#It must have been overwhelming for Tim to get so much affection when his parents barely interract with him

[littlefankingdom]

How fandom portrays Tim's first months as Robin:

Tim: Batman, it's time for your anti-depressants.

Bruce: *grumbles*

Tim: Speak louder.

Bruce: Go away Jason.

Tim: It's Tim, actually.

Bruce: GO AWAY.

How it actually was in the Batman comics:

Tim: How did my report card got on your fridge?

Bruce: I took a look at your grades, and they were great, why? Except for chemistry. Maybe you should not go out as Robin to focus on school.

Tim: Not happening. I'm not falling for that.

Bruce: Well, if you are really going to do this, we should add bubble wrap to the suit.

Tim: I'm not made of glass.

Bruce: Are you sure about that? By the way, do you eat enough? ALFRED, can you cook something for Tim? He needs some food.

Tim: I'm fine Bruce!

Bruce: Are you sure? Do you want a hug? If you want a hug, you can ask. I can have Alfred make some hot chocolate.

Tim: You realize I have parents, rights?

Bruce: I don't see them in this room.

[societyfolklore]

White Wine In The Sun

Title: White Wine In The Sun (Prompt- let's go somewhere warm for the winter)   Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary:  It’s been years since Bucky has truly celebrated Christmas, but this year, he finds himself reluctantly agreeing to spend the holidays with you at your childhood home—a sunny, warm retreat in Australia.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings:  Romance, Little Angsty and Fluff, Kissing A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge- Day 16) As an Australian Christmas is a different experience for us.. Also it’s 40+/104 degrees here today LOL taking inspo from White Wine In The Sun by Tim Minchin

The sound of jet engines roared in the background as Bucky adjusted his duffle bag over his shoulder, glancing down at the boarding pass in his hand. A flight to Melbourne, Australia, was far from how he imagined spending his Christmas. He looked over at you, the excitement on your face unmistakable as you juggled your carry-on and passport.

"You sure you want to drag me along for this?" he muttered, his tone low but tinged with humour.

You smiled at him, nudging his arm. "I'm not dragging you. You're coming willingly. Mostly."

He huffed, shaking his head but allowing you to guide him toward the gate. "Just remember, this was your idea," he said, though there was no bite to his words.

As you boarded the plane and found your seats, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation. He had never been one for big family gatherings, and the thought of spending Christmas with your family in a small country town made him a little anxious. But as he looked over at you, he saw the excitement in your eyes and knew he couldn't say no.

The flight was long, but eventually, you arrived in Melbourne and made your way to the rural property where you grew up. The drive long from the capital, though Bucky could practically watch you vibrate in the driver's seat next to him, the aircon already blasting in the car. You regaled him with stories of Christmases past in in the country. “Down here, Christmas is typically BBQ, white wine, beers and prawns.” You did wonder if Bucky would miss snow and roaring fires. He listened quietly, his lips quirking into small smiles when you told him about your dad’s chaotic attempts to make pavlova and your siblings’ insistence on Christmas karaoke when everyone got too drunk or had to much sugar.

“It’s… different,” Bucky said cautiously as he looked out car window, watching the paddocks of dry grass and gumtrees past by.

“You’ll love it,” you assured him, squeezing his hand. “It might not be snowy and cold, but it’s still magical. And I want you to experience it with me.” The house was a beautiful, some old farm house with a wrap-around veranda and large trees surrounding it. Dogs running around the gardens by the house as the car pulled up the long drive. As you stepped out of the car, Bucky followed getting hit in the face by the stifling heat that seemed to not affect you at all as he took in the sights and sounds of the property. You led him to the front door, Bucky looked uncomfortable in the heat already.  Your parents came bustling out to greet you, their enthusiasm immediately overwhelming Bucky, though he managed a polite smile as they pulled you into hugs.

“And this must be Bucky,” your mom said warmly, extending a hand. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Thank you for having me,” he said, his voice quiet but genuine.

Your dad clapped him on the back, nearly making him stumble. “Come on in! Bet you’re starving after that flight.” “Your fathers even put the aircon on.” “Oh it is a special occasion!” You chime trying not to laugh as you both got ushed inside into the cool. “Thought your poor boy might melt on us if I didn’t.” You hoped Bucky had been around you long enough to understand ‘Australian’ humour or this might be a long few days for him.

Thankfully  Bucky adjusted to the unorthodox holiday traditions your family embraced. He helped your dad man the BBQ as more family descended on the house, earning approving nods for his efficient handling of the steaks. Your sister arrival  with her small family resulted in your shrieking like someone had doused you in ice water, Bucky had barely enough time to register what was going on before you took off sprinting across the lawn almost taking her to the ground in a hug  while her husband carried their new infant daughter from the car. “ABBY!” Abby squealed in delight, squeezing you just as tightly as you embraced her, both of you laughing like kids again. “Oh my God, look at you! You’re glowing!” you exclaimed, pulling back to hold her at arm’s length. “And her! Let me see her!”

Her husband chuckled, carefully shifting the tiny bundle in his arms toward you. “Meet baby Lucy,” he said proudly.

Your heart melted instantly as you reached for the baby, cradling her with practiced ease. “Oh, Abby, she’s perfect,” you breathed, your eyes misting as you took in the soft, delicate features of your new niece. Lucy yawned, her tiny face scrunching up before settling into a peaceful expression, and you swore your heart grew three sizes.

“Bucky!” you called over your shoulder, your excitement brimming over. “Come ‘ere! You ‘ave to meet her!”

Bucky, who had just finished placing a perfectly grilled steak onto a serving tray for your dad, looked up from the BBQ. He hesitated for only a moment, his brows knitting together in a mix of curiosity and cautiousness, before making his way over.

“This is Bucky,” you introduced as he approached, your smile wide as you gestured to him with one hand while still holding Lucy in the other. “And Bucky, this is my sister Abby, her husband Jake, and the newest addition to the family—baby Lucy.”

Abby gave Bucky a once-over, her expression swiftly turning approving. “So ‘is is the famous Bucky,” she said, her voice teasing. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Bucky glanced at you, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” Abby teased with a smirk before extending her hand. “Welcome to the chaos. If you survived the BBQ, you’re halfway there.”

Bucky shook her hand, his grin softening. “Thanks. And congrats, by the way. She’s beautiful.”

“Want to ‘old her?” Jake asked suddenly, catching everyone off guard. He stepped closer, offering the baby to Bucky.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, and he instinctively stepped back. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You’ll be fine mate,” Jake assured him with a friendly smile. “She’s lighter than a ‘ag of flour. ‘ust support her head, and you’re golden.”

“Go on,” you encouraged gently, your voice filled with warmth. “She wont bite—yet.”

Reluctantly, Bucky nodded, his expression a mix of uncertainty and determination. Jake carefully handed Lucy over, and Bucky held her with the same precision and care he might handle a priceless artifact. His metal hand rested firmly under her body, supporting her weight as his flesh hand cradled her head.

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. Lucy stirred slightly, her tiny fist waving in the air before she settled again, and Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“She likes you,” Abby said softly, her teasing replaced with genuine warmth.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as he looked down at the baby in his arms. “She’s... so small,” he murmured, his voice full of wonder.

Your heart swelled at the sight. You hadn’t expected this, but seeing Bucky—calm, tender, and utterly captivated by your niece—was enough to make your chest ache with affection. You exchanged a quiet glance with Abby, her knowing smile mirroring your own.

“Well,” Jake said with a grin, “looks like Uncle Buck a natural.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked up, meeting yours with a hint of surprise at the title, but you just smiled softly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah,” you said. “He really is.”

Your younger cousins dragged him into a backyard cricket game, where he quickly became the star player despite his initial protests. Watching him laugh as the kids cheered his every move made your heart swell as you sat with your infant niece asleep on your shoulder.

As Christmas day turned into Christmas night and the endless buffet of festive eating turned into casual grazing under twinkling string lights, you found Bucky sitting on the back veranda staring out at the horizon where the sun dipped below the trees. You joined him, handing him a cold drink. You could see a mob of roos bouncing their way across the far paddock.

“It’s different, huh?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He nodded, his gaze distant. “Yeah. Different… but nice.” He glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Your family’s great.”

“They love you already,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his. “And I love seeing you like this—relaxed, happy.”

Bucky’s smile faded slightly, his brow furrowing. “It’s not something I’m used to,” he admitted. “Being around so much… joy. It’s good, though. I’m trying.”

You reached over, taking his hand in yours. “You’re doing great, Buck. And I’m proud of you.” Bucky glanced down at your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as his expression softened. The quiet moment between you seemed to stretch, filled with the faint hum of cicadas and the distant laughter of your family inside the house.

“I didn’t think I’d fit in Doll,” he murmured, his voice low and almost hesitant. “I mean, this—your family, all this… normalcy. I wasn’t sure it was for me.”

You smiled, leaning into him just a little more. “You’re wrong, you know. You fit in just fine. Better than fine, actually. I think my dad’s ready to adopt you after that steak performance.”

A small laugh escaped him, a sound that was still rare enough to make your chest tighten with affection. “Yeah, your dad’s good people.”

“You’re good people,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “And, for the record, you’re doing a lot better than the time Uncle Rick burned half the backyard trying to light the BBQ.”

Bucky chuckled at that, the sound warming the cool night air. “Guess I’ve got that going for me.”

For a moment, the two of you simply sat there, watching the horizon as the last hints of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to blink into view. The quiet comfort between you felt like its own kind of holiday magic—simple, real, and grounding.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “Thanks for bringing me here. For… all of this.”

You turned to look at him, catching the vulnerability in his expression as he stared out at the stars. “You deserved it, Bucky,” you said softly. “You deserve every bit of this—every laugh, every hug, every moment of peace.”

His hand tightened slightly around yours, and when he turned his gaze to meet yours, there was something unspoken in his eyes—something raw and grateful. “You make it easier to believe that,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because it’s true.”

