#also I think Tim should be awful at two truths and a lie

[chiyana]

Selina would NEVER put Tim's spleen-in-a-jar in the Batcave. That is TIM's spleen, thank you very much, and he would also be much more willing to pay her for it where Bruce would be all "where did you get that", "whose is it", "what do you mean you broke into a League of Assassin's base and stole from Ra's al Ghul", and "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THAT BELONGS TO ONE OF MY SONS".

Terribly ungrateful and unappreciative of her skills, meanwhile Tim would thank her, either pay her cash or trade her a piece of artwork he accidentally stole and kept on the Brucequest, invite her in for some tea and swap art thieving stories.

The batfam playing 2 truths and a lie

Tim: I stalked Batman for years, my eyes are green, and Ra's al Ghul has my spleen in a jar somewhere.

The rest of the batfam:

Dick: ...your eyes are blue.

Damian, muttering to himself: so that was Drake's spleen. Interesting.

[stxleslyds]

You always seem down on the idea of the Batfam. I mean, it is hard to take seriously when writers make Bruce hostile or downright abusive towards his kids, or when Batfam members never interact. But do you think the concept itself is good, and it's just been the victim of bad writing? Or do you think the Batfam is a bad idea that can never work?

Hi there Anon! Thank you for the ask!

Hmm, this is a difficult question. Maybe I can answer this better if I do it in parts because the concept of “Batfamily” is used in different ways currently. A way to separate them can be, DC’s Batfamily, Fandom’s Batfamily and Fandom’s Batfamily lore being introduced in comics’ canon.

DC’s Batfamily:

My rejection of this version of Batfamily comes from all angles, it is not a good concept within comics lore anymore, it’s badly written and used to hide and move on from truly horrendous actions done by Bruce towards the rest of the family, and DC uses the concept of “Batfamily” that fandom has become so attached to, so they can profit off of it without writing anything of real essence with it.

Why did I say that the Batfamily isn’t a good concept anymore? Well, because the Batfamily that I first came across in comics included, Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Barbara, Tim and Cassandra. It was rather small and their books interconnected and had pretty solid relationships with one another. Dick and Tim got along and spent time together, Barbara mentored Cass so she could become Batgirl and so on and so forth. The family was smaller and more connected. But they still had problems and bad habits then. So, I liked them as a group of people that worked together and the name they received was “Batfamily” as a way for DC to profit from it.

Right now, the Batfamily is huge, I don’t know if you have seen those splash pages with all the members of it for Rebirth and Infinite Frontier, but those promotional pages were crazy big, characters like Harley and Clownhunter are now considered part of the “Batfamily” and all that. Then there is the kind of characters like Cass, Steph and Kate who are all connected to Batman but that haven’t been appearing in books for very long, so putting them on that page really feels like DC is trying to prove that their “Batfamily” actually has women on it, but it’s just for show.

And then there is Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian, the most recognizable faces of the Batfamily aside from Bruce and Alfred (but Alfred is dead now so he doesn’t really count), all of them have had issues with Bruce or are indifferent to the existence of one another. Yes, Tom Taylor has included Tim in Dick’s book but here is the thing, it feels like he put him there just to make fans shut up about the lack of content with both of them acting as they used to do. But its false and lazy, Taylor just brought Tim to the book but we don’t get to see Tim and Dick interact in ways that can explain why they drifted off, it kinda seems like all those years where Dick and Tim were pulled apart never happened to DC and that makes me think “cash grab”. I would have loved to see them interact again if it meant that we would have some solid story for them to develop their relationship once more.

At the end of Rebirth, Damian was pissed off at Bruce and they had a fight and Damian left the manor completely. Bruce beat up Jason, then gave him a hug but still told him that he was banned from Gotham and all that abuse and manipulation was swept under the rug when DC came out with Urban Legends: Cheer, all they did with that story is lie and made-up stories about Jason wanting Bruce to go on a killing spree so Gotham can finally be the home to his beloved family (lies, lies, lies).

