#Tim machine power hour

[mathias-wanabe]

I got a big ahh canvas. Who do i put on here

I plan to use paint despite never having used paint once in my life to that will be fun:)

[jjenthusee]

Subtle Stitches

jason todd x reader

A/N: i had an idea then it kinda spiraled? idk if in a good or bad way but i kept adding more and more. i’m also so exhausted from day to day life so this is to comfort myself HAHAHA so ENJOY :D

Tags: fluff, domestic jason, silly jason, toxic jason if u squint but i’m blind to that 😌 and slight angst but all is well :)

You tiredly started putting clothes in the washer, throwing mixed pieces of clothing from your pile and Jason’s pile.

Colors were first, a mixture of fabrics placed in the machine.

After emptying the laundry basket, you remembered the shirt you threw on the floor from this morning. A bad habit you’ve started to pick up as you rushed to get to work on time.

Unsure of the precise outfit you wanted, multiple changes, then changing back into the original outfit, it gave you a pile of clothes thrown last minute.

You grabbed the shirt off the floor.

It wasn’t dirty necessarily, but now you wanted to wash it.

On your way back from the bathroom, you noticed a spare sock thrown sadly outside the door.

Then a completely different lone sock in your bedroom and a pair of pants you left to air-dry, but never bothered to put away still on the dining chair.

You gotta work on this bad habit you’ve developed, but after working all day and getting home late, you hadn’t been able to give yourself any down time, let alone complete any chores.

You hadn’t even seen Jason. Only giving him quick morning forehead kisses before work as he sleepily tried to cling onto your waist.

Wrapping a strong arm around you, locking you permanently to his side.

You had no idea how his sheer strength kept you in place as he lazily laid on the bed, but after much convincing that you had to fulfill your portion of the rent and several kisses to Jason’s face, did he finally let you go.

As much as it pained you to leave, you loved the wrinkled clothes left by his adamance to throw you back on the mattress next to him.

It felt like every weekday, he was getting closer to convincing you to drop everything, ditch the city, go off-grid and live deep in the woods surviving off berries and spring water, but alas you silently trudged yourself to the bus stop.

You left like a soldier going off to war, sworn to duty while their partner, like Jason, held their tears and waved a white handkerchief as the city bus wisped you away to 8+ hours of labor.

Both of your schedules, opposite of one another, never aligned. Jason swung the city in the peak of the night, under the stars and amongst the ongoing sirens, but you had the most torturous criminal in all of Gotham, a 9-5. It waited for you, forbade you from staying out too late.

You once joked to Jason over dinner that he should leave a small token of…warning to your boss, for a needed day off, but when Jason didn’t laugh and comfort you like you expected, you made sure to make him pinky promise he wouldn’t physically or mentally harm your boss.

When he wouldn’t wrap his pinky with yours, you refused to eat the warm meal he cooked. After dismissing every possible way he could make your boss beg, he reluctantly sworn the great promise of pinkies to not do any permanent harm in favor of you eating.

With a worrisome look, you took slow bites, watching Jason act like he didn’t create new torture tactics at a family dining table.

After another additional verbal reassurance from the man and an unconvincing sigh, he only agreed that if you promised to never miss a goodbye kiss before work, then he would follow any rule you set.

So far, no broken promises and no mass emails about a sudden company shut down due to threats, so it was a win?

Even then, they could force you to work remote, so unless Jason unrelentingly asks Tim to shut down all power and service in the area, you still had to be a working citizen.

The commute to and from work already took up most of your minimal free time, so it felt like you woke up to work, ate a quick meal, then fell asleep to wait for the next work day.

Luckily in the rare moments, Jason got to get a quick kiss on your shoulder before going out for patrol. Usually you were passed out on the couch, but with a beautifully handwritten note from your lover, you woke up on the bed thanks to Jason carrying you.

You needed a Jason recharge soon, but that had to be until the weekend and for work to even out before you got that luxury.

While the clothes were being washed, you started a small water to clean the dishes.

Soapy bubbles coating your hands as you washed the utensils that Jason used to make you daily lunches.

You almost cry at every lunch, adoring the beautiful meal that graced you, made with the scarred and gentle hands of Jason.

With the last pot placed on the drying rack, you sent one last text for the night.

You: clothes in the wash, was gonna put them in the dryer but i’m frog blinking and i need to sleep \(o-0)/

jay: ok, got the dishes when i get back :)

You: already washed them :(((

jay: how dare u be a responsible adult

You: i’ll repent 😔

jay: 12 years in the slammer, community service, and a lunch date with me on saturday

You: yes sir 🫡 i promise to reduce my sentence for good behavior

As you finished brushing your teeth, you noticed Jason’s jacket thrown on the couch.

You were surprised he didn’t take it out on patrol, but after the last stabbing incident there were relatively large holes in the sleeves and pocket.

You were grateful that most of the damage was in the jacket and not Jason, but he still kept it.

After looking at its sad state, you offered to shop for a new jacket together, but Jason was reluctant. Saying it could be fixed.

With a small smile, you grabbed the coat, grabbing your mending kit that you got for free from a hotel you stayed at a while back.

You messily stitched the first hole, but after finding the right pace, muscle memory kicked in and you finished up the stitching.

Not the best work, but you hoped the dark color would hide any mishaps and make it seamless.

When the handiwork was done, you left the jacket as you saw it and went to bed.

—

When work eased up, you almost got to see Jason for a full evening.

You cuddled on the couch, your legs over his, leaning on the pillows.

Engrossed in the movie, but time for patrol was near and Jason had to move your legs and get up to get his gear on.

When he reappeared from the bedroom, you saw the mended jacket back on his broad shoulders.

With a quick kiss goodbye, a quiet shut from the window, you finished the movie. Happy that you managed to save the jacket that Jason refused to let go.

After a couple nights, work was tougher on your body than usual and the jacket was back on the couch. A new tear on the sleeve that you closed up.

The several patchwork was starting to concern you.

You have to convince him that he needed a new jacket. One without tears preferably.

“Jay, I’m running out of thread. I think it’s time.” You tiredly held the worn out jacket in your lap. Poking the needle into the fabric, careful to not prick yourself.

“No, it’s still got some life. Since you’ve sewn it, it’s never looked better.” Jay washed the dishes.

“I’ve heard Roy ask if you tried to sew it yourself. I know it’s not the best work, but even you’re more meticulous than I am.” You knotted the end of the thread, cutting off the excess.

“Roy can’t even tie his shoes, so don’t listen to him.” Jason turned on the faucet, letting the water flow into the sink.

“I know we’re both busy, but I can run to the store after work to buy you one. I saw a really nice one that would look great, It’s not far and I can take the next bus—“ You tried to reason.

“Absolutely not, you already know how I feel about you taking that route so late.” Jason scrubbed the plate.

“I’ll go with a coworker, we do leave in groups anyway. It’s just once—“ You sighed, folding the jacket.

“No, this isn’t something you can convince me on.” Jason placed the glass plate down, a little more harshly than he wanted, but he grabbed a mug without stopping. “I have to meet Babs and Steph to talk about the recon tomorrow, I won’t be in the area.” Sternness filled Jason’s voice, unconvinced.

“Jason, we’ve talked about this, I can go—“

“I don’t want to risk it.” Jason held the cup, frustration in his eyes as he stared it down.

“But, I want to do this for you. We haven’t—“ You pushed, exhaustion making your patience thin.

“I said no!” Jason raised voice, shutting yours down.

The mug shattered in the sink. Jason flinched as if even he was shocked by his own reaction.

The faucet continuously ran water as all noise surrounding you stopped. Like it was inconsiderate to the tension that built in your apartment.

You sat for a moment before walking over to shut the water off.

“I’m—I’m so—“ Jason fumbled.

You looked into the sink, at the aftermath of the pieces of the mug that had snipped his fingers.

You calmly grabbed the sponge soaking up Jason’s blood as he stood there, letting you maneuver his body like a puppet.

You can rinse and sanitize the dishes later, but you grabbed a kitchen towel. Letting Jason sit at the dining table as you patched him up.

“I’m not mad, Jay. I was just surprised.” You disinfected his cuts, no reaction from Jason, probably from years of experienced pain. Years of trying to patch himself up.

It saddened you.

You didn’t realize the privilege of hating the pain of paper cuts and not stab wounds. Hating the sting of alcohol, not digging out bullets out of your skin.

“I know we haven’t seen each other and I’ve been missing you.” You cleaned up the miscellaneous bandage wrappers and sat in front of Jason. “But, you’re more stubborn than usual about this new jacket.”

You looked at Jason who was avoiding your eyes, rubbing at the bandages covering his skin.

With a sigh, he reached for your hand. A silent reassurance as he found the words.

“I’ve missed you too. That jacket—it’s been with me since I’ve met you. I’ve had it too long to just get rid of it.” He admitted, fluffy hair drooping the more he talked.

He continued.

“It’s just…hard to part with it. When I saw the new stitches, it felt good that a part of you was with me on patrol. We’ve also been so busy, I can only see you for a split second before one of us leaves. I know you wanna replace it, but…I need it.” Jason rubbed at your knuckles.

You put your hands on top of Jason’s, reciprocating the rubs as you listened.

“I didn’t know.” You gazed up to Jason, who hung his head down.

Vulnerability was a step that both of you had to learn. You focused too much on Jason, constantly forgetting about your own feelings and Jason still needed help in rightfully expressing his emotions.

You had barely made time to enjoy each other and despite living with one another, you weren’t updated in each other’s lives.

“I’m sorry.” You pecked Jason’s hands.

“Why are you apologizing? I raised my voice and broke a cup.” Jason leaned forward, hesitantly bringing his face and body closer to yours.

You stayed still, not to frighten his advances, to tell him it was okay.

“I would’ve known about this if I had made time for us. I’ve been so focused on work that I haven’t been able to even do simple chores.” You touched your forehead to Jason’s. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep in next to you and go for a lunch date. But even that’s asking for too much, I guess.”