The distant laughter of your family drifted out onto the porch, pulling both of you back to the present. Bucky glanced toward the house, his smile growing as he squeezed your hand. “So, when do I get my own honorary ugly Christmas shirt?”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “Oh, you’re in for it next year, Barnes. And it’s going to have tinsel.”

That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, you and Bucky found yourselves alone on the porch, the warm breeze carrying the scent countryside and flowers. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you both like a blanket.

Bucky reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever have Doll,” he said quietly. “A home. A place I belong.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his. “You are my home, Bucky. Always.” The kiss that followed was slow and tender, deepening as months of unspoken longing finally broke free. Bucky’s hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until you were both breathless. He scooped you into his arms, carrying you inside.

[bluejayblueskies]

10 for the hug prompts with JonMartin? 🥺

touches prompt list

10 - hiding their face in the other’s neck

a no-fears au where jon and martin are in an established relationship! cw for nausea and a brief mention of vomiting (doesn't actually occur)

.

Jon doesn’t do roller coasters.

It is not, despite what Tim says when he thinks Jon isn’t listening, because he’s a, quote, ‘old man at heart’ and doesn’t know how to have fun. In theory, Jon is actually rather fond of roller coasters. He’d watched a documentary once about the design of them, and it had been rather fascinating.

It’s not because Jon doesn’t like roller coasters. It’s…

Well. It’s probably more accurate to say that roller coasters don’t like him. Specifically, his sense of equilibrium and his digestive system. Pills help somewhat, if he remembers to take them, but the fact of the matter is that he’s much more likely to leave the ride with a feeling of intense nausea than of exhilaration. He just… gets motion sick. No way around it. He always sits in the front seat of cars, ensures that he’s in a forward-facing train seat at all times, rarely travels by boat, and… avoids roller coasters.

The fact that he is currently standing in the queue for a particularly large and particularly frightening-looking roller coaster is not, therefore, due to his overwhelming love for them. It is instead entirely due to his overwhelming love for the man standing next to him, eyes bright and excited as he explains the history of this particular roller coaster. His hand is warm and soft in Jon’s, and their clasped hands swing absently back and forth as they slowly inch forward in the queue. His curls are a shock of auburn against the sky, and when he laughs and squeezes Jon’s hand, Jon forgets his anxiety entirely for a moment, lost in a wave of affection and fondness.

“—and because it’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of the ride,” Martin says with a wide grin, “it’ll be running backward today! Well, all season, I- I suppose, but we’re here today, so…”

Jon has never been on a roller coaster that’s traveled backward. It does… not sound appealing.

“That’s… very exciting,” Jon says with a smile, trying to make the words sound as genuine as possible. Because he is a coward. Or, perhaps, just very in love. Maybe both.

It’s just… Martin had been so excited when he’d dropped the amusement park tickets in front of Jon a few weeks ago. And in the four months or so that they’ve been dating, Jon has found it increasingly hard to say things that will cause that wide, unabashed smile on Martin’s face to dim even in the slightest. So Jon had discretely taken several motion sickness pills before they’d left that morning and had told himself that there were plenty of other things to do at an amusement park besides roller coasters and spinning rides and other things that make it their personal mission to tie Jon’s stomach into knots.

And then Martin had spent the entire train ride rambling about the various roller coasters and how he’d always wanted to go to an amusement park but he’d never been able to find the time or the money before and how he’s never been on a roller coaster but they look so fun, and Jon just… hadn’t been able to tell him.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as they finally reach the front of the queue, the brightly colored cars sitting empty in front of them. It’ll be… completely, totally fine. Nothing to worry about.

They sit a few rows from the front. The click of the restraints makes Jon’s stomach squeeze with nerves, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the bar in front of him with white knuckles until Martin says gently, “Hey. Is… everything okay?”

No, but it’s certainly too late to change my mind now, Jon does not say.

“Yes,” Jon says, loosening his grip with considerable effort. It’s fine. “Just… b-been a while since I was on one of these.”

Technically not a lie.

“Oh!” Martin gives him a soft smile that makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Well, it’ll be a… new experience for both of us then, I suppose.”

The car jerks into motion, and Jon’s hands tighten instinctively on the bar again. It’s a… disconcerting effect, to be moving backward rather than forward, and one that Jon is decidedly not fond of. They exit the staging area and begin to climb up the first of the many, many hills Jon had eyed warily from their place in the queue. Jon looks straight ahead and does not look down and tries to breathe through his nose.

A warm hand covers his, and Jon looks over to see Martin watching him, that same soft smile on his lips. Martin squeezes gently, and Jon relaxes, just a fraction.

Then, the car tips over the peak of the hill and begins to accelerate, and Jon’s world blurs into a mess of colors and sensations.

The only part of the ride that Jon enjoys is the fact that it’s over quickly. By the time the car rolls to a halt—after a terrifying sequence of loops and drops and harsh curves and tight spirals—Jon feels as if his insides have been scooped out, stuffed in a washing machine, tumble dried, and then pushed back into him at all the wrong angles. Martin’s hand is still gripping his, somehow, and it remains there as they exit the car and make their way down the ramp and into the main thoroughfare. Jon’s legs feel boneless, like they’re made of jelly, and he is deeply afraid that if he opens his mouth, he is going to empty the contents of his stomach onto the pavement below.

Gentle hands are on Jon’s shoulders then, and Jon finds himself guided onto a metal bench just a few meters away from the exit ramp. Jon tries to protest that he’s fine—they have limited time here and he doesn’t need to take a break—but his stomach rolls and he pinches his lips shut before he manages to form a single word. When a hand settles on his upper back and presses down gently, he finally gives in to the urge to bend over and tuck his head between his knees in an effort to alleviate some of the lingering vertigo.

“Breathe, Jon,” Martin says, and Jon does. He takes a few deep breaths, and when a particularly powerful wave of nausea overtakes him, he can’t help the groan that escapes him. “I know,” Martin says softly, moving his hand in soothing circles on Jon’s back. “Just keep breathing, Jon. We can get some water in a bit, just… for now, let’s sit.”

Jon is too nauseous to be properly embarrassed by the coddling. That situation changes quickly as the minutes pass and Jon’s stomach begins to settle. After what must be nearly ten minutes, the nausea has faded entirely, but Jon keeps his head between his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Martin’s face.

“Feeling any better?” Martin prompts, and Jon lets out a slow breath. He nods once, and—with the help of Martin’s hand on his arm—straightens slowly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he does so.

“Sorry,” he says, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear him over the din of the crowd.

“You don’t have to apologize for- for feeling sick,” Martin says. He rubs a thumb against Jon’s arm and says, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I- I didn’t think… it would be this bad?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Martin give him a look that very clearly expresses his skepticism.

Jon sighs and puts his head in his hands again. “I just… didn’t want to disappoint you, I suppose.”

Martin is, of course, sharper than Jon gives him credit for sometimes. “Because I said I’d never had the chance to go on a roller coaster before?”

Jon nods miserably. “I-in my defense, I thought you would start with something significantly less… gravity-defying.”

“Jon,” Martin says, kindly and patiently yet with a chastising edge to it. “You could have waited by the exit.”

“I—I didn’t…” Jon feels the tips of his ears grow warm. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his voice pitched a touch higher than normal. “That’s… um, r-really sweet, actually.”

Jon is glad that Martin can’t see his face because he’s sure whatever expression would have crossed it just then would have been utterly sappy and mortifying.

“B-but I—I don’t want you to make yourself sick on my account,” Martin hastens to say. “There are loads of other things to do here. W-we don’t have to ride the roller coasters.”

Jon uncovers his face and looks at Martin. “But you want to ride the roller coasters.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I… also want to spend time with you, Jon. D-doing things we both want to do, not… not just me.”

Jon stares at Martin and thinks, not for the first time, that he loves him. But it’s still too early to say it, probably, and he’s certainly not going to do so sitting on a sticky metal bench surrounded by children and tired-eyed parents. So all he says, in the end, is, “If… if you’re sure.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand in his and squeezes gently. “I am.” Then, he gives Jon a wide, soft smile that has Jon’s stomach twisting all over again. “So. What do you do at amusement parks, then?”

Jon flushes. But Martin doesn’t laugh at him when he mumbles that he’s actually quite fond of carousels. Instead, he takes Jon’s hand and walks with him across the park—staying away from the more crowded sections, stopping to buy some horrendously overpriced bottles of water on their way—until they’re standing in front of the carousel, painted in lovely pastel blues and yellows.

Jon, for a moment, feels self-conscious and more than a bit childish. But then Martin squeezes his hand and says, without a hint of teasing, “So, what animal do you prefer?” and the tension in Jon’s shoulders melts away in an instant.

Jon learns that Martin likes the classic horses, manes painted gold and plastic saddles a bright cherry red. (And Martin is entirely unsurprised to find that Jon chooses the cat, every time.) He learns, as they continue to explore the amusement park, that Martin likes caramel apples but hates how they get stuck in his teeth. (He purchases one anyway, rolled in peanuts and little rainbow sprinkles, that gives Jon a toothache just looking at it.) He learns that Martin does not appreciate his explanation that the monsters on the haunted house ride are ‘just dummies’ and ‘obviously fake’ and ‘really, Martin, that’s not even the correct number of bones in a human skeleton.’ (Though he secretly treasures the way that Martin clings to his side in the car and hides his face in Jon’s neck, his curls tickling the sensitive skin just underneath Jon’s chin.)

And Martin, apparently, learns that Jon is strangely good at midway games.

“You know those things are totally rigged, right?” Martin says, staring at Jon in disbelief as he tries and fails to adjust his grip on the frankly enormous plush teddy bear the midway worker had begrudgingly surrendered to him. And the medium-sized plush cat he’d won earlier. And the dozen or so little plushies and trinkets and accessories he’d acquired along the way. “You’re not supposed to be able to win.”