On top of all that we have the neglect, abuse and manipulation that Bruce had going on with Dick, ever since Bruce manipulated Dick into joining Spyral his actions haven’t faced any consequences (the family still believes that Dick was the one who lied about dying). And as recently as the end of Rebirth, Dick suffered from a head injury that left him amnesiac and Bruce absolutely didn’t care enough to look after him when he was so vulnerable and alone. DC had the audacity of having Bruce say that he was looking after Dick while Dick went from one villain manipulating and hurting him to another, and if we look at Batman’s run, we can see that he spent some of that time in a weird pit or playing catch the pussy with Selina in a tropical island.

So, taking all those things into account, I honestly believe that the Batfamily is a concept that absolutely does not belong in comics. If it were to be taken seriously then DC should come up with (organic, not forced) stories that make these characters connect once again, but they have to be careful, just because they can connect it doesn’t mean that everyone gets along and they have group chats and eat dinner together of Fridays, that would be a blatant lie and just too out there for their kind of dynamic, so, they should take things slow, start re-building what once was an make it better (if they want to make it work and feel like less of a cash grab).

I heard that there is a book with Cass and Steph being mentored as Batgirls by Barbara coming out in December, that to me is a good thing, what was done in Robin #5 was awful, Jason didn’t have or want to be there, Tim, what the hell was Tim doing there? The only ones that have gotten along with Damian and have had a solid relationship with him were Dick and Steph. Dick had a very nice moment with Damian in that issue, but Steph didn’t, they preferred to have Jason wanting to hug Damian instead (what the actual hell was that?).

Fandom’s Batfamily:

Fandom is a place where people can take any concept from anywhere and transform it into whatever they please. This fandom is just like any other in that matter, but I have noticed that sometimes the Batfamily Fandom tends to blur the lines between what’s fanon and canon. Their lore is so deep and established among people that they sometimes (willingly or not) make new readers or other people believe that how things and perceived in fandom is how things actually are in comics, and that is a huge problem.

Things like “Dick sent Jason to Arkham when the Joker was just a cell away”, “Jason has pit madness and when he gets mad his eyes turn glowy green”, “Dick was a horrendous brother to Jason before Jason died”, “Jason would be good friends with Tim and Cass”, “Jason is the only one that sees the world differently from Bruce and the other robins because he is the only one that comes from a life with no luxury” and so on and on and on…

All of those things are sometimes treated as the absolute truth by fandom and no matter how many times people have debunked and explained that those things aren’t part of comics’ canon because they are simply not true, fandom stills treats those things as the basis of their Batfamily lore.

That lore would be actually fascinating if people didn’t lose sight so easily of the fact that at the end of the day none of that lore can be applied to comics’ canon.

When you enter this fandom things can be extremely confusing and the way some of the characters are characterized are completely different to their canon characterizations, I knew that the Dick fandom was writing about was not real, but I had no idea that Tim being a coffee addict that hasn’t slept in five months and is an absolute genius in everything and anything that he does was completely out of character for him, I just thought that was true to his character in comics too. Something like that happened to me when I took a peek at Jason’s side of fandom, by that time I had read Red Hood/Arsenal, UtRH and New 52 RHatO (yeah in that order, Red Hood/Arsenal wasn’t finished yet though), with the already conflicting characterizations of those books, the first look that I had at fandom’s Jason confused me even more. After considering all those I decided that the Jason that I wanted to see and actually looked appealing to me was UtRH Jason.

Not all people in fandom read comics and that is ABSOLUTELY VALID, I have zero problems with people not liking the comic characterizations of the “Batfamily” characters, but that in itself also creates a rift between fans themselves.

Fandom’s Batfamily lore being introduced in comics’ canon:

This is obviously the intersection of the other two points and this is the biggest problem that I have with the Batfamily concept. The fandom lore has been leaking into comic’s canon for a while now but right now we are kinda drowning in it. Decisions that have been made recently in DC like, Jason giving up his guns, the group chats in Nightwing issues, the family dinners that were hinted at in Cheer #6, and Bruce having had at the ready a Red Hood suit for Jason with a Batman logo in its chest, have been proof enough that DC is planning on skipping any kind of solid writing for these characters to actually get along. We are never going to see these people sit down and talk about their differences and respect each other’s work ethics.