The vulnerability covered the two of you in a single blanket. Protecting and helping both of you finally be honest.

“No, no, don’t apologize for that. I was ready to help you in any way I could.” Jason kissed your eyelids as you closed them, the exhaustion slowly easing from your bones as you kept contact with him.

He held your face, hands wrapped in bandages.

“All I ask is you take care of yourself.” Jason whispered. Watching your lips, watching your eyes.

“All I need is my Jason recharge. I’m on empty.” You lightly chuckled, sleepiness apparent in your voice.

“I think I could spare some time.” Jason teased, kissing the corner of your lips.

You nudged his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up and kiss—.” You breathlessly pulled at Jason’s shirt.

Before you could even finish your request, Jason leaned in, using his thumb to rest on your chin, opening your mouth for him.

The rhythm was slow.

Jason always started like that, letting you control how far and how soon you wanted him.

Your face heated, letting feeling take over.

Your grip on his shirt got tighter.

Jason pulled your chair closer.

When it wasn’t close enough, he grabbed you to sit on his lap.

Effortlessly, you rested yourself on his thighs, making your body flush with his.

Grabbing at the roots of his hair, you tried to inhale his hums.

Your imaginary battery was slowly filling, maybe you would need to take this a step further for a full recharge.

As Jason’s grip got stronger on your skin, your breaths louder, and the more you pulled at his hair, he got more restless.

In one lift, Jason got you off his lap, laying you onto the dining table.

He leaned his body between your legs.

You watched his beautiful flush face as he lifted your shirt, his hands just as flushed as he kissed down your abdomen.

“Jay, I think I’m too tired to help you.” You breath hitched.

“Relax, this is my recharge too.” Jason leaned his cheek on the inside of your thighs, kissing the sensitive skin before a call rung from his phone.

It vibrated repeatedly as Jason continued to keep his attention on you.

When the ringing stopped, you could focus again.

Then the same ringtone started again as Jason’s face scrunched.

“Dammit, I’m gonna kill whoever—“ Jason reluctantly walked away from the table you laid on.

“You better be on the verge of dying, so I can go over there and finish the job, Dickwad.” Jason watched you sit up.

Another huff came out of his mouth as he was not pleased that he wasn’t getting his alone time with you.

Then your phone rung from the chair you were previously on.

Your stupid boss had decided to call about some other task he thought was too important for him.

With reluctance, you answered.

Both of you were disappointedly looking at each other as you were both occupied.

When both calls ended, you silently stared at each other.

You sat on the edge of the table and Jason stood in front of you.

He offered you a hand and you slowly fell into Jason. Burying your face into his chest.

“Sadly, we’re both needed somewhere. I think we need to take a rain check.”

“Can’t believe I have to set up an appointment to get laid.” Jason sighed into you.

You laughed out loud.

“Maybe if a miracle happened tomorrow, but we have the weekend.” You kissed Jason one last time.

—

The next morning, you woke up passed your alarm. Jason’s muscular arms and his even breaths were too soothing that it blocked out the repeated ringing.

The bus was arriving in 15 minutes.

You rushed outta bed, grabbing your keys, putting on mismatching socks on the floor.

Jason lazily perched his head up at all your movement, absently watching you run around.

“Sweethe—“ He called out.

“Shit, did I finish the report?” You ran to grab your laptop.

“My lo—“

“My watch! Crap, I didn’t iron my shirt for the meeting today.” You grabbed your bag.

“What about—“ Jason tried to interrupt.

“I gotta go, but let’s eat out tonight? I’ll call you when I get off.” You ran out the door, blowing air kisses to Jason.

You barely managed to get on the bus before the doors shut and you were scrambling to get yourself in a seat.

After a deep breath, you were gonna make it to work.

A late start, but you made it. You stepped off the bus, walking to the large building that made your jaw drop the first time you laid eyes on it, but it didn’t seem all that spectacular after a couple years of seeing it.

As you were walking, several people were rushing out the building.

Crowds walking out in large strides, taking what they could as papers fumbled out the doors.

You watched in confusion.

What sick villain was wreaking havoc on your building at eight in the morning?

You were about to turn around when your coworker bumped into you.

“Thank goodness you’re out. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.” They grabbed your arm, giving you a once over as you stood there.

“What happened?” You looked up at the building. It seemed fine.

“We gotta go, they got the boss and I don’t wanna be next.” Your coworker pushed you across the street, trying to get you farther from the sea of people shoving you outta the way.

“What?”

“I don’t know, but it all happened so fast, then all the alarms started and ya know when shit starts happening you gotta get outta there. One moment I was making scans, then the boss’ computer flew right by head and his glass walls were shattering. I saw the back of a big red guy and I just got this job, so I ran. I only need to see the back of Nightwing, if you know what I mean—“ You coworker rambled.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening at the realization.

“That son of a—“ You raised your voice before your phone rung from your pocket.

You angrily tapped the accept button before you were yelling at the invisible person, yanking your arm out of your coworkers.

“You crazy motherfucker—“ You swerved your body back toward the building, tension built up in your bones that you could only angrily walk back to the building in chaos.

Tons of employees dodging you.

“You forgot your lunch, so I decided to deliver it myself. I hope I got the right floor—“ Jason sung into the phone, walking past a suited man kneeling on the floor, glass digging into his knees.

“What are you doing?!” You marched to the front entrance, gripping your phone as you shoved the doors open.

Jason walked over to sit in the swivel chair, pushing himself to spin once and throw his boots on the overpriced desk. Not caring about dirtying the papers on it.

“Don’t worry, my love. We all make mistakes. We can all be forgetful.”

“What?!” You pushed the elevator button, waiting for the doors to open, but the wait only made you angrier.

“You broke a promise, sweetheart.” Jason spun a pen on his finger, letting gravity and motion balance the pen perfectly.

“What are you talking about.” You entered the elevator and pushed the button for your floor.

“You can’t even remember.” Jason glanced over to your boss still on the floor, motioning with his hands dramatically pointing to the phone. “What am I going to do? This is ridiculous, right?”

Despite your boss not being able to hear the conversation, he fearfully nodded his head quickly, not quite understanding why the Red Hood made a visit in broad daylight. Sweat beating on his forehead.

As Jason counted the elevator rings for every floor you passed, he smiled while on you stayed on the line.

Covering the bottom half of the phone, Jason looked at your boss, his helmet staring down the man.

“Beat it.” Jason commanded, not an ounce of the sweet playfulness he spoke with before.

Your boss was frozen, scared and confused as he looked back at the vigilante sitting in his chair.

In one motion, Jason nodded at the door, never saying another word as your boss ran out the door, throwing his body into the emergency exit stairwell, hopping down the steps.

Now with the man gone, Jason strolled to the elevator.

“You better be gone when I get there Jason Peter Todd—“ As soon as the elevator doors opened, Jason grabbed you, swinging you into his arms as he lifted his helmet and passionately kissed you in the aftermath he created.

In one woozy turn, you were back on your feet as you tried to process everything.

“Now that you fulfilled your promise, I would tell you to have a nice day at work, but, well…” Jason glanced around the office floor. Some lights burnt out and others flickered. You watched as glass littered the floor and chairs were thrown as everyone fled their way out. “You might be out for a couple days. The food is probably cold anyway, so let’s go out for lunch instead.” Jason grabbed you by your waist as he led you to a window he smashed open.

He smugly took your hand and swung your arms as he spoke, overjoyed.

“Watch your step, please.”

“You’re so dead when we get home.” You grabbed onto his arm, afraid to look out the edge of the building.

“What’s another death?” Jason held you tightly to his side. “If it’s by your hands, I’d face death any day.” He looked at you through the red helmet, his words modulated. It would’ve been swoon worthy if he didn’t just evacuate your entire work building, probably humiliated your boss, and costed you your job.

“I’m for sure fired.” You hit your head against Jason’s chest plate.

“Tim wiped all the service and power a mile out. Cameras stopped working before I even stepped in here. I tampered with the security myself, a personal touch. It’s like you weren’t even here, besides your boss isn’t so innocent, but Dick’s got him, he owes me for last night.” Jason’s gloves rested on your sides.

“How did you even convince him?” You couldn’t believe Jason would even ask for the help.

“Blackmail.”

You didn’t believe a second of anything that came out of Jason’s mouth.

After you gave a blank face to Jason, his helmet was looking back at you until he finally broke.

“Fine, it was a humiliating picture of Bruce I’ve kept for the perfect opportunity.”

“You risked all that because I forgot a goodbye kiss?” You raised an eyebrow.

“That you promised.” Jason emphasized.

You could only laugh out of disbelief.

“Fair enough.” You looked out toward the blue sky, wind picking up against your face at this height. “Your banned from any kisses for a week for this.”

“Sorry, wind is picking up!” Jason fell out the window with you in his arms. Grappling hook dragging your bodies across the city.

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 14

Tim was the best thing to ever happen to Danny.

He didn't mean that just because how much of a sappy romantic he was to Tim, but because he literally saved him from his own mind.

Danny was never going to leave Amity Park so long as the portal was open.

The portal would always remain open between his parents practically treating it like thier third child and thier ability to simply make another if anything would have happened to that one. Not to mention the super creep named Vlad.

So Danny would have stayed in Amity forever, cleaning up after his parents and being miserable.

Or ya know. Until they managed to kill him.

But then Tim came into his life and fixed everything. He befriended Danny over nightime rooftop rendezvous and groaning at his dumb (read awesome) puns.

As they got closer Sam and Tucker seemed to get both anxious and angry. Were they jealous? What right did they have after the Gregor incident?! Its true that they'd both been to busy to hand out with Danny for the past few weeks, leaving Danny with only Tim to turn to for company.

Tim pointed out that they may feel threatened knowing someone else knows his secret and Danny couldn't help but agree.

Tim pointed out that Danny was going to be stuck here cleaning up after his parent the rest of his life if he didn't find a way to stop the portal. Danny had nearly broke down at that and admitted he didn't know what else to do, so Tim devised a plan with that big beautiful brain of his.