“Yes, well.” Jon gives up on trying to find a comfortable way to carry his prizes and extends the massive teddy toward Martin. “I suppose I’m just… lucky.”

He is certainly not going to admit that he spent a good three days researching what to do on a carnival date, came to the conclusion that it would be romantic to win an enormous stuffed animal for Martin, and committed himself to memorizing which games were easiest to win and what strategies he should employ in order to have the best chance at success. That would be… well. A bit much, he thinks. Best to just… not mention it.

Martin carries the teddy all the way back to his flat, his cheeks flushing a lovely pink whenever an occasional curious glance is thrown in their direction. It’s only once they get there and Martin tries to pass the plushie back to Jon with a sheepish, “Suppose I better give this back now,” that Jon realizes he had… indeed not been very clear about his intentions.

“It’s… for you, actually,” Jon says, ignoring the way his cheeks are growing steadily warmer. Then, Jon takes a breath and pushes the rest of the plushies rather unceremoniously into Martin’s arms, save for the cat which he’s… grown rather attached to in their short acquaintanceship. “Th-they all are. Er. F-for you.”

“O-oh.” Martin looks down at the collection of brightly colored things in his arms, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “I—I… really?”

Jon hugs the cat tightly to his chest, feeling something like embarrassment curl in his stomach. “I-if you don’t want them, I—I can—”

“No!” Martin says quickly, curling his arms protectively around the plushies. “I—I do. W-want them.” He looks down at the teddy sitting by his feet, then up at Jon with a warm, shy smile on his face. “Th-thanks, Jon.”

I love him, I love him, I love him.

Jon nods, pinches his lips together, and tries to keep his affection contained. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, after all. That’s… something he’s not meant to do, he thinks.

Then, when they’re both lying in bed and Martin’s chest is pressed against Jon’s back, his arm curled around Jon’s middle and his nose buried in Jon’s hair, Martin murmurs, “I love you,” and Jon’s breath catches in his throat.

“I… I love you too,” he whispers. And it’s such an easy thing to say that Jon wonders why he’d ever worried at all.

Martin makes a sleepy, contented noise, burrowing closer and wrapping Jon more tightly in his arms. And because he can—he can, he can, Martin said it first, so he can—Jon says again, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear it: “I love you.”

The words are sweet on his tongue, like candy floss and funnel cakes and caramel apples.

[wordsfromthesol]

Replacement (2/2)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader Warnings:  Language, uh...drama? But happy ending obviously. Word Count: 1.7k Requested: @beebosclique​ A/N: This ended up being way more intense than I planned...my bad.

Part One

You woke up in the Batcave infirmary. Your hands immediately shot up to your face. An audible sigh of relief escaped your lips once you felt the fabric of your mask against your hand. The next sound you heard…not so great.

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!” Jason’s voice boomed.

Your eyes moved towards the sound, watching Jason’s figure hastily move towards your side. Once it registered that he was not in costume, you realized your identity may have been compromised after all. Before Jason could berate you further, another voice echoed through the room.

“This isn’t on her. Hell, she called me.”

“Because you were still a better option that Dick…” Jason’s voice mumbled.

“What…what happened?” Your voice finally croaked out.

“Right. Well when I got there some idiot had just shot you in midair. I took him out and brought you here.” Red Robin explained.

“Ravenger?”

“What?” Red Robin looked at you, brows furrowed.

“It’s that gang we busted up today Tim.” It took a minute for your brain to process what you had just done, but before you could explain Jason chimed in.

“Yeah, replacement here already knows who you are.”

“Your mask was in case any of the others came down…” Tim explained further once he noted the confusion in your eyes. Almost like he was summoned, Dick rounded the corner.

“I heard we had a guest.” Nightwing chimed. His head quickly jerked towards Jason, who was not in costume.

“We already know the whole…” Jason gestured towards you and then back at him. “Heard of the Ravengers, Nightwing?”

“Can’t say I have. They did this?”

“I think.” You muttered, trying to say as little as possible.

“I’ll run the guys prints.” Tim rose from your side, “Are you going to be okay?”

A faint smile spread across your face as you nodded up at him. A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed. Dick followed Tim out of the room, clearly elbowing him in the side. Jason was much more upfront.

“Uhm, what did I miss? When I said you might like him, I did not mean like that.”

“Jay, I’m way too hopped up on pain meds to understand you.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, “I saw that look. I’m watching you.”

You welcomed sleep yet again, trying to ignore your brother’s words. You woke again a few hours later in a panic.

“Jake!” The memory of your promise came rushing to the front of your mind. You attempted to get up, only you were met with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s taken care of.” You heard Tim’s voice echo around.

“Wh – what do you mean?”

“His daughter, right? The kidney transplant?” You nodded as he rattled off the information. “I paid the hospital a few hours ago. Then called Jake to inform him that his daughter would receive the next available match.”

“What about…” the raspy words trailed off before you could finish the thought.

“He’s also got a few interviews for Wayne Enterprises in the next week. I’m sure we’ll find a fit for him somewhere.” Your hand went up, in search for his. You clasped it in yours and drifted back to sleep with a smile on your lips.

**

You had been staying at Tim’s apartment for a few days, you had tried staying at Jason’s. You only lasted a few hours before you were begging to go somewhere else. You were laying in the couch watching mindless tv when Tim collapsed into the chair next to you.

“What did you tell them this time?”

“Oh you’re on vacation with Marisa, didn’t you know?”

“I don’t even know a Marisa…”

“Yeah. That’s the point.”

“Why haven’t you told them?”

“Some speech about choices this weird person dressed in spandex gave really got to me.”

“Ha ha.”

“Eh, I figure you have a good reason. Though I would like to hear it…I trust you.”

“Why…?” Your voice almost sounded disgusted at the thought. Tim just shrugged, ignoring the question altogether. That just irked you more, so you continued. “I’ve never done anything to make you trust me. In fact, I resented you for…well for someone else’s choice.”

“Yeah you did.”

“So?”

“I got to hear why and I figured that if you could see past Robin, well you wouldn’t hate me.”

“Yeah, guess that speech kinda gave me away…” You trailed off, remembering the words that had previously escaped your lips.

“Your shoulder gave you away more.”

Your eyes went wide, recollecting the night’s events. “Is that why you went left?” A smirk grazed his features. “Why didn’t you just out me then?” You swatted at his shoulder with your good arm.

“I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.”

“I kinda ruined that, didn’t I?”

“Or your subconscious made the decision for you.”

“Hmm mm sure.” The sarcasm dripped from the words.

“Well then why are you here and not at Jason’s?” Tim shot back.

“That’s so not fair! He was treating me like some wounded deer!”

“What did you say to me…Oh right. Jason only pretends he doesn’t care.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here right?” You panicked, while Tim only laughed.

“Jason knows you’re safe, healing, and not allowed back in the field yet.”

“Hopefully he won’t turn into Dick and he’ll let me back in the field.”

“Heh, I think Jason knows he couldn’t stop you. I just wonder why Dick thinks he can.”

“Because my dearest brother thinks of me as the same 3-year old girl watching in awe as our parents fell to the ground. He sees me as his last connection to a normal life. As something he must protect.”

“There’s a difference between protecting and hindering…” Tim mumbled.

“When Dick learns that lesson, let me know.”

**

Another week had passed and honestly you were shocked that Dick hadn’t found suspected anything. You were also astonished at how well you and Tim were getting along. You couldn’t believe this was the same person that took the robin mantle from you almost ten years ago. Then again, I guess it wasn’t. He had become so much more in those years, but you refused to see it.

You walked out of your new bedroom, picking at the bandage at your abdomen. “Hey Tim, can you look at –” Your words were cut off by the sound of the door opening, both of you jumped up in a defensive stance. When Dick came bounding through the door, you quickly shuffled behind the kitchen counter, hiding any evidence of the gunshot wound.

“Alright where is my sister?!” Dick screamed across the room before his eyes settled on you. “Oh Y/N/N…you’re here. Why are…?” Dick glanced back and forth at you and Tim.

“Dick, you’re here!” Tim quickly pulled him to the couch, while swatting his other hand towards you. You quickly scurried back to your room, throwing on the baggiest shirt you could find, in an attempt to hide the bandage.

As you exited the room yet again, your eyes shot to the door, which was opening yet again. Jason barreled through, “Tim, where’s Y/N? I think Dick is – oh, hey Dick.” Jason’s eyes met yours, “Wait, Y/N’s been here the whole time!”

Both you and Tim broke out in laughter, “Yeah you didn’t look very hard.” You reasoned as you joined them in the living room.

“I didn’t think it would be that obvious…” Jason mumbled as he sat down.

“Are you wearing Tim’s shirt?” Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” You pretended to ignore the question.

“Are you –” Dick began again.

“Huh?” You cut him off yet again.

“Anyways so as I was just telling Dick,” Tim cut off the sibling antics, “That you were just getting overwhelmed at the Manor.”

“Overwhelmed? With what? What happened?” Dick immediately went into older brother mode.

“Dick, geez. Overwhelmed with everything. I need to figure out who I am and what I want to do without someone constantly watching over my shoulder.”

“Why did I become Robin…instead of Y/N?” Tim’s own thoughts burst from his lips. Everyone looked at him in awe, you even elbowed him in the side.

“Y/N doesn’t be a vigilante. Don’t be ridiculous.” Dick waved off the theory entirely.

Jason awkwardly cleared his throat and got up to leave. You grabbed his wrist and motioned back at the seat. “How do you know that?” Tim questioned before you had the chance.

“What do you mean? It’s…well…she…”

“I mean, you did train her, right?”

“Well some basics, but no more –”

“I, uhm, I did.” Jason reluctantly offered up the secret. Dick shot him a fiery glare.