We are never going to get stories of actual essence that prove that these characters understand and care for each other, we are just going to be told that “all is good” and now everyone loves one another and they will build from there.

That is a problem for me.

-

And it also takes away duality from Gotham’s vigilantes, I know I say this too much but it’s the truth, putting all these characters under the ruling of Batman makes them all bland. Jason shouldn’t be part of any sort of group that involves Bruce! My god, I don’t want to see them interact anymore! Bruce has been absolute trash to Jason ever since he came back from the dead and I am tired of DC trying to make them be on good terms!

Jason and Bruce not getting along can co-exist with the fact that Jason isn’t a villain to Batman’s legendary hero. Jason is his own character, with his own morals and he doesn’t need a bat symbol on his chest or book logo to be relevant. Same with Dick, Tim and Barbara, let them be characters that can stand on their own because they have already done that!

Barbara as Oracle worked WITH Batman if she wanted, she had her own logo and had passed on the mantle of Batgirl because he had grown out of it.

Dick is Nightwing and has become an even better hero than Batman could even aspire to become, he has contacts with everyone in the DC universe, has led countless teams, he doesn’t NEED a batman logo on his book or to be constantly dragged back to him just to make the Bat more compelling.

Jason, my sweet Jason, he had his own logo! It was gorgeous and then Lobdell had the audacity to stamp a Batman logo in the middle of the book name and in Jason’s chest! Have we gone absolutely mad? Why did they do that? Lobdell’s constant back and forth with Jason and his feelings for Bruce, he respects him and he doesn’t, he kills and he doesn’t… each issue felt like a new take on the character! It was crazy!

And that has happened with everyone in the “family”. I will end this by saying that Bruce/Batman being at the centre of this “Batfamily” dynamic is the most laughable thing in the DC Universe. Batman isn’t family to any of the people that they constantly surround him with, he is a piece of shit.

Anyway Anon, I hope this answer doesn’t ruin your day and that you understand that even though I really don’t like the “Batfamily” concept, you and everyone else are allowed and encouraged to think differently!

Hope you have a marvellous day Anon!

[bat-losers-inc]

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

                            _____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

[phoebenavarro]

the more things change

rarepair time! I have not known peace since mag117. feat backup archivist martin with beholding powers

the magnus archives, martinelias, 2100 words, warning for dubcon kissing

read on ao3 here

“Jon is in trouble,” Martin says as he bursts into Elias’s office. A few months ago, the concept of doing something so brazenly rude to Elias would have made him freeze on the spot. It’s funny how things change, Martin thinks bitterly, and how things stay the same. He’s still terrified of Elias, although now for completely different reasons.

“Martin,” Elias replies, “Come in. What can I do for you?” He glances up at Martin briefly before returning to his paperwork.

Martin’s brain stutters. He didn’t really think this through, and he didn’t expect Elias to be so nonplussed.

“Jon’s in trouble,” Martin repeats, some of his anxiety chased away by a need to do something slowly creeping back in, “and I’m worried,” he finishes, summoning back the indignation he feels towards Elias at all times lately.

“Did something in particular happen?” Elias asks, “Because ‘worried’ seems to be a constant state of being for you.” He sounds bored, and that makes Martin angry, angry that Elias clearly doesn’t care about Jon’s well-being, and deeper down, angry that Elias doesn’t take him seriously.

Martin scoffs, but he realizes he can’t really explain what actually brought him to Elias’s office. He clenches his jaw.

“I don’t know!” he grits out, “Jon was fine, on the bus in America, then he was at a rest stop and a woman came up to him and forced him into her car.”

That makes Elias look up, and his gaze is even more piercing than normal, like he’s trying to rip through Martin with his eyes.

“How did you know that?” Elias asks, his tone so severe that Martin folds in on himself.

“I-I don’t know!” he squeaks, and he frowns. He realizes he really doesn’t know how he knew that. “I just— I had a feeling, I guess…?” He trails off. Even he knows how weak that sounds.

“I don’t think you did,” Elias says, raising one of his perfect eyebrows at Martin, “You just knew, didn’t you?”