They created a machine that ran on ectoplasm and magic that could wipe information from both technology and the human brain. They could remove all traces of ghosts ever existing in this town and erase 20 years of knowledge and research from Vlad and the Fentons minds, but it would come at a cost as magic usually does.

They would have to forget Danny existed as well. Tim offered that they could run away together.

Danny decided that was okay. The only person he had left in this town who had cared about him was Jazz and she was better off without him there to get her hurt.

Tim also had a plan to strip Vlad of his powers as well as his knowledge, and Danny was looking forward to not having to deal with him anymore

It was the day after everything went down, Tim was driving the GAV while Danny flew in the Ops Centers Jet form. They had made sure to swipe everything they could from the labs as well as everything the thought they needed to travel to Tims home dimension.

Danny had promised to help Tim uncover the secrets of his past and who he really was and to do that they essentially planned to travel around the Earth being wandering criminals.

Between Tims intellect and Dannys powers they were undefeated and unnoticed. They stole whatever they wanted and did whatever they pleased, making sure no one had to get hurt unless there was no other options.

Of course they stole cash from bank vaults as well as whatever else was in there. They couldn't stop Phantom from entering since anti-meta tech didn't affect him and couldnt track Phantom due to him being whatever he was plus the collar Tim had helped Danny design that covered up his ecto-signature.

They lived like this for over a year, breaking in to abandoned places, having waterfights in large city waterfountains (and running when they heard police sirens), tagging some of the places they'd hit when they wanted to leave a message, long romantic walks at night, lots of laughter, going on dates to restaurants (they never dine & dash. Some places make the wait staff pay which is bull and they might want to return to that establishment at some point), that one time they stole a $900 wedding cake from a homophobic bakery owner, lots of Fake out-Make outs to avoid getting sent to jail, ect.

They were having the time of thier lives up until they stopped in a little 24 hour diner in Bludhaven. They were doing what they usually do, flirting and laughing until the waiter takes thier order, when a guy approached thier table. Tim and Danny exchanged worried looks before the guy held up his hands in mock surrender, "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise, I'm Dick Grayson." The man held out his hand to Tim, who hesitated before shaking it, "Tim," he answered honestly.

Danny nudged him with his foot under the table.

The man smiled wide, "Like Tim Drake?"

Tim and Danny looked confused, "Like who?" Danny asked and Dicks smile faltered

[gay-dorito-dust]

consider: batboys reacting to their s/o who is fucking obsessed with Viktor. like they keep rewatching all of arcane and over analyze and froth over that man. (me fr)

Tim is equally as interested in arcane and in Viktor just as much as you were in all honesty.

So needless to say season two act two broth the both of you, but you were taking it much harder then he was as you swore that Viktor will return as the machine herald in act three, you were being delusional but it was better to be that then accept that your favourite character was gone forever.

Tim would retort and say that the Viktor wasn’t entirely Viktor and would make a fucking power point made with incredible detail pointing to the exact moment Viktor’s character changed entirely. He, like many others, firmly believed that Viktor was corrupted or playing host to the arcane and sighting as Salo as a major reason as to why that might be.

You two would spend countless hours rewatching season one a week before season two came out and cried…Only to cry again somehow ever worse after season two with Isha being the brave little soul that she was. You’re both very, very delusional and hope that she’s somehow alive even though she most likely isn’t, which means jinx will become a menace and make it everyone’s problem.

You also agree that the commune was too polished and perfect to not have something weird going on underneath the surface, while also agreeing that Skye is what the arcane is disguising itself in hopes of using the guilt Viktor felt towards her death to its advantage.

Damian doesn’t watch shows unless you force him to.

He doesn’t find any interest in doing such things but he had to admit the art style of arcane had him greatly intrigued. That and the story was well written as were the characters complex with their ambitions, motivations and actions that they thought were right.

You going apeshit over Viktor however, expect to be on the brunt of his side eyes when you openly simp for the man of science.

‘THATS MY HUSBAND!’ You yelled and Damian swore he had became deaf after that. So whenever you’d visibly look excited to see Viktor -even though it had only been a few scenes since you last saw him- he’s bracing himself for the outburst you’d let out each and every time.

He comes to adore the show but not nearly as much as you however but he has to applaud the writers and everyone involved with such an enriching story and three dimensional characters and how it seemly the story is. After all it takes a talented person with a good eye to pull together a perfect story out of thin air. But other than that he picks up on the finer details that you might’ve missed yourself and you rewards him with kisses and hugs for doing so.

Much like Tim, Damian believes that the arcane is using Skye’s likeness to manipulate and corrupt Viktor due to his guilt over her death. He was all about destroying the hexcore but all notions of that seemed to disappear not long after the commune he builds grows in concerning numbers. Almost like an unsettling hivemind especially when they all die the way that they did.

Dick finds your attraction and or obsession for Viktor hilarious and would record you every time he came on screen, especially so when he had grown his hair out a little.

You were barking like a fucking dog for that man, foaming at the mouth and going absolutely feral as though you were going to leap through the tv and tackle the fictional character. ‘That’s my husband!’ You’d yell the moment you see him and Dick is pouting like a child as he crossed his arms over his chest.

‘I thought I was your husband.’ He says and you’d have to console your pouty man with a bunch of kisses and reassurances that he was still number one in your heart. Dick had doubts as he once asked you ‘if Viktor was real would you stay with me?’

Your silence spoke volumes for Dick who only pouted even more and you had to console him…again. You love your dickie bird and you had to reassure him the Viktor was fictional and not real, thus your love and attention would forever more be his. Needles to say he was a happy little pup for the rest of the day…that is until he saw your eyes glued to the screen whenever Viktor came on and shushing him so that you could hear his soft voice speak.

You swore you’ve never heard Viktor yell, well other than that one scene in arcane where he’s running but then again you were screaming at the screen along with him. Needles to say you were inconsolable when he died and Dick had to deal with you making a memorial for a person that wasn’t real and praying for his return as the machine herald.

Jason loves the story arcane tells.

Probably sees himself in a lot of the characters from the undercity/zaun to be honest as it almost reminds him of his time in Crime Alley.

Jason is a fan of a well written story as a man who is a lover of literature and theatre, so when you shown him arcane his ass was sat on the couch from episode one and was immediately hooked.

So when you openly thirst over Viktor and scream ‘THATS MY HUSBAND! LOOK AT HOW FUCKING PRETTY HE IS OH MY FUCKING GOD!’ He’s chuckling at your enthusiasm and your obsession with the man it was downright hilarious.

‘Do you like men with long hair?’ He asks teasingly.

‘I like men with intellect, dignity, a good heart and a little softie.’ You replied as you poked his chest. ‘Long hair doesn’t suit every man unfortunately, I think it’s got something to do with the face shape but yeah…I don’t think many could suit it as effortlessly.’ You add with a shrug of your shoulders.

Jason will be more than willing to listen to you as you go on about the theories you believe might be true in regard to Viktor, the hexcore and the arcane itself. He loved it when you get this passionate about things you love that he couldn’t help himself but give you a kiss on the lips each time you seem to be tripping up on your word because you were that excited to have someone to talk to about all this, especially if it was your beloved partner. ‘What was that for?’ You’d ask after he pulls away from the kiss.

‘You looked adorable and sexy when you talk theories and speculations for what will happen next, it’s a good look on you and I couldn’t help but kiss you.’ Jason replied as he kissed you on the lip once again and you were quick to talking about how Viktor had to come back in act three and how you think Viktor was being used as a puppet.

Jason throws in his thoughts and opinions but he just loved to sit and listen to you and admire that beautiful brain of yours.

[ghost-proofbaby]

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!” 

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.” 

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.” 

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed. 

But it hadn’t. 

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over. 

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon. 

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours. 

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving. 

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.” 

“And why would you ever do that?” 

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee. 

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.” 

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you. 

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well. 

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil. 

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?” 

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you. 

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose. 

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees. 

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more. 

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner. 

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?” 

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it. 

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.” 

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this. 

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least. 

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed. 

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?” 

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically. 

He wants you to kiss him. 

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too. 

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him. 

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.” 

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him. 

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out. 

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?” 

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss. 

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life. 

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

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[radiance1]

Multiple businesses have suddenly been handed over to one man under the name of Masters. Multiple businesses who have some type of corruption one way or another.

The Wayne's wouldn't have even noticed, really, if the same wasn't happening in Gotham city.

It was alarming, really. Whoever Masters was he new how to pick his targets, businesses which are either small enough to go ignored, about to go bankrupt, or had rumors (which were true) about dabbling in crime.

All the businesses he took seemingly flourished under his hands, with not even a single corner being dipped in crime. Whoever Masters was, he was undoubtably a successful businessman, he managed to built an empire that was soon capable of rivaling both Lexcorp Wayne Foundation in a few years, and he was an incredibly elusive man himself.

No one knew what he looked like, nor his first name.

Only his last, Masters.

On a different note, there was another thing Tim was looking into. A new restaurant/ice cream parlor which opened up recently, it just opened up out of the blue, owned by a family that just appeared in Gotham one day.

From what he checked, there wasn't any records about any of them anywhere Tim could find, like literally nothing. Almost like they didn't exist prior to the day they opened.

There was only three people who owned the store. Vlad- no last name- the cook and owner, Danny- again, no last name- the cashier and Jasmine- once again, no last name- the waitress.

He had a suspicion- no he was very sure that Danny was a meta, one who had power over ice. They never ran out of ice, the space behind his counter was always cold (Well he did man the ice cream parlor and the drinks, but still), he quite literally watched the guy freeze someone's coffee when they tried to complain it was too hot and the most damming thing.

Their ice cream machine was never, not even once, broken.

Vlad was most definitely a fire meta, the temperature always seemed to rise whenever he was in the room, and his kitchen was a goddamn furnace, no one who didn't have at least some kind of fire resistance would be able to go in there with an apron and stay there for hours on end.