“And I asked,” you had finally found your voice. “When Jason was killed, when dad went off the rails. I asked to be out there with you. With you both.”

“You weren’t serious?” Dick was starting to doubt his own memory.

“Of course I was. I just lost my brother, the one that actually believed in me. I wanted to prove to you…to myself…that I was worthy of that.” You felt Tim’s hand squeeze your own in reassurance. Thankfully, your words caused Jason to miss that moment of affection. He never understood how much of an impact his actions had on your life.

“I…” Dick’s eyes searched your own, for what, neither of you seemed to know. “I guess I wanted you to be joking, so that’s what I told myself. I just didn’t want to lose you too.”

“You already did, in a way. I can’t be myself with you. The person you know, it’s a façade. They don’t exist.”

“Heh, you’re Eclipse…aren’t you?” Dick’s mind was finally putting the pieces together as he rose from the chair. “I hope you give me the chance to get to know her.” A solemn expression graced his features as he walked out the door. Jason quickly got up to follow him.

“I’m still watching you.” He warned before chasing after his older brother.

Closing your eyes, you fell back into Tim’s chest as relief cascaded over you. “Thank you.” You mumbled as you felt Tim’s arms wrap around you before he pressed quick kiss on top of your head.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Can you write a continuation of the Tim Drake x demigod reader where he introduced reader to the rest of the family?

a/n: This time it didn’t take years for me to finish this request lmfao! I didn’t write much interaction between the family because they’re so many members of the batfam and I can’t write group settings for the life of me??? but I def had some ideas about Damian and his curiosity towards Reader, anyway, anon! Hope you enjoy!

Meeting the family is inevitable, according to Annabeth after a long and winded rant about having dinner with Tim and his family from your end. 

Granted, you knew most of his brothers and sisters in the Hermes cabin (including his three adopted siblings that he arrived at camp with), but knowing your fellow campers is one thing, getting to know them as the family he was raised with? That’s another matter altogether.

You knew of Dick Grayson, son of Aphrodite; Jason Todd, son of Ares; and Cassandra, daughter of Psyche. How could you not? They are prominent members of Camp Half-Blood. Maybe not like Percy and the rest of your group, but it‘s hard to ignore the adopted children of Bruce Wayne, ally of the gods and demigods (you had Wonder Woman and his adopted children to thank for that). Not only were they good looking, but they excelled in combat from the very moment they stepped foot into camp.  

But you only know them as that—fellow campers. This is you getting to know them... better—intimately. And not to mention getting to finally meet THE Bruce Wayne and the rest of his mortal family members in person! No more second hand stories from Tim, or listening in on the stories his siblings would recount to the curious campers.

Wow. This is definitely out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?

A warm hand wraps around your cold fingers, steadying your shaky limbs.

“Hey,” Tim softly says, squeezing your fingers as another hand cradles your cheek. “They’re going to love you, χρυσή μου.”

My golden one. You practically melt at the softness and love in his voice when he calls you so. A reminder of how much you mean to him, of how much he loves you.

You smile involuntarily and lean into his touch.

You’re not given the chance to return the affection, the double doors of the manor being thrown open followed by a loud raucous of:

“He’s right there!” from Jason, and “Stop being such a dick,” from a tall, beautiful redhead with freckles followed by a lot more noise and bickering from what you assume is the rest of his family members.

You practically recoil, pulse beginning to pick up and fingers slowly beginning to twitch in his hold.

“Babe,” Tim starts, cutting through all the noise and he flashes you a smile, a reassuring one, with a squeeze of your hand. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You nod and try to return the smile, but there’s no denying that his words and touch manage to ground you just a bit further.

“That's enough,” a deep, calm voice interjects, the earlier bickering coming to an abrupt stop as you remind yourself to breathe.

Bruce Wayne is a lot taller than you had imagined him to be—very handsome too. His stare is even more intense than you had expected, sharper and darker than the smolders he’d spare the pictures taken of him prompted or unprompted. And you can’t help the way your mind scans over him, searching and prodding like it usually does--there’s a darkness in this man that you can’t ignore. Burning deep and hot like hellfire. You wonder if it originates from his traumatic childhood, or if the darkness began to grow with the years--with his journey as the masked vigilante.

Tim has his own darkness, and so do his siblings, but Mr. Wayne? It seems to be tenfold. Controlled, sure, but barely hanging on by a thread.

Bruce pulls you out of your momentary awe, his voice somewhat gruff, but still managing to be kind. “Welcome home,” he says, mostly to Tim, but the small lift of his lips in your direction makes you feel welcomed as well. Yes, there’s a darkness in him, but there’s also a kindness that is rarely seen in others. It’s that kindness that you’re sure has raised Tim and his siblings, taught them that unbearable need to help others with no expectations of reciprocation. They’re just... kind to be kind.

Is it that kindness that stops him from bursting?

Tim tugs you along with him up the final steps of the manor where he hugs his adopted father after letting you go momentarily. “Thank you, Bruce.” He turns to you, holding out his hand for you to take and introducing you to him with an air of pride, as if he’s talked about you aside from being his partner to him before. And seeing the expression of familiarity flash behind Bruce’s blue eyes, you know he has.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you offer a bit shyly, unsure of whether to offer him your hand or if to lean in for a hug. You’re not exactly sure what the proper etiquette is to greeting a parent, let alone your boyfriend’s father. You’ve only had the chance to interact with Percy’s mom, and even that is rare. With the rest it’s always been a “hello! Must steal your child for a quest, bye!” Never a proper sit down where you can properly introduce yourself to them. 

Relief fills you when Bruce helps you by offering you his hand, mindful of which hand Tim is holding to keep you steady—emotionally and physically. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Tim and Diana speak highly of you.”

You immediately feel the heat crawl on your skin. What exactly have they said? “Likewise, Mr. Wayne. And I just want to say, on behalf of all my friends, thank you for all that you have done for us at camp. We really appreciate it.”

Tim squeezes your hand when Bruce chuckles lowly and asks for you to drop the formalities, telling you to call him Bruce instead.

Before anyone else can introduce themselves to you or you can take note of who else has followed Bruce and Jason to the door, Jason lets out a loud groan. “Can we hurry this along? We know who she is already and I’m hungry!”

“Jason,” the same redhead from before scolds him, smacking him—quite harshly, might you add—on the arm before extending her hand in your direction. “Barbara Gordon.” Ah! Dick’s ex girlfriend! You’ve heard Tim and Dick mention her a couple of times before. Mostly about how she’s always down Dick’s throat for being too reckless or something, you’re not entirely sure. “I’m so glad you’re finally able to join us for dinner! We’ve been trying to convince Tim to bring you along for a while now!”

You know they have been. Tim has mentioned it before, but at the time, you weren’t exactly ready to be in a crowded room with strangers. You’re still not completely ready, but after a talk with Hazel and Annabeth, you decided you couldn’t put it off for much longer.

As Hazel said, “You love Tim, whether you want to admit it or not. And it’s pretty obvious Tim loves you, too! Making an effort to meet his family would show that to Tim without you having to say those words just yet.”

You squeeze Tim’s hand, hoping she’s right. “I’m sorry.”

She waves her hand, a warm smile on her face. “No, I’m sorry if we all seem a little impatient. I really hope we don’t put you off! We’re all just a little... eager to meet the person that has stolen our Timmy’s heart.”

“Babs!” Tim whines, but it goes ignored by Barbara.

She laughs. “Come on in! The rest of the family is waiting in the den.”

Dinner is chaotic. Not as chaotic as dinner is back at camp, but it’s still pretty chaotic.

The youngest and only biological child of Bruce Wayne, is Damian, a boy with a sharp tongue and a curious thing, eyeing you before quickly looking away with a huff and pretending he hadn’t just been staring at you. Unlike the rest of the family, the darkness in him is a speck compared to theirs, even if he speaks with harsh words and an air of indifference. There’s more of a childish innocence that surrounds him, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s attributed to the rest of his family trying to help him make the most of his childhood. 

You offer him a smile, one you hope doesn’t look strained or unnatural. You really do want to make him feel at ease with you. Make it easier for him to ask questions about you and your lineage like the rest of his family does.

Duke is the funniest of the group, not adopted, but still very much part of the family. He’s motivated, and just as smart as Tim, if their conversation about some riddle and case you briefly heard mentioned on the news is anything to go by. And just like Bruce and the rest of the family, he’s observant, maybe even more so than they are; offering you an out when it all becomes overwhelming by changing conversations or asking you if you need anything. He especially takes a liking to hearing stories of you and your mother, Athena, seemingly realizing that speaking about your mother is a clutch to you.

You can’t help it when you ask, “Are you sure you’re not a son of Athena’s?”

He’s taken aback by your question before laughing jovially. “That’d be so cool if I were, honestly! But nah, I’m just a regular ol’ meta-human.”

Dick snorts, leaning into your space to whisper loudly, as if to tease Duke—and completely ignoring the fact you lean away from him and closer to Tim—“Look at him nonchalantly trying to slip in that he’s not exactly human.”

Tim nudges Dick away from you with the palm of his hand, making his brother chuckle and back away with palms up in surrender. You thank Tim with a small smile which he returns.

Duke rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “How else was I supposed to say it?”

“Not at all,” Barbara adds in with a chirp, passing Cassandra the bowl of fruit that had been placed down by Alfred, their butler, something that you find really weird to say or even think. A butler! So weird.

“You guys are just jealous!”

Dick quirks an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m a child of Aphrodite.”

Jason pauses in his indulgence on seconds to flash him a smirk. “Ares.”

“Psyche,” Cassandra quietly adds as she adds fruit to her plate.

Tim grins. “Hermès.”

Damian glares at him without any heat. “My grandfather is Ra’s Al Ghul; my mother is Thalia Al Ghul; and my father is Batman.” Which is still wild to you. Who would’ve thought. I mean, other than the few conspiracies running around.