Martin stutters, trying to come up with some explanation, but he realizes that Elias is right. He just knew.

Fuck, Martin just knew. He sinks into the chair across from Elias, stunned. Elias’s face breaks out into a grin. He chuckles quietly.

“See, this is what I like about you, Martin. You don’t lie to yourself. Oh, you may spend all your time lying to everyone else, keeping them at arm’s length because you’re terrified they won’t like you if they get to know the real you, but you’re honest to yourself.”

Martin stares at Elias, thrown off-kilter by being told such intimate things about himself so matter-of-factly. He wonders if that’s how Elias sounded when he did whatever it was he did to Melanie. “W-what?”

Elias leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know, when I asked you to start recording statements, I never expected you to progress quite this quickly.”

Martin’s eyes harden. “Are you saying I have freaky eye powers now? Like Jon?” Of course Elias planned for this, wanted this, and Martin just went along with it. Elias stands and crosses to the other side of the desk, perching on it across from Martin.

“Not quite like Jon, no. Jon is the Archivist. I’m sure your own Becoming will be different.” Elias turns his gaze back to Martin, but this time it feels more appraising. Elias leans forward, and Martin feels cold dread pooling in his gut. “I’m actually quite pleased. This is a promising development.”

“R-right, but what does that actually mean, though?” Martin asks, trying to stay calm and refusing to think of the implications of him being able to just know things. Elias wants to knock him off balance, keep him a stammering mess so he won’t get any answers out of him. “Is this going to keep happening? Will I develop other… abilities?”

“Yes, it will keep happening as you get stronger. As for if you’ll gain more abilities, I don’t know, Martin.” He leans forward. “But I’ll enjoy watching.”

“O-Okay, but what does that mean? Practically? I mean, the Eye’s not giving me these powers out of the goodness of its heart. What do I have to do? Can I stop it?”

Elias smiles at him with an almost unbearable fondness, which Martin has never seen from him before, and it makes Martin uneasy. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop it at this point,” he says, and Martin sighs. Figures. “You don’t need to be doing anything you won’t be doing already, just reading statements.”

“Right, as I become less and less human,” Martin spits.

“Being human isn’t everything, Martin. You’re not going to stop being yourself.” Elias’s smile turns cruel. “But maybe you’d like that, to stop worrying about being good and nice all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Elias asks conspiratorially.

Martin narrows his eyes at him, refusing to rise to the bait. “You knew about my CV the whole time, didn’t you,” Martin says. It’s not a question, but Elias answers anyway.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckles, “It’s why I hired you in the first place. It impressed me, honestly. Such a bald-faced lie, you were so terrified, but you barely even flinched. It was charming, really.”

“Charming,” Martin repeats skeptically.

Elias tsks. “Come now, Martin, I know you don’t think highly of yourself, but is it really so hard to believe that someone would find you charming?”

Martin seriously doubts that anyone has found him charming in his life. Cute, maybe, but charming? No.

“Why…” Martin begins, but he shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. What about Jon?”

“What about him?”

“Is he in danger?”

“Almost certainly,” Elias smiles, “but he’s survived worse. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Martin starts laughing. “You— you cannot expect me to trust you, after you trapped all of us here, after you let Sasha get killed— for God’s sake, you admitted to murdering two people! And now! I’m getting monster powers because of you.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Martin. Don’t start lying to yourself now. I gave you the push, but you embraced the Eye on your own.” He places his hand on Martin’s shoulder, his thumb resting against Martin’s neck in a possessive way that makes Martin’s heart skip a beat. “Your need to know more hasn’t been as fervent as Jon’s, but it’s there. You tell yourself it’s to help Jon, but really, it’s all you.”

Martin finds himself unable to move away, despite how much he wants to, almost hypnotized as Elias moves his hand up to cup Martin’s cheek. His breath catches in his throat. He has no idea the last time he was this close to someone, and even on his loneliest nights, he never thought Elias would be the next person to touch him like this.

Martin has no way of knowing if Elias is actually telling the truth, or if he’s just trying to manipulate him. Probably a bit of both, he thinks.