He was also very defensive over his kitchen for some reason, Tim thought it was because of the insane heat which might be part of the reason, but even to his own workers he doesn't allow them inside. Tim managed to overhear his reason as to why though.

"No offense, and in the most respectful way I can put this. But you two just throw food in the oven and hope it doesn't gain sentience."

Tim thinks he probably didn't mean that literally.

Jasmine couldn't be flagged as a meta, but he does think there's something about her. Probably has a pretty solid foundation in martial arts, or ballet, because her balance is impeccable. He quite literally watched her dance her over to different tables with multiple plates on her body.

Tim didn't think there was any type of connection between the Masters takeover and the restaurant, and technically he should be alerting Bruce to the two new metas in Gotham but.

They have a coffee to die for.

No, he should probably be telling Bruce, or at least another one of the family...

Maybe after he stops by and grabs himself a coffee, oh and most definitely one of their ice creams too.

[avayarising]

Deaths of Dick Grayson

Part of the Batfam Death Project.

Dick has died four times and travelled to a world of the dead twice. Total time dead: up to several weeks.

Verifiable deaths

1. Killed by the Joker (Emperor Joker, 2000)

Dick was killed by the Joker after Joker stole reality-altering powers from Mxyzptlk and remade the universe to his liking.

It’s unclear exactly how he died, but Joker kept Nightwing’s dead and rotting corpse alongside Tim’s and Jason’s.

Dick was brought back to life when the universe was restored by Mxyzptlk and Hal Jordan (as the Spectre) after Superman defeated Joker.

Time dead: unclear, but it appears to be multiple days and theoretically could be several weeks.

2. Briefly killed by Mr Fun (Batman: Family 2:7, 2003)

Dick was killed by Mr Fun, a skilled assassin working for a gang boss calling herself Athena (who was also CEO of Wayne Enterprises and trying to bring it down from the inside). Mr Fun crept up on Nightwing, hit him in the head with a golf club and then, while he was concussed and disoriented, used pressure points to stop his breathing and heart.

Cass fought Mr Fun off Nightwing, but Mr Fun shot her off the roof with one of dead Nightwing’s wrist rockets. When Cass recovered, Mr Fun had left (to kill the person they were supposed to be guarding). She returned to Nightwing and resuscitated him using CPR, which apparently cured his head injury too.

Time dead: long enough for Cass to fight off Mr Fun (which wasn’t easy) and recover from being shot down, and then give Dick CPR, so probably a good few minutes.

3. Killed and raised by Lex Luthor (Forever Evil 6–7, 2014)

Dick was hooked up to a murder machine involving a bomb wired to his heart, such that it could only be disarmed by killing Dick. Lex Luthor stopped his heart by making him swallow a pill.

Batman of course then started going feral on Lex until Lex persuaded him that he could bring Dick back, which he did with a shot of adrenaline to the heart.

Time dead: long enough for Batman to get in a good couple of punches on Luthor, plus time for Luthor to detach Dick from the machine, so probably up to two minutes.

4. Beaten to death by groblins (Dark Nights: Death Metal 7, 2021)

Dick, along with other members of the Batfamily, was overwhelmed by a swarm of ‘groblins’: mindless evil Jokerised Robins invading from the Dark Multiverse, led by the Robin King (an evil child Bruce Robin). His death happens off-panel but we see his corpse lying on the ground.

(Then Bruce, who was already dead and a Black Lantern, raised his dead family members as zombies.)

Dick was restored to proper life when Wonder Woman, powered by the determination of her friends, defeated the evil Batman Who Laughs and persuaded the gods to remake the multiverse as it was before the evil universes invaded the good ones.

Time dead: somewhere from quarter of an hour to an hour? Or perhaps a lot longer, if it took longer to rebuild the world. It’s always a little tricky to be sure when world remakes are involved.

Afterlife visits

A trip to Dis (Titans 1:4, 1999)

Dick, along with the rest of the Titans, signed a magic book created by a demon called Goth that summoned them to Dis, a region of Hell. Goth had positioned himself as an actor and superstar and got his fans to sign the book, then led them in a chant to transport them to Dis.

Kory was amongst those who had signed the book and was transported, so Dick and the rest of the Titans went after her.

They discover that the way to get out is to find things to care about, and spend some time individually persuading people to care one at a time, but they start to lose hope, infected by the aura of apathy in Dis. Kory, who is less affected, attacks Goth and throws him down from a height, causing his fans to return to the mortal world because they are worried about Goth and the Titans to return because they are worried about Kory.

Time in afterlife: looks like several hours.

Hell heist (Nightwing 4:103, 2023)

Raven created a portal to bring Nightwing, along with Beast Boy and Cyborg, to Hell to find Blockbuster’s contract with the demon Neron, wherein Blockbuster sold the soul of his firstborn daughter, a nine-year-old called Olivia.

They found the contract and returned to the mortal realm, also courtesy of Raven. (Turned out Neron’s contract was easy to thwart: Dick just had to become a foster parent and assume legal guardianship of Olivia. Neron tried to tempt Dick with super powers, but while Dick very much enjoyed the free sample he was not even briefly tempted to give up Olivia for them.)

Time in afterlife: probably a few hours of travel, fighting, and research.

Batfam Death Project Masterpost

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 5

Masterpost

“Well, she has survived,” DamiBat said blandly. He had clearly already showered and changed into casual clothes. His robin colors were neatly laid on the usual table. He had been waiting for her. Cass shut the plane door and swooped down to give him a hug.

“You worried,” Cass cooed. She ignored his struggling to get out of her arms. “Very sweet.” 

Damian hissed and tried a nerve strike. She kissed the top of his head and let him escape. 

“Black Bat, report,” demanded the Batdad. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat in the silly way it got inside the cowl. Worried. Fear. Nothing can happen to my baby, not my baby. 

She pranced over to give him a hug as well. He needed to touch her and know that she was real. 

Only when she detached did she consider answering him. “No,” Cass said thoughtfully. “Shower.” 

Batdad unhappily let her go. Cass took the time to get her thoughts into order. 

She did have to say something. 

She changed into comfy clothes and made her way to her computer. Damian had gone upstairs in the interim, and there was no sign of RedJason or Dickiebird. She sat and turned on the screen. Then she turned a stern glare on her family. 

Batdad and Timmybird looked away sheepishly, as if they hadn't meant to stare. 

Cass wrote up a factual report. Arrival time, important parts of conversation with Marvel, the area they had explored and his magical commentary. Then she got to the creepy laboratory. In the corner of her eye, she saw Timmybird tense. 

Cass sighed and spun her chair to face him. 

His shoulders went up guiltily. He meekly reached out and tapped a key. The secret spying of her computer screen ended. “Bad,” she said, because someone had to teach him manners. “Don't look at my screen.”

Tim hunched over a little more. Sorry. Sorry. (Will do it again.) 

Cass let out a heavy sigh and finished her report. She paused over her word choice a few times. 

“You entered an unknown machine, it powered on, and you received an electric shock?” Bruceman Batdad summarized before she had sent him the report.

Cass threw her hands up in disgust. “Stop spying!” She told him. “Stop it!” 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry honey.” He was sorry. He'd do it again, too. 

Ugh. 

UGH.

“Yes,” black bat confirmed tersely. 

“No lingering symptoms from the shock?” Bruceman Batdad came closer. Hovered. Flap flap, worried bat. “We should do a full check.”

Cass hissed at him, fed up. 

“Master Bruce is correct,” said Alfie. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at her. Little Miss, listen now. Caution is the virtue.

She waited until he wasn't looking to roll her eyes. 

There was no sensible reason to escape. She sulked through the examination. 

“Heart rate is normal,” Alfie narrated for their audience. Cass narrowed her eyes. See? See what you've done? Wasted her time, is what you've done. 

“No pain?” Alfie poked and confirmed. Again and again. No, pain, no pain? Always no pain. “Well then,” he sounded very pleased. She blinked to full attention. “You must have done a very good job taking care of that rib, Miss Cassandra. I must admit I anticipated that there would still be soreness.” 

Cass was very still. Then she nodded. 

Uh. 

Um.

She thought about cartwheels. She thought about vaulting down a flight of stairs. 

Hm. 

…Probably her rib should not be totally healed. 

She weighed internally whether this was troubling to her. On the one hand, it seemed very odd. There was pain a few hours ago. Why no pain now? Pain usually left while she slept, not after flying a plane. Could healing be a side effect of magic girl transformation? Big, if true. Should probably tell her adults. 

On the other hand, no pain was objectively an improvement.

Cass decided to say nothing. Maybe Captain Marvel would have a theory. 

Speaking of. When she got back to her room, she sent him a text message. 

🪄 🧙🏻📞?

The answer came near instantly. 

Not yet! 😭 💔 She isn't answering me. Should I contact Constantine, you think?

Huh. Fast response, very good. Cass sent 

😬 

But 

🕵🏽‍♂️ 🤙🏽 🟰 👌🏽

Lol, wrote Captain Marvel. I know what u mean. 

Cass smacked her lips in the quiet of her room. He probably did. But he oughtn't. Old people had a hard time with her communication style. 

Idly, she lined up a theory. 

Captain Marvel had a magical girl transformation. Captain Marvel seemed too young for his body to her. 

Ergo:

He was baby. 

Cass, all of 17, wasn't that pressed about it. Bats and birds usually started flying and fighting as babies. Damian was still extremely baby. But. Hmm. 

Birds weren't in the Justice League. That was the difference: he had to hide it from Batdad, Superguy, and Wonder. 

Oh. Cass put a hand on her heart and frowned. In her dark room there was no one to see it aching in sympathy. 

Baby Captain was… was a little too baby, emotionally, for the Justice League. 

Well. It was decided, then. The next day at breakfast she announced, “Bruce. New rule.” 

Heads swiveled to look at her. 

“We are entitled to make rules for Father?” Damian asked Alfred, sotto voice. He looked intrigued. Alfie made a face that indicated his answer would depend on what rule Cass made.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at her in prompt. 

“Stop bullying my Marvel,” she commanded. “He’s-” 

She hesitated and edited out the word “baby”.