Barbara turns to you with an eye roll and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“Okay, all right, point taken! No need to flex. Damn.” Duke shakes his head. “A guy can’t even feel special.”

Bruce chuckles lowly. “You are special, Duke.” Duke lifts his head after huffing and beams, the rest of the family following after their father’s sincere words. “All of you are special.”

“But I’m more special, correct, father?”

A fond an exasperated chorus of “Damian!” fills the room.

The manor is quiet at night. Surprisingly enough.

Eleven people under one rooftop and you’re certain you could drop a pin on the floor and it’d resound throughout the manor.

And yet, even in the quiet, you and Tim lay awake in his childhood bedroom, too wired to fall asleep and give into your tiredness; both of you laying on your side and facing each other.

“You’re drained,” you whisper to Tim, brushing his hair falling over his eyes behind his ear.

He hums, closing his eyes as your fingers trail down the back of his ear and to his jaw. “I love my family, but it can be too much when everyone is together.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, tapping your finger against his chin gently before dropping your hand down next to your face. “It’s not as bad as camp.”

“Maybe,” he agrees absentmindedly. “But at least at camp I can go hide out with you in your cabin or sneak off to the lake.”

”Guess so.”

His lashes flutter as brilliant blue eyes appear once more. “Meeting my family didn’t tire you out?”

You smile, hearing the worry in his voice. “A little. But it was fun meeting them. Loved them.”

“Yeah?” he asks, wrapping you up in his arms.

“Yeah,” you whisper, patting his chest with your palms, his heartbeat a soothing thump against your hand. “Almost as much as I love you.”

His long fingers wrap around your wrist just as it stutters under your hand. “Do you mean it?” He asks breathless, barely heard in the darkness of his room full of wooden book shelves and books you can’t believe he actually read at some point in his life. 

“What?” You ask, watching him as he brings the hand that had been resting on his chest to his lips.

He presses a gentle kiss against your skin, eyes never leaving yours. “That you love me.”

You freeze, eyes moving from the hand he’s kissing to his brilliant blue eyes that don’t seem to ever stop sparkling. Even in the darkness he’s pure light, and you don’t understand how he can shine so brightly when the darkness surrounds him, practically ready to devour him. But you wouldn’t let it. You would never let that darkness take a hold of him. And if it ever did, you’d fight to bring him back, even if it meant going back to Tartarus, you would. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curve, smile growing and taking shape as he leans closer. Your hand rests on his cheek as you take him in; as he practically melts under your confession and touch. “I love you too, χρυσή μου.”

[turnertimeline]

‘Verse Shorts

Collection: Tim and Annie, Turner FAmily

Year: various

Characters: Annie, Tim, the rest of the Turners 

Content Warnings: none

Rating: K

Style: chat fic

Summary: Bits of Annie’s thoughts, getting comfortable with the Turners. If it’s got a strike through it, it was changed and is no longer canon to our world.

Shelagh really wants to give them a piece of her mind. Because she cannot imagine ever turning her child away. And oh she is so so so so proud of Tim. She's worried that he'll end up too invested and will get hurt. But Tim's got a good head on his shoulders.

Shelagh cannot imagine turning her back on her children, or on her grandchild. How dare they. Her pride for Tim fills her up and makes her feel like she's going to burst, some days. She worries he's too invested, especially if he bonds with the child, but she knows he has a good, steady head on his shoulders and there are worse things than loving and hurting. And once she meets Annette it becomes obvious even if they never become a couple she's one of the family now.

Shelagh's warmth and love overwhelms Annette. Her parents have never been affectionate. But Shelagh hugs her when they first meet. And Patrick, she's never seen a father so involved. Sharing in household chores, and taking care of Angela and Teddy, it blows her mind a little. Growing up, she could never climb up on her dad's lap right after he got home from work. Or ever really. But the minute Patrick sits down Teddy is in his lap asking for stories.

This is the life she wants for her baby. A family that loves.

Shelagh hugs her in greeting, and helps her with her hair when they're getting ready to go to Nonnatus, and will put her hands on her shoulders from behind when she's sitting at the table. She's so open and easy with her verbal affection and praise, too (and sly and a bit cheeky, which Annette grows to love, especially when she teases Patrick and his face goes all soft and fond). But it's Patrick that's a revelation: he hugs Tim hello when he picks them up, and lets Angela play pretend, using him as her patient during doctor and nurses and puts on the crown she brings him and sits at her tea parties. Teddy demanding UP! as soon as he comes home and more often than not it's Patrick changing him and getting him dressed during potty training and who sits up half the night when he has a cold and is grisly and miserable.

Her father was /never/ the one doing any of the late nights with her or her siblings. Never read stories. That was her mom. And as the oldest, it eventually became her duty to help with bedtime for the younger kids. There's only two of them, three children in the family just like Tim. But unlike Tim, there wasn't a more than 10 year age gap. At 10, she was helping put her 7 and 5 year old sisters to bed. She misses them the most. Her parents won't even let them talk to her when she calls for them. They say she's a bad influence.

Annette doesn't believe Tim when he tells her Patrick used to change Teddy's nappies until she meets them. And oh gosh, yes, she was definitely the (barely) older sister that basically raised her siblings from the age of ten, was always the one who took them to school and did their hair and put them to bed and hugged them when they had a nightmare...

It's the isolation that hurts the most. She can't see them, and they don't get to see their nephew until he's one, when the middle sister gets her own money and they get the bus into town and are able to call her from a phone box.

She's not even surprised when Tim changes Daniel's nappies. Or that Patrick even offers when they're over. And it makes her heart ache. Because she misses her parents, but more, she misses what they should have been.

Tim definitely does it without even batting an eyelid. Cleans the linens too. At first Patrick offers to do stuff and she's like, oh gosh no!! it's okay!!! until Shelagh is like "honestly I think he misses it. Weirdo." all fond and happy while Patrick is effectively slow dancing in the living room with Danny after changing him because Annette was having a bath. And god, yeah, her chest aches for the family she could - should - have had.

Shelagh adores having a new small one around to spoil rotten. She tells Annette that, that little Danny is her grandson even if she never speaks to Tim again. She loves him the moment she sees him (which is super overwhelming to Annette all over again, love so freely and totally given to a basic stranger).

She is just so shocked when she is pulled into the house by Shelagh. And Shelagh is so welcoming. And she just never wants to leave. Because they don't make her feel dirty for being unwed and pregnant. And it's the first time she gets to be excited about her baby with someone other than Tim.

Shelagh goes a little bit into nurse mode, which makes Tim laugh and tease her about going to fetch her uniform hat. But they're both so excited about the baby, and about her, and about her having a baby and about her raising the baby, too.

She's so shocked that they let her spend time with the children, too. She's already internalising her parents stopping her from seeing her sisters for being a bad influence, has seen women pull their children away from her as she's started to show and they clock the lack of ring on her finger, the uneasy way the girls in the food hall avoid her, the fact she almost got kicked out of her rented house until Tim spoke to the landlord. But Angela, once she gets over her shyness at new people, wants to sit in her lap and talking about " having a baby!!! like baby brother!!!"

Angela would be what 5 or 6? So she's got more understanding this time around and begs to feel Annie's baby kick. Teddy really doesn't get it but he likes Annie she's nice and she plays with him like Tim does. The kiddos make her miss her sisters something awful though. She wishes that she could at least write to them. But she knows her parents aren't above reading their mail.

Tim talked to her landlord, and convinced him to let her stay at least until the baby was born and talked with his parents about maybe moving to a two bed room so Annette doesn't have to worry about a landlord not wanting to rent to her.

Yeah she must be about that. She's started school too. She has vague memories that Shelagh had a baby in her tummy and then she got baby Teddy and has seen ladies who are expecting around and about (and is asking awkward questions in school because she is truly a Turner child) and she wants to know ALL ABOUT the baby and the kicking and !!! Teddy is very ??? about the concept of baby, but Angela smells nice and plays with him and sings him lots of songs so she can stay, as far as he's concerned.

Not being able to contact them at all really hurts. She misses them so much it aches, and she's starting to worry a little about how much stricter they'll be with her sisters.

Yes. He went to make sure she could stay, and put his name down as a guarantor/emergency contact if there was anything further Untoward and as a bit of insurance and has been looking for somewhere else for him to stay so she can too, if she wants to, and Shelagh and Patrick are willing to help if it costs a little more, too.

Part of her is blind because of his initial proposal, and she's waiting for him to leave, and just... there are so many things going on. He's her friend. The "other person's baby" thing never really factors into it for Tim; he has no problem loving a child or loving Annette.

Her entire life and future and perception of herself has turned upside down in just a few months. She's angry at herself, and at Kenneth, and a little bit with the girls who've abandoned her, and with administration, but she's turned a lot of it inwards. This is all her fault, and she doesn't blame them for not giving her a room/education/etc - she wouldn't have either, probably, before she got pregnant. Tim's anger is much brighter burning and directed outwards, and he's at least half thinking about the young women in Poplar. But he respects that she doesn't want to fight and keeps it inside (or in letters to Patrick)

She makes a comment about it being her fault to Shelagh on day. Sometimes Shelagh comes for a visit with Teddy while Angela is at school. Annette is essentially living at Tim's now. No place is willing to hire her and she can't afford to keep her place. The move was almost unspoken. She said something to Tim, not really expecting him to offer his place. Even though knowing him for any length of time should have meant she'd know that he'd not let her end up in a shelter or a council flat.

But she mentions to Shelagh that it's her fault, it's all her fault. If she had just listened to what her parents said, her pastor said, and just said no to Kenneth. And Shelagh shuts down that nonsense immediately.

"There is no fault or blame to place. And from what I've heard, that Kenneth wasn't exactly a gentleman to you saying no. Your little one is not a punishment for doing something wrong."

