Look, I’ll call her as soon as I get out of here, ok?”

“Make sure that you do. Finding instructors is a difficult enough task without my daughter culling half their numbers before they even stepped across the threshold.”

“Maybe mom wouldn’t have to dispose of them if they were skilled enough to evade her.”

“Oh, some of them were,” Ra’s says drily, “But it proved to be for naught when she decided the your brother’s pets hadn’t had enough sustenance for the day.”

…so, maybe Jason should have called.

— silly little outtake of chpt X of What You’re Longing For (you claim to abhor)

[fic-over-cannon]

a little something to celebrate 100 followers (and finishing my finals!)

Jason’s thigh shifts under your cheek. The fabric of his jeans is warmed by your combined body heat, worn soft in the way a best loved pair always is. It’s been a long day, a long week actually, but its over now. You’ve made it through though and there’s nothing but a glorious evening free ahead of you now. You’re lying on your side, eyes closed, head pillowed by Jason’s delicious thighs. He was sitting on the couch when you came home, thighs splayed wide open and absorbed in a book. He’d looked so comfy sitting there, it was all you could do to control your descent onto the couch. You’d flopped down, boneless the instant your body made contact with his. Jason’s thighs were just as comfortable as they looked, warm and firm with just the right amount of give. He looks down at you, fond.

“You gettin’ comfy down there sweetheart?” It’s wry, and probably accompanied by a smile, if you could be bothered to look up and open your eyes to see it.

“Mmmhmmm.”

You nuzzle your face further into his thigh, let the smell of detergent and Jason wash away the day. He reaches for something over you, pulls down a soft fleece blanket to cover you with. He drapes it over you, let’s you adjust it the way you like it. He pets over your hair once, twice, then buries his hand it to cradle your skull. There’s a rustle of pages and you know he’s gone back to his book.

You drift there, warm and comforted by Jason’s steady presence. There’s nothing but the sound of your combined breathing punctuated by the occasional turn of a page. You’re not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you open your eyes again the quality of the light has changed. The living room is only lit by the low warm light of several lamps, the sun completely gone down. For the past few minutes Jason’s gone back to petting your hair, finished with his book.

“You back with me yet?”

Instead of answering, you try and bury your face even further into his leg. His thigh just so firm and biteable that you give into the urge and gently clamp down.

“Hey! Okay, we’re both getting up now. You can either wait here on the couch or sit in the kitchen with me but I need to start making dinner.”

He tries to shake you free but you’re not ready yet. It’s not until he bends over to kiss you on the temple that you magnanimously let him go. Turn up to look at him appraisingly.

“Kitchen but I get to be your taste tester and I get to bring the blanket.”

He laughs then, bright and loud. Sweeps you up, blanket and all, and bridal carries you to the kitchen. Sets you down on one of the bar chairs across the counter so you can watch him, and then starts to pull out pans. Gets the black tea and spice chest out of the cupboard and starts digging for the mortar and pestle under the kitchen sink. Chops and peels a ginger root, adds it to the pot with the tea and spices before covering it all with water to boil. He cleans up as he goes, pulling out the ingredients for pasta as the water boils. You rest your head in your hands to watch him work. A few spoonfuls of sugar and a cup of milk go into the pot now. His hands are steady and mesmerizing as they use a ladle to aerate the boiling milk. The kitchen smells amazing, warmed spices and tea filling the air. A steaming mug appears in front of you, as if by magic.

“New spice blend. Let me know what you think.”

Jason winks before spinning back to the stove.The chai is rich and sweet on your tongue, warming you up from the inside out. It’s probably your favourite version yet, but then you say that about every new iteration he lets you try out.

Jason’s multitasking in a way your tired brain can’t quite catch up to. Pasta’s boiling in one pot, chicken seasoned and shallow frying in a pan, and his knife’s flying to dice garlic and cherry tomatoes. He darts forward with a bit of chicken on a fork, gets you to blow on it before carefully putting it between your teeth. It’s plump and juicy, fat adding salt and the basic seasoning doing the rest to make it delicious.

“It’s good. Taste tester approved. The chai and the chicken.”

“Glad to know my cooking meets your high standards.”

He grins like quick silver, hands never stopping their motions. There’s a pesto sauce cooking off with the chicken and its fat, garlic frying up with it. A dash of cream and the colour goes a soft green. The chai’s almost gone now, a satisfying weight in your belly that only makes you hungrier. There’s pasta on another fork waving in front of your face. Annoyed, you snap it up with your teeth.

“It’s cooked.”

A cloud of steam and the pasta’s drained, tossed into the chicken and sauce. Two bowls appear on the counter filled with chicken and pasta, topped with cherry tomatoes and grated Parmesan. You’re not even sure when he had time to grate cheese. It looks so good, your mouth is already watering.

You’re warm and relaxed, still bundled in a blanket, the dregs of chai still in the mug wrapped in your hands. There’s food on the table, good food made with care. There’s a beautiful man leaning across the counter from you, in the apartment that you’ve made a home together. It’s been a long day, but you’re home with the man you love and none of that matters anymore.