“sensitive to hostility,” she settled on.

Bruce got a consternated look. “Sweetheart,” he began. 

“Yes,” Alfred said to Damian, voice extremely soft. “Upon occasion.”

“Play nice,” Cass said firmly. No arguments. She took a pointed bite out of her toast. No more need for words. Eat now.

Tim giggled. When Bruce looked at him he lifted his fork in front of his face, as if the slice of pancake was enough to hide that he was laughing at the pater familias.

“If he said that I'm bullying him,” Batdad started, sounding harassed, “then there must have been some misunderstanding. I've never intended-” 

“No misunderstanding,” Cass denied. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I see. I see his body get small when you use the stern Batdad bigman voice.” 

Bruce grumbled into his hand and turned his face away, defeated. Resentment. Insecurity. Do I really do that?

“Yes, Father,” chimed Damian, who loved to kick the defeated. “Surely this fool quakes at the barest hint of your displeasure. But should he not?” 

Alfred huffed a subtle little laugh at the manipulation. He squeezed Damian's shoulder.

Bruce, thinking that Damian approved of his coworkers fearing the Bat, looked even more constipated. Resignation. “I will be careful with my tone around him,” BatDad settled. Sullen. Embarrassed. Resigned.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Cass said cheerfully. She squeezed her eyes when she smiled at him, because she was also baby. He melted, vanilla ice cream in July.

Damian made a solemn nod of respect out of Bruce's line of sight. She winked back her thanks for the assistance. 

Marvel got back to her not long after. Cass took the call outside, so that Bats could not flap nearby without her noticing. 

“Black Bat!’ he said, excited. “I got Constantine!” 

She blinked at her phone. “...In a trap?” 

“What? No,” he dismissed. “I know where he's going to be this afternoon. Can you come meet me?” 

Cass looked back at the house. “...Yes,” she decided. She was off the patrol roster tonight anyway. “Where are we going?” 

“Uhh….” Marvel's voice trailed off for a bit as he clearly consulted his note or phone or something. “I'll send you the address.” 

[bruciemilf]

So I've been thinking more and more abt the fact that the fandom credits Bruce's incompetence in adulthood to being rich, and sure, it definitely plays a part, but I don't really get...Where it stems from specifically?

First of all, I don't think I've ever even seen a Mention of cleaning, cooking, gardening, driving etc staff; Alfred's our multi purposed, tired king, but he doesn't seem to have any colleagues to speak of?

Second of all; The Waynes truly don't seem like the " having people waiting on them hand and foot" brand of rich people? Like, wasn't their simplicity and relatively down to earth-ness the main reason why Gotham loved them so much??

So! Bruce's isolation and general lack of self-care knowledge can't be all blamed on his money, but the fact that he truly...Didn't have anyone to look at to learn?

Alfred did his best of course, but this is a heavily traumatised 8 year old who refused to look at anyone as family in fear of losing them too for the longest time.

I'm just crying at the thought of Bruce having no one to teach him how to pay bills, or make an appointment at the dentist, or go grocery shopping by himself, to order for himself at restaurants, or cook himself dinner, or keep his place tidy.

Those are all very mundane but precious and valuable activities that parents teach and share with their kids, and Bruce didn't fully get that. So what he did do was make sure his kids knew how to do it all.

Tim doesn't understand why Bruce wants them to try cooking every night. Jason doesn't get why he has to join Bruce, to watch him withdraw money or open an account at the bank

Damian doesn't get why they practice appointments with the vet. Cass doesn't necessarily think a 2 hour tutorial on how to power up the washing machine is crucial to her education.

" Because I don't want you to be like me. And when I'm gone, I want to make sure you can take care of yourself."

That may be the wrong thing to say because the thought of Bruce dying like a normal person makes them sob

[halfbakedideas]

BatRules

The full list of rules the Bat Family has, for both their civilian lives and their night lives.

It gets a little out of hand. Just a little.

Key

A.P.: Alfred

B.W.: Bruce

D.G.: Dick

C.: Cass

J.T.: Jason

T.D.W/T.D.: Tim

S.B.: Steph

D.T.: Duke

D.W.: Damian

-~-~-

No tampering with any of the coffee machines. —A.P.

Master Tim is to be limited to a maximum of two shots of caffeine every 24 hours. —A.P.

‘Dealing with Damian’ is not a valid excuse to ignore the above limit. —B.W.

Only regular-strength coffee is to be kept in the Manor at any time. —B.W.

Not even after off-planet missions? —T.D.W.

‘At any time’ includes after off-planet missions, Tim. —B.W.

No speedsters and/or Kryptonians are to bring in any as an ‘emergency supply’ —B.W.

Master Bruce is banned from having any coffee at or after 12 a.m. —A.P.

Not even decaf? —B.W.

Why would you even bother drinking coffee then? —T.D.W.

Mayonnaise is not to be put on hamsters. —T.D.

Lucius has threatened to quit if it happened again and he sees it. —T.D.

Rule 11 applies to non-Family members too. —B.W.

Master Jason is not to bring any guns into the Manor. —A.P.

Not even the rubber bullets one? —J.T.

Especially not that one. —A.P.

Hugs are mandatory. —D.G.

Proposed revision: Hugs are recommended. —D.W.

Proposed revision: rejected :D — D.G.

Glitter is to be kept and used only in designated areas. —A.P.

The ballroom is not a designated area. —A.P.

Neither is the kitchen. —A.P.

Vigilante uniforms are not to be worn nor taken into the Manor. —A.P.

I am not allergic to emotions. —B.W.

Proposed revision: Bruce is allergic to emotions. —J.T.

Proposed revision: rejected. —B.W.

Nor am I emotionally constipated. —B.W.

Green hair dye is banned from the Manor. —D.G.

In all shades but especially neon. —D.G.

Excluding Bruce, attendance at galas isn’t mandatory. —C.

Except for the annual Wayne Foundation one, attendance at that one is mandatory for everyone. —B.W.

For every missed gala, you must make one (1) public appearance in that same month. —B.W.

A ‘public appearance’ does not include a trip to Walmart. —B.W.

No more murder attempts, Damian —T.D.W.

Proposed revision: Murder attempts are allowed on Drake. —D.W.

Proposed revision: rejected. —T.D.W.

No poison is to be put in hot chocolate. —A.P.

Why does that even have to be a rule?? —D.T.

Dick is to be kept away from any and all redheads. —J.T.

Including the one that he is currently dating. —D.W.

Whenever I ask any of you to bring me one of the spare Batsuits, I never mean the rainbow one. —B.W,

It’s Vigilante Bingo not Trauma Bingo. Stop being so concerning. —D.T.

If you’re up before 8 a.m. and you wake someone else up, you have to take their worst patrol shift. —T.D.W.

Only Alfred and Jason are allowed to actually make anything in the kitchen. —B.W.

Shower as soon as you get back from patrol. —A.P.

Just because you got cuddle pollen’d, doesn’t mean the whole family needs to be. —S.B.

Richard is not allowed to pick the movie for Movie Night. —D.W.

Unless Movie Night falls on the 29th night of February. —D.W.

Everyone has to clean their own rooms, do not make Alfred do it. He already has enough to do —B.W.

No going into each other's rooms without permission or a valid reason. —B.W.

‘For a prank war’ is not a valid reason. —B.W.

Rule 50 especially applies when the person is sleeping, Damian. —T.D.W.

A minimum of three people have to go with Alfred to do the grocery shopping. —B.W.

The BatComputer is multi-million dollar equipment and is not to be used to watch movies. —B.W.

No tie-dying your siblings, or their clothing, three hours before a gala. —B.W.

No using books as balance beams. —J.T.

Looking at you, Dick. —J.T.

No going to Jason for help with math; you must come to me. —D.G.

Ladies do not start prank wars, but they can finish them. —S.B.

So beware :) —C.

Stop doing monumental things in the hallway because I don't need to see that. —D.T.

Remember: I have POWERS. —D.T.

No stealing Damian's art supplies. —D.W.

If you do, I will disembowel you. —D.W.

Master Damian, no disembowelling your siblings. —A.P.

Cookies are to be eaten before dinner ^-^ —C.

Cookies are not to be eaten before dinner, unless one is recovering from a life-threatening injury. —A.P.

Does that mean I can eat cookies before dinner since I lost my spleen? —T.D.

YOU LOST YOUR SPLEEN????????? D: D: D: D: D: D: D: D: —D.G.

Seconding. —S.B.

Thirding ^-^ —C.

Tt, of course, you have lost a major organ and failed to tell anyone. —D.W.

I will disembowel more of you if you touch my art supplies. —D.W.

Damian, you can't take more of Tim’s organs. He can't regrow them. —B.W.

He can if it's his liver —J.T.

Damian, you should take out part of Tim's liver so he can regrow it and then sell it on the black market and get rich. —S.B.

He's already rich, though. *raised eyebrow* —D.G.

Then he’ll get richer. —S.B.

Are we all just ignoring how Tim doesn't have a spleen now? —D.T.

That's how things work here. —J.T.

Bedtime for anyone under 16 is 10 p.m. on non-patrol nights; and 2 a.m. on patrol nights. —B.W.

12? —D.W.

10. —B.W.

11? —D.W.

10.30. That’s final. Or you have to take Condiment King next time he makes trouble. —B.W.

Tt. Fine. I will accept 10.30 p.m. —D.W.

Toasters are not to be taken out of the kitchen. —A.P.

‘For science’ is not a good nor valid reason, Master Tim. —A.P.

No dye is to be put into the pool. —B.W.

Just because we have the money to replace the tiles afterwards, doesn’t mean you should do it. —B.W.

No climbing on the Tyrannosaurus rex statue in the Cave. —D.W.

Pizza-store pizza is only to be brought into the Cave under specific circumstances. —A.P.

If pizza-store pizza has to be brought into the Cave, please use a napkin. —A.P.