It takes her a while to settle into really living with Tim. She feels at first a little like maybe it's just a halfway house or she's an extended guest or something, it isn't for a while that she really relaxes into the space and lets her things start to migrate into the living spaces and puts up some of the pictures she has, that kind of thing.

God, Shelagh takes her hands in hers and looks her in the eye. "And you shouldn't be punished for what you did. For your little one. You did nothing wrong."

"It feels like I did everything wrong. But I wouldn't go back and change it. He's not even here yet and I can't imagine my life without him. And I don't want him to ever think that I regret having him."

And Shelagh is just like --omg you precious bb-- and hugs her. And Annette breaks down. She's cried while talking to Tim, but she still tries to act brave around him. But Shelagh's a mother figure, and that's something that Annette really needs right now.

When Shelagh hugs her, Annette can properly cry; the sort of unstoppable, ugly crying she hasn't done since she was very small, and even then only alone. The sort of cry where you just cry until you can't anymore and calm down on your own.

Shelagh just holds her and lets her cry. And quietly prays with her. Because it helps Shelagh so maybe it will help Annette. And it does.

Yes. Holds her close, rocks her a little, but is mostly just quiet and lets her cry as much as she wants. And prays. And then when Annette is curled up with her head in her lap, brushes her fingers through her hair and sings, soft.

Annette falls asleep like that. Utterly exhausted from crying so hard. And Shelagh can't find it in her to move. Tim comes home and is so worried, thinking that something is wrong with Annette, or the baby.

Tim would be so worried, all wide eyed and so frightened, reminded of Shelagh in the hospital until Shelagh reassures him, kisses his forehead. Annette wakes up to the sound and smell of Tim cooking, and the warmth in their voices as they talk, and bicker a little, and listening to them break off to sing the chorus of whatever's on the radio, and she opens her eyes to Tim in the doorway to the kitchen in the now-familiar apron

But Shelagh just assures him that she's alright, emotions can just be exhausting sometimes. Tim makes dinner and Annette is awake again by the time it's ready. Despite them insisting, Shelagh takes her leave. But not before telling Annette that she's there to talk, any time she needs to. And for certain things, maybe Trixie?

After Shelagh leaves, Annette walks over to Tim and hugs him, and they stand like that for a while. "Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your family."

Tim smiles at her and squeezes her gently in the hug. "I don't think you had much of a choice. Mum is very stubborn," His voice is warm and joking but he squeezes her again. "You're welcome."

Annette laughs against his chest in agreement, his mother is very stubborn indeed. As is he, but she doesn't remind him of that. That's the first time she kisses him. She didn't plan it, neither of them expected it. It's just a quick kiss and then they part.

And never talk about it. Yes. A quick, soft kiss. And that's it. Never to be spoken of.

Tim wants to talk to her about the kiss. But doesn't want to pressure her or scare her. He would very much like to kiss her again.

He wants that so much, but she never brings it up, isn't even awkward the next morning, so he doesn't mention it. That's her decision

She even lets herself buy some things for the baby. Even though Tim tells her that the residents of Poplar will essentially clothe the baby for his first year. And when Shelagh brings things over, Annette realizes just how right Tim was. She's amazed by it.

Tim buys some stuff too while he's out, which surprises her. They're useful, too. (omg so much sterilizer) Shelagh turns up and has donations from the box at Nonnatus, and some stuff from Chummy and a few things Shelagh has, and from the other mothers at clinic, and it's just - it's a lot. "Patrick can bring you a cot, too, if you need it, but it wouldn't fit in the car..." It's overwhelming.

The outpouring of love from people she's never even met stuns her. It's because she's Tim's friend, and everyone knows Tim. So a friend of Tim's is a good person. And she just can't.

There's are clothes and blankets and little booties and hats and a few toys, and other things too - things for her, rather than for baby. A few cards/notes too. A friend of Tim's is a friend of theirs. He's such a good boy. Always so sweet and helpful. Grew up so good and strong. And a little bit because she's a friend of Shelagh and Patrick, and therefore a friend of theirs. They're good people, they are. It makes her re-think everything her mother ever told her about the sorts of people that live in a place like Poplar.

Oh gawd yes. Her parents have their noses so far up in the air. People from places like Poplar never registered on their radar unless it was to complain about whatever the most recent thing was in vogue. And she fell into that trap a little. At first at least, like she wasn't like them she had a good up bringing in a wealthy area. And Tim wasn't like them either, he grew up there because of his father's work, not out of necessity. But she realizes that if it wasn't for Tim and his family, she'd be in a place far worse off than Poplar.

Like, Tim and Patrick and Shelagh lived in Poplar but they weren't from Poplar, he was a Doctor and Shelagh was a nurse (and a Nun) and Respectable. And that's how she thought of Tim, a little. But Tim obviously loves his home so much, even the dark and dirty and messy bits of it, and his friends are all from there, and he wants to go back and not just to their shiny house in the suburbs, but to Poplar proper. And then all these strangers turn out to help her and welcome it and it's just ... so different and so much.

She starts seeing Poplar through Tim's eyes. One visit, she's nearly due and it's hot and she doesn't really want to be outside, but she goes with him because it's better than doing nothing. He takes her around to his favorite shops, and they stop by Violet's and Violet is just so excited over meeting Annette. And everyone just being so cheerful to Tim and waving at him. And they stop to pick up Angela and walk her home and all her little friends flood around them with questions for Tim. And he is so kind and patient.

All the little shops, the people who wave to him or call out to him and ask him questions about his mother or his father or the nurses, or how are his studies going? Here, have these bananas/jar of jam/cake! And they're so welcoming and warm to Annette too, asking about the baby and how she's coming along and isn't it murder on your bladder, which makes her giggle and blush. Angela is shouting about BABY!!!! and her friends are asking him questions and it's like a little procession of ducklings down the street.

They're peas in a pod, really. It's becoming more and more obvious the more she gets to see Shelagh.

By the time they get back to the Turner house, Annette is glowing and not just from the amount of sweat running down her face. She's never been around so many friendly people. And the feeling of community. It's not something she ever knew. The closest thing was the church community she grew up in. But there was always that air of judgement. And not a single one of the church "family" she thought she had has reached out to her since her parents disowned her. But everyone in Poplar, the kinds of people she was always told she was better than, was kinder to her than her own family. She loves getting to meet the people Tim talks about. She met the nuns and nurses the first time she came to visit. And he captured them so well in the stories he told her.

Annette loves how much like Shelagh she finds Tim to be. It gives her hope that she could find someone who would be as wonderful a step parent to her baby as Shelagh is to Tim. And that maybe being around these wonderful people will stamp out whatever personality the baby would inherit from Kenneth.

She doesn't see them all at once like she does for her first Christmas there, various nurses away on shifts and rounds, but she meets all of them nonetheless. She feels like she knows them, almost, Tim talks to them so much. And Tom invites her to the Sunday service and Barbara walks in with her with their arms linked.

Gosh, yes, she loves how alike they are, how she can see where Shelagh has influenced who he is and how he talks and the things he thinks. He's just like Shelagh when he's tired. And it does give her hope, make her feel warm, that she could have a proper family and someone who loves her baby as much as she does.

_____

Annette cooking with Shelagh

And Teddy and Angela helping

Cookies maybe

Something they could do - stirring/kneading/cutting out the shapes

*Its nice

Warm and friendly

She's all full of hormones and it makes her cry. And Shelagh just hugs her

and then the bbs realise something's wrong and hugs her too

And she doesn't even mind the floury marks

she's just so overwhelmed by little Teddy's arms around her and Angela telling her no cry!!

"Annie don't cry! We're making cookies!"

Angela and Teddy pick up on calling her Annie like Tim does

She laughs a little and wipes her eyes, pulling away and touching their hair. "I know, darling. I know."

"Annie was just happy, love," Shelagh says with a smile and kisses her hair

It's more complicated than that, but

It's hard to explain to kids

She's talked to Shelagh a lot

Angela looks briefly sceptical but goes back to the cookie dough. Adults are funny. She's seen her parents cry with happiness lots

Shelagh is good to talk to

Girls nights start including her

____

In just a few years they've been more loving and accepting of her than her own parents

And sometimes that reminder just hits her really hard

It's not just about the baby

Its an absent comment about painting and the brushes Shelagh finds for her

a little comment about maybe some sort of class, and Shelagh's unwavering support

they don't dismiss her, or belittle her, and their teasing is sometimes rapid and instinctive but it's never sharp

And it's never mean teasing

Annette never feels like they're nice to her just because of bb

It's just so different

Patrick never dismisses her thoughts or questions with "silly girl" like her father did

She used to think her life was perfect.

And then she finds out what truly loving and supportive parents are

Her parents were horrible. But they were distant

They never struck her, or called her terrible things, but...