My Ko-Fi

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Adam Gabbatt and Ed Pilkington at The Guardian:

Anger and vitriol took center stage at New York’s Madison Square Garden on Sunday night, as Donald Trump and a cabal of campaign surrogates held a rally marked by racist comments, coarse insults, and dangerous threats about immigrants. Nine days out from the election, Trump used the rally in New York to repeat his claim that he is fighting “the enemy within” and again promised to launch “the largest deportation program in American history”, amid incoherent ramblings about ending a phone call with a “very, very important person” so he could watch one of Elon Musk’s rockets land. The event at Madison Square Garden, in the center of Manhattan, had drawn comparisons to an infamous Nazi rally held at the arena in 1939. Tim Walz, Kamala Harris’ running mate, said there was a “direct parallel” between the two events, and the Democratic National Committee projected images on the outside of the building on Sunday repeating claims from Trump’s former chief-of-staff that Trump had “praised Hitler”.

There was certainly a dark tone throughout the hours-long rally, with one speaker describing Puerto Rico, home to 3.2m US citizens, as an “island of garbage”; Tucker Carlson mocking Harris’ racial identity; a radio host describing Hillary Clinton as a “sick bastard”; and a crucifix-wielding childhood friend of Trump’s declaring that Harris is “the antichrist”. The Puerto Rico comments, made by Tony Hinchliffe, a podcaster with a history of racist remarks, were immediately criticized by the Harris-Walz campaign. Ricky Martin, the Puerto Rican popstar who has more than 18m followers on Instagram, wrote in a post: “This is what they think of us. Vote for @kamalaharris.” Trump campaign spokesperson Danielle Alvarez in a statement said “this joke does not reflect the views of President Trump or the campaign.”

But that could prove problematic in Pennsylvania, where the majority of the swing state’s 580,000 eligible Latino voters are of Puerto Rican descent. Both campaigns have been trying to appeal to Latino voters in the final weeks of the campaign, and Harris had visited a Puerto Rican restaurant in Philadelphia earlier on Sunday, where she outlined plans to introduce an “economic opportunity taskforce” for Puerto Rico. The pugnacious mood didn’t change once Trump began speaking, as the former president quickly repeated his pledge to “launch the largest deportation program in American history”.

Trump continued his frequent rants about immigration and claimed that a “savage Venezuelan prison gang” had “taken over Times Square”, which will come as a surprise to anyone who has recently visited the New York landmark. The former president also stated, wrongly, that the Biden administration did not have money to respond to a recent hurricane in North Carolina because “they spent all of their money bringing in illegal immigrants, flying them in by beautiful jet planes”. Trump’s usual dystopian threats were on offer, as the 78-year-old expanded on his claims about “the enemy within” – a group of political opponents that he has said he will set the military on if elected. “We’re just not running against Kamala. I think a lot of our politicians here tonight know this. She means nothing, she’s purely a vessel that’s all she is,” Trump said. “We’re running against something far bigger than Joe or Kamala and far more powerful than them, which is a massive, vicious radical-left machine that runs today’s Democrat party. They’re just vessels.”

[...] “There’s a direct parallel to a big rally that happened in the mid-1930s at Madison Square Garden. And don’t think that he doesn’t know for one second exactly what they’re doing there.” The Trump campaign reacted furiously to the accusations, describing Clinton’s comments as “disgusting”. One of the few people to reference the 1939 rally on Sunday was Hulk Hogan, who emerged to wrestling music, spent several seconds struggling to rip off his shirt, then claimed: “I don’t see no stinkin’ Nazis in here”. After a night of fire and fury, it will be up to the American voters to decide.

The MSG Trump Rally in NYC on Sunday was nothing more than a modern-day Nazi rally for the brainwashed MAGA cultists, as Donald Trump and various MAGA hacks launched hateful racist, unhinged, and bigoted tirades.

See Also:

The Guardian: Racist remarks and playing to the base: key takeaways from Trump’s MSG rally

HuffPost: Fascist At The Garden

[aliteralchicken]

i do think Tim has redbirded that murder shack boat, we already know it’s got a computer and dna analyzer built in the kitchen and everything but I think he’s gone further

you’re telling me Tim drake who made his skateboard go seventy mile an hour (by I’m pretty sure it was powered by laughing gas?) and had his whole ass safehouse boobytrapped into a hidden bunker via trapdoor trapfloor, hasn’t rigged that shit to be a certified tank on the water? I don’t believe you

you could tell me that floating fire hazard could fly by a combination solar power and a comically large fan and I wouldn’t question it I’d just go yeah he’s a weirdo what about it, surprised he hasn’t added another popcorn machine yet

[dairy-farmer]

I once read a fic but now can’t find it where Sasuke time traveled into his child self and seduced Itachi and they ended up having sex and Itachi felt so guilty he killed himself. The bad ending sucks let’s change that.

I could totally see Tim doing that with one of his brothers but please a happy ending!

ohmy god ohmygod that fic sounds incredible!!!! and also something seems so oddly fitting for an emotionally and mentally traumatized person like sasuke to do. and for tim? it fits perfectly.

tim suffers a lot of loss as a result of becoming robin and he never quite stops losing things. even when he gets back bruce. steph, kon, and bart. their relationships are never the same. tim can never fully bring himself to forgive steph and eventually she grows resentful of his lack of trust. bruce drifts further not just from tim but all of them. kon and him just never have a chance to bounce back and same with bart. it hurt to know they outgrow each other. tim takes more hits and more losses.

he feels desperatly alone.

the distance between him and dick is the worst. tim wasn't angry anymore, didn't hurt anymore over the things they both said and did after they thought bruce died. but he's still never able to bridge that gap with dick. dick who had always been there who had been the steady prescense and older brother that took his side when bruce would get on his ass about something.

the loss of dick hurts the worst. even when he tries dick never sheds the bit of awkwardness around tim like he doesn't know how to act with him.

tim has nothing. has no one. so when he's fighting some villain that booster gold and flash had given a strict warning about, maybe he's not being as careful as he could be.

but it doesn't matter. because what was tim trying so hard for anyway. it's not like anyone would be waiting for him when he awoke in the medbay.

only tim doesn't wake up in the medbay, there's no heart monitor beeping in his ear, no triple filtered air or the scent of sanitizer in the nose.

when tim wakes up he's disoriented, blinking brings a wave of vertigo and turning on his side in case he has to vomit makes it worse. tim clenches the sheets under him in a white knuckle grip as the room spins, powering through the dizziness for what feels like hours until it stops.

tim is small. his voice is squeaky, it hasn't even dropped. his hands are soft and his body is a little pudgy from his love of vending machine snacks. he's in his dorm room. his old dorm room from when his parents would still ship him off to boarding school, before he'd spent weeks begging them to let him attend the local public school in gotham so he could begin his training as robin.

tim's uniform is hanging over his desk chair. his desk is littered with candy and snack wrappers and half finished homework. textbooks are lazily spread around the room and tim's old posters of punk and edgy celeberties he desperatly wanted to be were being held up by thumbtacks.

tim is certain it's a hallucination. a very good one. but as his socked feet sink into the pukey colored carpet and he follows the sound of the other boys on his floor banging on doors and then running away laughing when it's pulled open, he becomes less sure.

tim is trained to spot false realities b4ought on by illusion, drugs, or magic. tim didn't want to brag but he was the best at it. he held the unofficial record among the bats as being the fastest to break out of the effects of fear toxin.

tim was just good at knowing his own mind. and tim knew...there was no way his mind conjured this up. the detail, the realism. things tim had completely forgotten about come rushing back as his eyes landed on them.

fuck.

tim lets himself feel the horror, the devastation, the pain, and hopelessness of the situation he's found himself in for a minute. just a minute.

and then he gets to work.

tim was not like the other leaguers, the other heroes, the other people that had fucked around in time, blind to the consequences.

tim was different. he'd weighed the risks. he'd had a week where he'd been in a bad spot mentally and gone through...everything. it helped that he'd had use of an 'odds' calculator that weighed probability in a time line and had used it...just to see if what he suspected was true. it was. it hurt his feelings but it gave him the answers he'd needed to hear. tim hadn't kept that device around. he'd dismantled it and then dumped every piece in a different city around the country.

so tim knows what to do. even knowing what it will cost him he does it because...it was what was right. tim would never be able to forgive himself if he allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what was right.

bruce had never healed from losing jason. it had broken him in a way that he'd never healed from despite tim's best efforts and jason returning....angry and hateful had made it worse.

the charity sheila haywood worked for was easy to contact. tim used the computers in the lounge of his dormitory to gather the financial documents to submit an anonymous claim about her embezzling. prison would do her good. maybe she'd even clean up her act but tim doubted it.

odds that jason todd would never have died as robin had he not gone to ethiopia?? 78.9334%

tim wasn't sure how the math worked out but the fact that jason had been killed outside of gotham never sat right with him. jason had the home field advantage in gotham. no one knew that city like he did. there was no way the joker or anyone would have ever gotten the drop on him if he'd been in gotham.

and so tim saves jason's life and bruce's sanity with the click of a button.

the next thing tim does is submit crystal brown's resume to a number of nurse manager positions in new york. she's qualified and capable with the right experience as a trauma nurse. tim doesn't even have to lie or embellish anything but his years of working closely with the hiring managers at WE certainly help her stand out. crystal caught a lot of flack from stephanie. and tim understood why. her drug addiction, her determination to stick by arthur, stephanie's career criminal father, and the fact that she'd never really protected stephanie from the worst the world had to offer. stephanie had made no secret about her resentment toward sher father. but tim didn't think she even registered the bitterness she held toward her mother.

gotham was poison. and some people never built a resistance to it. gotham weighed crystal down. it made drugs too easy to get so she could never break the habit, it made every probation or release arthur got impossible to hide from because the gotham system tracked family down for convicts so they wouldn't be on the street or clogging up the shelters. the stress of her estranged husband's release stuck her in an ugly cycle of drug use. but she'd never stolen them from her job and that's why tim makes the right moves for her.

new york was unfamiliar but similar to gotham. she'd be cut off from her usual suppliers and out of state so the gotham correctional facility and arthur wouldn't be able to reach her. she'd get better, get sober, heal, do a better job of being a mother to her daughter. steph would never become spoiler. she'd probably never forgive him but if things went right they'd never cross paths.

no spoiler meant no war games, black mask would never beat her to death, darla would never die, babs would never lose her clocktower, the civilians caught in the cross fire would never fall to gang violence.

odds of stephanie brown never becoming spoiler if she left gotham? 89.0005%

with his parents it was harder. if jason lived tim would never be robin...but that didn't mean tim would be able to stop himself from being something else. he was a vigilante through and through. but being one was what had made his father a target. it was his fault he had died.

odds of janet and jack drake dying if their son is a vigilante? 93.3333%

there was no way around it. being near him was a death sentence. and tim couldn't do that to them. but he couldn't just leave. people would ask questions. his parents would be pained if he disappeared and he'd already caused them enough hurt. it's not hard to track down the...thing that lives in the Andes mountains. the thing he and young justice had found a long time ago and left alone because it hadn't hurt anyone who hadn't asked for it. the thing tim had never made a report on because there some things he didn't trust bruce with and bruce had been...unstable back then.

tim has enough money squirreled away for the plane ticket. it's an easy process. the thing doesn't want money, has no use for it. all tim feels is a pinch as his life strands to his parents are severed. tim's baby photos in the family album, his first tooth, his basssinett growing mold in the attic, his parents memory of him being born. it fizzles to nothing like a tablet of alka seltzer dissolved in a glass of water. tim figures he had a few weeks before the school realized an extra student was in the dorms which was why tim had moved his things and an extra bedmat to a storage closet in the school attic before leaving.

when tim returns its only a few days before he finds out his parents have returned to gotham to file for divorce. he'd always figured they'd only stayed together because of him. once they started going through assets they'd probably find out about phil marrin stealing from the company while they're overseas.

while the other students are at class tim uses the computers to finish up his final act. he roughly knew damian's movements at this time due to past conversations. all it takes is some waiting and letting the league tech division believe they've successfully knocked out the cameras of a target's mansion. he zooms in on stills of damian's uncovered face alongside talia and other league members and leaves them in an 'automated' file for the police. he tips off a crooked cop who sells the images to big newspapers and the 'assasins caught breaking into ex-dictator's home!' catches like wildfire.

bruce will be intrigued about the league slipping up and will see the image of damian who looks so much like he did as a child.

odds of damian wayne being accepted by the wider hero community if he'd been taken out of the league earlier? 62.9855%

odds of damian wayne leading a normal life if he'd been taken from the league earlier? 78.5488%

odds of damian wayne being happy if he'd been taken away from the league earlier? 99.9999%

in the end tim does it for the right reasons. he'd like to believe that if his brothers were in his shoes they'd have done the same for him as well.

cassie, bart, and kon would still have each other. cass would find barbara again. helena would find a way to make it in gotham with or without the bats.

they'd be fine. they'd be fine without tim there.

but tim still needed to figure out what to do.

he essentially didn't exist. he had no family. no friends. he was alone.

it's on the announcement of bruce wayne having a child he didn't know about that tim finally breaks down.

he's won. but he's lost. he's lost. he's lost so much and nobody knew. he was a stranger. nobody. he was alone. alone. alone.

tim's not sure how but he ends up in bludhaven. his whole world is packed in a small backpack as he rides the bus to an address he's memorized several times over.

dick doesn't know him, won't recognize him, may even get angry at this child he doesn't know clinging to him.

tim doesn't care.

dick arrives home, after nearly a month away in space, to the realization that someone's been squatting in his apartment.

it could be any number of things that set off his finely tuned senses but the clues were a few specific things.

all of dick's shoes being lined up neatly by the entrance rather than a haphazard pile. one of the lined-up shoes includes a pair of light-up sketchers.

the fact that his dishes were washed and put away but a single mug was on the drying rack still dripping water.

the recently vacuumed carpet that still had lines from where the mouth of the vacuum had passed over it.

the extra toothbrush in a little cup by his sink along with the newly opened bar of soap sitting on the rim of his bathtub that had been scrubbed so well alfred would be proud.

but the thing that really drives it all home is the kid he finds sleeping on his bed.

he's a tiny thing, curled around one of dick's pillows and wearing one of his police academy t-shirts as pajamas. one of the kid's socks has been kicked off in his sleep and he's drooling when dick drops his bag and clear his throat.

turns out the kid had been living in dick's apartment for a little over a week after he left.

the whole thing makes dick feel like the rug has been pulled out from under him. normally dick would be nicer, kinder, gentler about the whole situation because a kid squatting in a stranger's apartment didn't exactly spell good things about his home life.

but dick was tired and stressed and pissed the fuck off because bruce apparently had another kid this one bloodrelated and he hadn't even bothered to tell dick about it. just like with jason he was treating dick like he was some sort of leper.

so maybe dick raises his voice a little.

but the kid doesn't flinch.

he wants to negotiate, he's willing to pay if dick lets him stay. he's already proven he can clean, he can cook too, will dick let him stay? tim can sleep on the couch, do the laundry, buy groceries, he can be useful. just will dick please let him stay?

it makes dick feel bad. the way this kid is borderline begging not to be thrown on the streets.

he can't keep the kid. in no world is that the right move. because dick wasn't equipped to take care of a kid and his life was already enough of a wreck as it was.

so dick lies. tells the kid he agrees to let him stay.

in the morning dick will call a social worker about the whole thing.

dick wakes up to the scent of pancakes and scrambled eggs prepared by little hands. dick has a moment of panic over the whole 'unsupervised kid + stove' before remembering the kid had been cooking in dick's apartment for over a month without burning it down.

dick tries getting some answers out of the kid but getting him to open up is like pulling teeth.

all dick manages to learn is his name.

tim, no last name.

and his age.

10. though dick is pretty sure he's lying about it given the slight twitch of his finger as he says it. impressively the kid has no other tells which means he's either used to people taking his words at face value or he lies A LOT.

dick tries six times to call a social worker but keeps getting interrupted by one thing or another.

somehow rather than calling about the child in his apartment he ends up at a grocery store with tim picking up a new gallon of milk to replace the expired one in his fridge.

tim walks with an odd sort of confidence he isn't used to seeing in children. he holds coupons clipped from dick's newspaper in one hand and sternly holds up loaves of bread, observing them for dents or imperfections, in the other.

his voice is soft and babyish but he speaks with a 'you should take me seriously' tone. it's odd to see coupled with his cherubic face that's wearing a red l.l bean jacket and light-up superman sketchers.

dick carries the small basket of groceries for tim and wonders how he ended up in this situation. he resolves to leave a message to the office of social work in the morning.

he does not.

days pass with dick trying but his attempts keep getting cut off, if he didn't know any better he'd think tim was sabotaging him by running interference.

after awhile dick starts getting used to his tiny roommate.

it's hard to think of tim as a kid, sometimes dick completely forgets he is. if he didn't keep bumping into tim because he forgets to look down to see him it would completely slip his mind.

but tim's company is...nice. he's easy to get along with. he's not put off by dick's bouts of anger which always manages to make him feel ashamed afterward because tim not flinching at someone throwing things and yelling does not say good things about what he's experienced in his short life.

tim is quiet and collected but with a surprising wit that manages to catch dick off guard when they watch some reality TV shows that dick pretends to his friends and family that he doesn't love.

when dick gets ready to go out as nightwing he always checks on tim who is curled asleep on the couch, breathing soft and even.

things are normal, easy.

until dick gets clipped by a gun and stumbles into his bedroom bleeding. he barely manages to reach the bed before the pain knocks him out. he comes in and out of consciousness, eyes blinking at the haze as he feels soft hands strip him and gently feel around his wound.

in the morning dick wakes up on the couch. his side is wrapped tightly and packed with bandages. there's an emptied syringe of lidocaine and an emptied bottle of sterile woundwash. dick's forehead is sweaty but not with fever. his suit is gone and he's in a fresh pair of cotton boxers. he spots tim out of the corner of his eye staring at him. his hands are covered in comically big yellow cleaning gloves and his hair is tied back with one of dick's bandanas. the gray mop bucket holding red stained rags are visible inside the soapy water.

tim's eyes are too big for his face and filled with an almost childlike look that disappears everytime dick blinks.

"your mattress is ruined"

that's all tim says about the situation. despite the fact that he most likely stripped dick of his nightwing suit and patched him up, pretty well by dick's standards, and there again came that throbbing ache at tim's unknown upbringing.

tim knows he's nightwing and somehow it doesn't change anything at all.

if bruce knew a random civilian knew his identity he'd be lecturing dick's ear off. which is why he doesn't tell him about tim.

tim is steadily becoming a permanent addition to dick's side. once he knows about nightwing dick starts talking more about that part of himself. his friends, allies, the stress, the burden, the loneliness. and tim looks at him like he understands and...it feels...it feels like he's a kindred spirit.

dick is talking to tim like he's an equal, another lost and dumb as fuck twenty-year-old and that's a mistake.

the winter hits bludhaven and it's a brutal one. the cold seeps in through the windows and floorboards. dick finds tim shivering on the couch and all but drags him to his bed where he's plugged in the heated camping blanket roy had gotten him for christmas one year.

dick returns to his apartment exhausted and cold and curling up beside a nice warm timmy that's like a hot water bottle brings a sigh of relief to his mouth. the comfort and weight of another person beside him soothes some desperatly lonely part of him screaming for attention.

in the morning tim helps him fix his gear. a manual in one hand that he seems to breezing through while muttering about everything wrong with his gear and wouldn't it be be better if it did this instead of this. dick just pats his soft head and slides him his mug of orange juice while sipping at a warm cup of coffee tim had put out for him

dick grows comfortable with tim, lots his guard down in ways he never does with other people. tim understands him. tim gets him.

tim is 10 years old and dick has to remind himself of that when his eyes linger on the soft expanse of tim's thighs peeking out from dick's shirt.