It never felt like home and she doesn't realize that until X

and finding a best friend in one of the nurses

[aaabhiklmnnrs]

this morning i was going through this photo album from 2016 from when my parents visited Boston. i try not to cling to them in any manner. all my life i have rarely seeked them, i remember once when i was still quite young, my mother had once got unnerved by my sense of individuality that she angrily remarked, ‘you never speak. DN (my sister who lives in Bhopal) talks a lot, about everything’. she had seemed hurt that i ‘talk lesser’, that I ‘share lesser’.

the D in DN is short for Devaki which is my sister’s born-name. N is for Nandan which my mother added sometime during her toddlerhood, my mother would call her Nandu when we were kids. and as we grew older, sometimes as we would be hanging together, she would shout Devaki Nandan…Devaki Nandan from downstairs while also clapping her hands super-loud, and I would beg my sister to rush, mostly in self-defense, the recurring sound would cause hypersensitive ears to ache. i am thinking of all these today in fond reminiscence. I plan to surprise-call my mother this weekend. my sister too, but i call her more often, and frequent-check on my niece as well. one of these days, I need to reply-call my cousin Gouri, and then my favorite aunt Uma Mami too, i haven’t responded to either of them. I have no idea what Jaya Mami is up to, the last time i met her at a weekend lunch, she was busy planning a seemantham-get-together for one my cousins’ pregnant wife. i am not sure if she is in town, my phone is switched off. i also have to get myself to be in a mind space where I may sit and work on the brain-gut project, and slowly try to build on it by seeking help from Meera Mami.

back in 2014, i was collective-accused of being a liar, a wannabe-Brahmin. check this out, it’s not unnatural to relate to those from your mother’s side of the family, i was shamed for trying to pass of as Brahmin at the time. i was tagged Blue Jackal. at the time, i never thought much of it because that’s not what i had intended to do. only now i’m reliving those days, i shall write on this another time.

by end of august 2019, i am sharing thoughts solely here — @fanofStarc and balakrishnanM.tumblr.com. it may be easier to remain here if i’m not being hack-broadcasted. i find everything else overwhelming, from which i seek distance and space. on Mar. 31st, is when I truly realized that the Hack Broadcasting is influential…when you had shared Mamukoya’s നാരിയൽ-drink troll video. i was left sulking that they took BK. who is they? the world, in general. it has always been a tested-formula to gain collective society approval -- just show the തേങ്ങ of a woman who is boss—simply play to prevalent casual misogyny that seems unable to let a woman, just be!

and then by that evening i guess, you had shared this article  on how it’s all depressing overall. that day you had gotten 100 likes or so for the troll video, and it had made me wonder then…what would tick BK, wasn’t playing തേങ്ങ-udakkal-Boss and getting cheery validation from good society enough for your daily high? i had found your ‘flawed’ most interesting that day, and so catered to you on April 5th by sharing a Mammukka troll video song. when i think of the past one year i feel… it’s all at a point where i cannot say what is right or wrong or anything, but i would think now and then…because of these never-ending wars that keep going on, i feel only more closer to BK, i’m still comfortable around BK, i haven’t lost beauty around him and that’s categorically a truly, lucky thing that happened to me. so why would i wish to spend time trying to work out the nuances of the rest of it all, or be continually-forced to do so?

i’m keeping alive off of 2015, i’m in a space where I am able to find value, from drops of sustainability hope that i have around you, whatever be the name for it all. if this space wasn’t there, i would not be writing, i would have shut down shop. the zen-വാഴപ്പഴം  remark was an attempt at humor, i do not seek daily validations, whatever you have shared, or how you have been, or who you were, this past year, is more than enough for me to feel comfortable around you. my comfort is built based on everything from over a period in time.  

male privilege is when i do not know who your on-paper spouse is, or that people are not too curious what she has to say regarding every socmedia-activity of yours, it is when you are not glued along with your on-paper spouse and their opinion is not sought about everything regarding yours. i do not know if you have children, of if you are planning to have any soon. and as a woman, i’m perfectly fine with consuming zen-വാഴപ്പഴം that is shared, on your own volition, on social media spaces. male entitlement is not acknowledging these default-comforts that you maintain in life, not acknowledging that you are never on trial for anything, definitely not for over an year, and which tries best to decide everything on your behalf. prison mostly just enhances the traumatic, it doesn’t help evolve or sustain.

there is a scene in the film പേരൻമ്ബ്. a woman and a group of people bullies Mammukka’s character into giving up his lovely house that is in a serene ambience in the middle of nowhere, which he had bought solely to raise his disabled daughter. The gist of what they try to say to him is— hey we had considerate-offered you 1.5 million initially, but you had dismissed us off then….as if you are a പെരിയ പരുപ്പ് , how do you like lovely-bullying now?

Mammukka goes on to helplessly-sign-the-papers, everyone feel victorious about confiscating his house. soon after, calm has restored, and he & the woman are in a scene together.

W: നാങ്ക ഏൻ ഇപ്ടി പണ്നോന്നാവത് കേട്ടിട്ട് പോയിടുങ്കളെ, സർ.

M: ഉങ്കളുക്ക് എന്ത പ്രചനയുഇല്ലാത, അഴകാന ഒരു കുഴന്ത ഇരിക്കിറപ്പോ, എന്ന പോയി ഏമാത നിനച്ചീങ്കളെ, അപ്പൊ ഉങ്കളുക്ക് എവളവ് പെരിയ പ്രചന ഇരുന്തിര്ക്കും, വിടുങ്ക!

the woman and her husband mixed-emotion-watch as  Mammukka walks away from the frame.

W: അവർ റൊമ്പ നല്ലവർ, മാമ.

H: അപ്പൊ നമ്മ ആര് di? (so what are we? )

i enjoyed the writing there. i must have watched the film probably a month or two ago, but this scene stays in my mind. for a couple of reasons.

1. i think this is disability-friendly dialogue. both parties have their own sets of privileges in life, and the added difficulties from being disabled is acknowledged, the disability party is not expected to act ‘more inspirational’ by being eternally-patient regarding the many reasons of the ableist party. the disabled is allowed time and space to make peace with their disability, soak in their disadvantages, they are not force-prompted to cater to the external. and by acknowledging that niche, the life struggles of the disabled, the script allows dignity. it doesn’t try to dilute or under-value it. because it would have been easier to do the opposite and cater to the average movie-goer who is ableist, and thus probably raise more-awareness and more-empathy for disability. but by not spoon feeding, the writing doesn’t enforce disability on its audience, doesn’t make empathy a pre-requisite. it says, hey if you have it in you to care, it’s solely up to you to give it further thought.  

2. it doesn’t try to make Mammukka the resident നല്ല പിള്ള. there is no aspiration toward establishing a consensus on who gets to be morally superior or who has upper hand in the given context. yet, both parties choose their own ശരികൾ. as much as Mammukka is allowed to hold on to his indignation, the spouse of woman neutralizes any perceived moral high by asserting their side of ശരികൾ. he doesn’t wish to agree that Mammukka is a better-person, he doesn’t have the bandwidth in life to acknowledge the disability of the other party, he is occupied with his own problems in life. he asserts that their, seemingly, lower middle class life sucks just as much, even with ableist privileges, and in his eyes, playing bully on the disabled for survival is easy-justified.

i feel this writing respects the audience, i do not know who wrote it, but the script doesn’t give ‘the reason’ for the sequence of events. it challenges by asserting that it is okay to not know everything, the audience doesn’t get to presume and analyze, nor feel authority on the lives of others that they do not entirely know of.

these are words from the article you had shared : ‘I find that discussion depressing. Prudent and smart decisions don’t require full knowledge. They require that you assess the uncertainty and figure out its potential consequences. The uncertainty doesn’t mean that you simply cross your arms, close your eyes, and do nothing while you wait for complete certainty. In economics, you will be waiting a long time. I have loaded much into the term ‘prudent’, however. Designing activist policy prescriptions on the basis of a false pretense of knowledge can indeed be harmful.’

acknowledging false pretense of knowledge is good enough. thank you for listening to this podcast on sticky brain.  one of these days, i may expand on why deepika padukone is always a cool woman who stays a life influence, and yet how i know that i’m not a wannabe-Brahmin any longer in life, despite the many, data-psychoanalyzing. i may write about it here about in quiet confidence regardless of if i receive zen-വാഴപ്പഴം delivery.

also, because in ‘the contender’ which is an all-time favorite film, the female VP candidate character says - i will not answer questions. because it validates the asking of wrong-entitled questions in the first place, because the control-freak, half-truth സ്മാർത്തവിചാരം never seem to end. i agree that society is not the world in ‘the contender’ etc. still, i refuse to keep on catering to how things are right now. i refuse to engage with reasons for Hack-Broadcasting anymore, not after one whole year of social experimenting that refuses to consider how it is ill-affecting my health. let us be equally fair to all of us.

yet, you may be right too…as Tim Grover, trainer of Michael Jordan says, there may be nothing much, in the long run, that one person’s tiny ‘will’ can do against persistent, adverse ‘environments’. fine, then so be it! i shall switch my phone back on, and continue to live in the same spaces that i have been hack-violated, and stay imprisoned for sake of voyeuristic-TRP television show, if that’s how it has to be. maybe some day, എന്നെ തീർത്തും തോൽപിച്ച satisfaction കിട്ടി കഴിഞ്ഞാൽ, the world may lose interest and leave me alone, i can always remain in hope. and then i may begin to sustain, eventually. some day. 

ps. disability models, social and medical. “i do not hold the possibly-another-marriage-for-me-in-this-life outlook any longer. and, to feel ‘comfortable’ means that instead of shutting down entirely or reliving traumas or relapsing into dysfunctional every days, i feel up to practicing better at staying on the ground, just so life can be lived a little easier. i’m a writer-type, and to have niche spaces like @fanofStarc and balakrishnanM.tumblr.com,  where i may feel comfortable, to express thoughts with the world, on healthy enough days, make me quite the grateful Worm Menon.” 

[greenangelheart]

SKAM - an Isak x Even fanfic

So I said I was going to do the thing - and I’ve done the thing - or part done it, I don’t know.  I’ve written 2000 words of a thing, but what’s it been - like 2 years since I’ve written? Maybe not that long.  So this is kind of a WIP I think, but I would be interested in maybe hearing what you think, or maybe if anyone wants to beta for me. I’ve never had a beta so don’t really know how it works.  But I’m basically full of doubt right now.  Hmmmm.  So here’s the thing:

(It’s basically Even before Isak)

**

It’s strange walking down unfamiliar corridors.  Unsure you are heading in the right direction.   The feeling of all eyes on you.  Deeply uncomfortable.  Wondering if the huddled conversations around lockers or boisterous laughs of passing groups mean that even here you cannot escape what has gone before.  That incessant prickling feeling in the back of your neck that they know.  But of course, even before all that, eyes have always tended to follow you whenever you passed by.  Your natural charisma has always had the easy knack of drawing people towards you. Your gran always said you had the ability to dazzle, her little star.  You are not so little now though, and you had learnt how stars could burn out of control, overwhelm, and consume everything in their path.

You give yourself a quick mental talking to.  One step at a time.  That's your plan.  You look down at the map provided on the back of your timetable, then back up at the classroom door in front of you, confirming you are in the right place. Taking a deep breath, you begin to push against it when three guys come out from the room, shoving gamely at each other and laughing loudly.  You move aside, body turning to let them past you, and that’s when you see him. Standing against the wall, a little further down the corridor, head bowed, engrossed in whatever is on his mobile. Only when you continue to look you think maybe he is not so engrossed, but more that he is trying to avoid the attention of a group of girls standing to his left. His eyes flicking away from the screen, surreptitiously watching them, before quickly returning to his phone whenever one of them looked over at him.  You see how his body seems to instinctively curl in on itself even further as if not to invite conversation or attention.

Your eyes linger on him, his free hand ticking through his ashen blonde hair, carding through the short strands, then rubbing at the back of his neck.  You realise he has probably been waiting on the guys who had just passed you, two of them now juggling books at their lockers, and the third who has masses of dark curly hair greeting him with a slap to the shoulder, obviously calling him out about the girls who had been watching him, but who were now disappearing around the corner at the end of the corridor. You see his eyes roll at the comments, his lips pressed firmly together as he ducks his head again, this time in defence of the playful ribbing, before it lifts again just in time for you to catch another eye-roll, but this time accompanied by a bright smile and a good natured laugh, that carries down the hallway to where you are standing.  

The other two guys join them, books safely stowed away now in their bags, jostling again with the guy with dark curls. You become aware now that other people are starting to file past you, into the classroom. Making a concerted effort to look away from the forth boy, the boy who had been standing alone to begin with, you make a vague attempt to catch the eyes of some of your new classmates. Them looking appraisingly at you. You looking for a warm smile and friendly faces.  You glance back towards where the group of four lads are now starting to walk back down the corridor towards where you are still standing outside the classroom door, their voices carrying as they continue to laugh and joke.  

You wonder briefly what year they are in, feeling a slight stutter in your chest and you find yourself hoping that maybe you will share some classes with the forth boy.  His face a unique combination of softness and emerging strong lines that is crowned with short blonde curls, tapering darker to the roots.  While his walk is full of masculine bravado, chest swelling from continued chatter about the girls you notice how he trails the other guys by half a step.   His arm crossed tightly across his body holding his backpack strap onto his opposite shoulder.  His smile wide, but you find yourself thinking not entirely genuine, his eyes not reflecting the same emotion.  You finally slip into the classroom as they pass by, forcing your mind away from the boy in the corridor, and applying it to the important and more pressing matter of where you are going to sit.  

**

It’s been two weeks.  You haven’t caught sight of the tall boy with soft blonde hair again, despite often finding yourself automatically scanning the school corridors for him.  He has not appeared in any of your classes either much to your disappointment, and none of the friends you are making seem to hang out with him, or those other guys you saw him with.  You conclude he probably isn't in the third year.  You have seen his friend, the one with the dark hair, a couple of times at the bike racks.  But you haven't seen him.  Still in quiet moments though you find yourself thinking about him.  The boy with the sad eyes.  Beautiful but sad.  Very beautiful.  The kind of eyes you would like to get lost in.  The kind of eyes you would like to make films about.  Which is ridiculous.  How can you make a film about eyes?  But whatever it is you feel, deep down in your gut when you think on those eyes, well you would very much like to be able to capture it for all of prosperity on film.  

You are on your way to a film class seminar when you finally you see him again.  You have been looking forward to it ever since you found out about it.  The idea of making films has always been tantalising.  You feel like you are truly permitted to fully express who you are.  Whoever that might be.  There he is.  The boy who has been shadowing your thoughts of late.  Sitting alone at a desk.  In an empty classroom.  Headphones in.  Tapping away at his laptop.  You could go over now.  Introduce yourself.  There is no one else around.  No pressure. Just chill.  

He pauses typing, lips pressed together, before his tongue peeks out in concentration. You stand momentarily captivated. His face is a picture of industry and application.  You find it utterly endearing.  He pauses what he is doing to pull his mobile out of his jeans pocket.  You watch as he slides his thumb across the screen, and then see as his eyebrows knot closer together to form a frown.  His shoulders drop, his posture sagging.  You wonder what he saw on his phone that affected him in this way. You want to go over and smooth away that line that has now settled in the crease of his brow as he returns to his work.  You hear the vibration of the phone against the hard surface of the desk, where he has abandoned it to, and see his fingers pause over the keyboard, before they continue on, obviously deciding to ignore the phone this time, but that crease in his otherwise smooth skin deepens. You can just about hear the faint buzz of the music coming from his headphones now.  Just the underlying beat of whatever he’s listening to.  He must have turned the volume up.  Ignoring whatever was troubling him on his phone? Shutting the world out for a moment? You realise you are going to be late for the seminar, but somehow your feet just cannot be persuaded to move and it just doesn't seem so important in this moment.

 **

You feel a flush of heat in your chest as you lift your head, glancing to where the tram doors have slid shut on their second attempt, to see who the last minute passenger was who nearly just got trapped in them.  And there he is.  Head down. Head always down.  He doesn’t step very far into the tram, just standing near where he embarked, hand wrapped tightly around the pole to keep himself steady as the tram lurches forward from the stop.  Even from your position seated at the back of the tram you can see he’s breathing heavily, and he takes his snapback off to run a hand through his hair, before carefully readjusting it to suit.  As he does so you notice how his hair has grown, the ash blonde that was cropped closer a few weeks ago now thicker with more pronounced curls, which were attempting to escape the restraint of his hat, flicking up in defiance around the edges.  You assume, given his appearance on this tram, he must live somewhere in the area, somewhere between you and school.  You wonder if he always gets the tram, you still have never seen him at the bike racks, or whether like you he was running late so had to opt for a quicker way to school today.   You decide that maybe you will leave your bike at home more often.  Just on the off chance.

Like always you can't take your eyes off him.  You watch as his breathing steadies, his mouth parted slightly to take in deep lungful of air, his skin glowing from the apparent exertion of catching this tram.  He drops his backpack and pushes the sleeves up on his jumper, rolling the ends to keep them from dropping back down past his elbows.  You try mentally willing him to look up, to look over, to see you.  Apparently your physic skills are just not up to scratch today.  He continues to look down at the floor, forehead resting against the pole he's now leant against rather than clutching, toe of his trainer scuffing at the base.

You try to think of a good reason to get out of your seat and to go and stand down near the doors near him.  Just as your parents, and Sonja had assured you, you had quickly met new people who were eager to befriend you.  Attracted to you by your easy smile, charm, and that whiff of James Dean about you. A persona you had cultivated carefully until really it had become second nature to you.  The hint of rebellion tempered by a friendly nature. Dangerous, but not the wrong kind of danger.  Not most of the time anyway.  You found people were always fairly inclined to follow where you led.  And you enjoy playing the part, being that person.  Especially now it feels like your last source of resistance against the way your life feels carefully controlled now.  You can conceal this whole other side of yourself. Sliding that blunt behind your ear, nestling in your carefully styled hair.  Just daring somebody to call you out on it.  Leaning heavily against the boundaries, testing them, but not breaking through them all together.  But as you sit here now you cannot think of one legitimate reason to walk down this tram and strike up a conversation.  Or even an outrageous one.  The stop for school is still a good 15 minutes away.  You imagine it would look a bit strange if you gave up a perfectly good seat to go and stand now.  And to what end.  You had finally discovered he was in the second year, through keeping your ear to the ground.  You don’t share any classes, or friends.  Maybe you have nothing in common at all.  Maybe that doesn't matter.  Not when you cannot deny the draw you feel to him.  

**

So maybe more of the thing, change the thing up, idk??

[vexinglyvolatile]

@honestmagpie

How fandom portrays Tim's first months as Robin:

Tim: Batman, it's time for your anti-depressants.

Bruce: *grumbles*

Tim: Speak louder.

Bruce: Go away Jason.

Tim: It's Tim, actually.

Bruce: GO AWAY.

How it actually was in the Batman comics:

Tim: How did my report card got on your fridge?

Bruce: I took a look at your grades, and they were great, why? Except for chemistry. Maybe you should not go out as Robin to focus on school.

Tim: Not happening. I'm not falling for that.

Bruce: Well, if you are really going to do this, we should add bubble wrap to the suit.

Tim: I'm not made of glass.

Bruce: Are you sure about that? By the way, do you eat enough? ALFRED, can you cook something for Tim? He needs some food.

Tim: I'm fine Bruce!

Bruce: Are you sure? Do you want a hug? If you want a hug, you can ask. I can have Alfred make some hot chocolate.

Tim: You realize I have parents, rights?

Bruce: I don't see them in this room.

[figgz1]

Bruce didn't need mothering. He needed a reason to live.

How fandom portrays Tim's first months as Robin:

Tim: Batman, it's time for your anti-depressants.

Bruce: *grumbles*

Tim: Speak louder.

Bruce: Go away Jason.

Tim: It's Tim, actually.

Bruce: GO AWAY.

How it actually was in the Batman comics:

Tim: How did my report card got on your fridge?

Bruce: I took a look at your grades, and they were great, why? Except for chemistry. Maybe you should not go out as Robin to focus on school.

Tim: Not happening. I'm not falling for that.

Bruce: Well, if you are really going to do this, we should add bubble wrap to the suit.

Tim: I'm not made of glass.

Bruce: Are you sure about that? By the way, do you eat enough? ALFRED, can you cook something for Tim? He needs some food.

Tim: I'm fine Bruce!

Bruce: Are you sure? Do you want a hug? If you want a hug, you can ask. I can have Alfred make some hot chocolate.

Tim: You realize I have parents, rights?

Bruce: I don't see them in this room.