the realization that his eyes had been lingering slam dick with a discomfort so thick he almost wants to throw up.

tim is a kid. a kid, no matter how much he might act older, no matter how much dick feels like he understands him.

he and tim have been living together for a few months. there's a routine to them. and so dick knows that something has changed.

tim's hands reach for him more, they linger, he presses closer to dick in bed and when they stand next to each other in the kitchen. he sits pressed up beside him on the couch when they watch TV, watch him with big eyes when he comes out of the shower in just a towel.

dick knows a crush when he sees one. he knows he should be putting space between them, not letting tim press his soft mouth to the side of his throat when they sleep. he knows he shouldn't let tim do those things. but he doesn't stop them.

he likes the attention, the affection. he needs it, is so starved for it and tim is the only one willing to give it to him.

dick knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't.

but dick is so lonely. and he and tim whisper together in his bed at night sometimes. and one night they're pressed close, eye to eye, mouth to mouth and dick tells tim that he's happy he's here with dick. and tim inches forward closing that one millimeter distance between them and presses their lips together. and dick doesn't stop him.

tim's little palm cups his cheek, small fingers stroking the skin as dick starts kissing back. tim's hand works between them, warm and small and drifting into dick's pants. it doesn't take much for dick to get aroused and hard as tim pumps his cock like he's done it before. tim is only in dick's shirt and some underwear.

they slide deeper under the warm covers. tim's shirt dress comes off and so does dick's. his pants are pressed down enough to expose his cock as tim wiggles out of little cotton panties.

dick is guiding their actions, experience making him take the lead as he gently presses a finger into tim's little cunt.

tim makes soft noises, whines, little moans as dick grunts and presses the fat head of his cock in, littering tim's chin and neck with reassuring kisses.

dick slides in with some resistance. the cunt around him twitches, hips under his palms writhe, tim whines in his ear.

dick is gentle, careful fucking tim. he works more and more of his cock in until he can slide all the way into tim in a single thrust.

he and tim fuck under the covers for what feel like hours. tim cums a few times around him. voice weakly gasping out his name while his cunt clenches around him. riding out his orgasm. dick cums too after awhile, the build up slow and satisfying as he lets out an 'mmn mnn' sound against tim's little tits.

dick cums deep inside, cum flooding into a little womb as his entire body clenches and tenses up.

the arousal and brain melting feeling lasts about two minutes before realizes what he's done to the small bodied child underneath him.

dick barely makes it to the bathroom before throwing up.

he's crying- sobbing actually, into the toilet when a soft hand touches his shoulder and dick half leaps out of his own skin.

he tries telling tim to get away from him for his own good but the words come out slurred and rough.

tim doesn't listen and comes closer, gentle hands touching dick's limbs and saying it was okay, that tim wanted it, that he liked it, he wasn't afraid of dick.

tim helps dick brush his teeth and guides him back to bed and dick, aching for someone to comfort him and tim doing just that follows him.

in the morning dick is miserable, self hating, and sick.

he fucked a kid. god he fucked tim.

the kid who'd been living with him, who trusted him, who had a misguided crush on him and dick had taken advantage of that.

he was a monster. he was worse than the people out on the streets who tugged kids into alleyways, at least they didn't mess with a kids mind and think they wanted it like he did tim.

tim who thought he needed to earn his place at dick's apartment. god what if the sex had been tim's idea of thanking dick for housing him?

dick could recall how tim had worked his hips back against dick, fucking down on the cock that pressed into him- that kind of move only happened with experience.

god. the thought that he hadn't been the first person to do this to tim made him sick. he'd found tim squatting in his apartment afterall, how many times had tim done that before meeting dick and how many times had people made him paying that way.

dick feels the bile climbing up his throat again as tim comes to sit beside him.

dick doesn't know what to say, what to do. he knows tim can't stay with him any longer. not after what he's done.

tim protests.

"do you think people not there won't do worse to me? I want to stay with you, i trust you."

"i raped you." dick replies quietly, weakly.

tim purses his lips.

"i wanted it."

suddenly dick feels anger and grief in equal measure come racing forward.

"you're ten years old! you can't want this! i'm the grown creep that took advantage of you! i didn't push you away even though I knew what you were doing!"

tim stares at him.

"you're still a good person dick."

a cry bursts out of dick.

"good people don't fuck children."

and there's no way around that. no changing or justifying it. that's what dick did.

"i haven't been a kid in a long time. i'm different, im...something else. but i'm not a kid."

and the thing is that dick believes him. nothing about tim screams child. he's just...tim.

tim is staring at him with those bug blue eyes. his pretty pink mouth parted. dick's shirt is hanging off his shoulder.

he's staring at tim like his eyes have the answers to the universe as he asks, "do you want me?".

the 'yes' in dick's mind is certain. he wants tim, he wants tim with him, sleeping beside him, he wants to bump into tim in the halls and wakeup to his cooking, come home from the police academy to his dinner.

but dick's body, his mind is telling him no. he can't have tim, not like this. it's wrong. it's not right. it's disgusting. he's disgusting-

but tim's palm is warm and reassuring. and tim looks so certain and sure it's like he can't see anything wrong with dick giving in.

tim always knows what he's doing. what to say. it's like he's so perfectly at peace and knows he can change anything unfavorable at the drop of a hat.

it makes dick feel...safe. safe in the way that dick used to feel when he saw batman as an untouchable man that the world couldn't reach.

so when tim asks dick to let him take care of everything, that it will be okay, that no one but them has to know about this.

tim's hands are as soft as his voice and dick leans in closer for comfort. and with his head pressed to a child's chest and little palms stroking his hair- dick agrees.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

[haveihitanerve]

Superheroes Aren't Supposed To Sleep In Hospitals-

Bruce was so still. Sooo still. He was never still. He was always moving. Always. Maneuvering around the cave, one hand holding a cup of coffee the other a wrench as he fixed and tweaked and fiddled with everything. One leg bouncing as he read some reports Tim had printed out, finger tapping when he was working on a particularly hard case. He was constantly moving. No movement was ever without purpose and every movement was a comforting, familiar tick that made Bruce Wayne who he was. Father, friend, JL Member, son, and the best husband anyone could have ever asked for. The best one Selina had ever wanted and needed anyway. But he wasn't moving now. Alfred had changed him into some of his favorite black pants and a nice soft shirt, a stark contrast to the chrystal white linoleum floors of the hospital. Selina hated it. Hated the clean, crisp white sheets. Hated his cold, lifeless body. His closed eyes. His cracked lips. Hated it and hated it and hated it. But oh how she loved him. 

Dick couldn’t go through this again. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lose another family member. But Jason, Jason had come back. But Bruce, his father, his dad, there was no way his dad was coming back. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead. Dick was screaming. Yelling at the top of his lungs. But no one could hear him. 

Jason couldn’t eat, couldn't speak, couldn't hear. All he could feel was his heart, his traitorous, horrible heart, as it continued to pump inside of him. As it kept him alive. How could he be alive when Bruce, when his father, when his dad was dead? The machines and tubes and other medical equipment that were hooked onto the lifeless body of his father were daunting? And jason wanted to scream, to cry, to rip them all out and away and pull his father close, be held by his dad because he was lost. So lost. And he needed to be home. 

Tim was a ghost. He couldn't even feel his hands, even as they lay limp in his lap, even as his fingernails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. But he was numb. He couldn't feel anything. Except for his heart. His horrible, traitorous heart as it shattered into a million pieces as he watched the monitor of his fathers heart beep. And then stop. 

Damian couldn’t move. He was stuck, sitting in that uncomfortable chair in the hospital room, staring at the bed. At the bed that single handedly held his entire world.  Because his father was on it. His father. All he could do was watch, watch and sit there, even as an uncomfortable cramp flew through his body from sitting too long in the hard hospital chairs, as his father died. Right in front of him. And Damian was powerless to stop it. 

Stephanie closed her eyes. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, when she opened then he would be there. Either because it was all a bad dream or because she herself had died. But when she opened them, he was still there. Lying there. Lifeless. Cold. His hand had turned to ice in her hand but she couldn't let go. Couldn't release it. Because that meant he really was gone. So Stephanie kept holding onto that cold, stiff, lifeless hand. And prayed that her warmth could somehow, somehow bring him back. Because if he wasn't alive it wasn't a world she was interested in living in. 

Cass screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed until she couldn't scream anymore. Her already ruined and straining vocal cords giving out. And then she wept. She wept as everyone filed in to offer condolences or sit at her fathers side for hours. Staring, just like her, at his chest and hoping, praying, to the gods, to their maker, to whatever power they believed in or didn't. Just to bring him back. She wept as the monitor flat lined. She wept as the doctors came in, faces masked in sympathy as they recited the same script over and over again. “Im so sorry. We did everything we could.” Cass wanted to rip their throats out. She wanted to practice every move she had ever learned as an assassin because clearly, clearly they hadn't done everything they could. Because then he would be alive. Cass’s tears had dried by the time they moved him. No one ever saw her again.

It is said that if you wander down a forgotten street in Gotham, you will stumble upon a house. It is old, and it is crumbling, but it is vast and it is clean. Because one man still lives there. An older man. A butler. Alone, he cleans the stairs and the kitchen and the toilets. Alone, he walks the seven stories and dusts the king sized library. Alone he cooks, and cleans, and waits. Standing by the front door, an arm extended, waiting for the coat that will never be handed to him. He isn't the only one. Once a year, for one day, the manor is full. Full with laughter and food, and people from around the world. They spend the day together, talking and reminiscing. But when the clock hits nine, the chatter stops. And the food grows cold on the table. Because the house is empty once more. And on one night, on one singular night of the year, Gothamites sleep peacefully. Because their city is protected. Guarded by the fiercest superhero that ever walked the earth. Batman. 

(this was inspired by one of those 'you sing' videos for how do i say goodbye when the guy sings 'superheros dont sleep in hospitals' or something, highly recommend looking for the video absolutely heartwrenching anyway hope you enjoyed)