“I just don’t know how you can keep letting Jon get hurt,” Martin says, trying to push on like Elias is not tenderly cradling his face, “I mean, he’s your archivist, whatever that means. I’d think out of all of us, he’s the one you’d care what happens to.”

Elias sighs. “I don’t like it much either, but that’s how these things go. It’s necessary for Jon to grow into his potential.”

“So, what?” Martin stares at Elias defiantly, “You’re just going to leave us in the dark? Let us get killed? Do you care at all?”

Elias strokes Martin’s cheek with his thumb, and Martin shivers. “I am sorry about Sasha,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want that to happen to her.”

And Martin, God help him, believes Elias. Maybe that’s why he still doesn’t pull away when Elias’s other hand comes to rest at Martin’s hip, when he leans in to press his lips to Martin’s. Martin freezes as Elias kisses him, but Elias doesn’t seem bothered that Martin isn’t responding.

“What are you doing,” Martin breathes as Elias pulls away briefly.

“I thought that was obvious,” Elias quips, and he settles into Martin’s lap, straddling him. Martin makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Why, then?” Martin asks, looking at Elias warily.

Elias squeezes his hip. “Because you’re mine,” he says with a predatory glint to his eyes. Martin’s blood runs cold, and now he tries to push Elias away, but Elias’s grip on him tightens, and Martin can’t get the leverage he needs. “The others may also be tied to me, but none of them have embraced their roles like you have. It has been truly a pleasure to watch you come into your own over the years.”

Martin looks away, his eyes burning. He thinks about his younger self, when he started at the Institute. He had been absolutely terrified of Elias and the way he seemed to see right through him, but also because he thought Elias was gorgeous. He still does, he supposes, especially with Elias so close to him. They’re so far beyond that now; Martin wishes Elias was just a normal, intimidatingly handsome boss. Elias brushes one of Martin’s curls behind his ear before leaning in to whisper in it.

“Do you want to know what I think? Being trapped working at the Institute doesn’t upset you as much as you think it should. Where else would you go? You’ve worked here your entire adult life, and few places will be as open to your lack of formal qualifications. You want to be angry like Tim, but you’re actually relieved. For the first time, you’re not worried about losing your job. You hate the way reading statements makes you feel, but you love feeling useful. For Jon,” he nibbles on Martin’s earlobe, making Martin gasp, “And for me.”

It’s horrible, but what’s more horrible is how Martin doesn’t want Elias to stop. He doesn’t want Elias to stop touching him; he doesn’t want Elias to stop telling him all the awful things about himself Martin usually buries deep within.

Elias grips Martin’s chin and forces him to look him in his grey eyes. Eyes that are unusually warm, and Martin’s face is so hot that he’s sure Elias can feel it.

“Oh, look at you,” Elias croons, “You’re lovely.” And that is finally too much for Martin; it feels like Elias is mocking him, there’s no way he can be sincere.

“Stop,” Martin says, and it feels far too much like begging for mercy. Elias frowns.

“Alright,” he says, “But I do mean it, you know. You are lovely like this.”

“Get off me,” Martin says, and he tries to make his voice sound as commanding as possible, but it comes out breathy and weak.

“Is that what you want? Really?” Elias asks, idly running his hand up Martin’s flank.

No, Martin’s treacherous brain says, and Martin desperately tries to remind himself that the man sitting in his lap is a murderer. Elias grins like he heard that, and hell, maybe he did; Martin doesn’t know how his powers work. Martin doesn’t know what he wants at this point, clearly, only that the weight of Elias in his lap shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

Elias presses one more chaste kiss to his lips before climbing off Martin with a contented sigh.

“Well,” he says, “I think this development is worthy of celebration, don’t you?” Martin stares at him, slack-jawed as he continues. “Would you like to get dinner tonight?”

Martin knows he should say no, should tell Elias to fuck off, and he should tell Elias off for kissing him and touching him like that on top of everything else, but. It’s an opportunity to get Elias alone and maybe get some answers out of him for once, and Martin can’t pass that up. He knows that’s giving into the Eye even more, and he can already hear Elias’s smug voice telling him just that, but he can’t keep living like this, constantly in the dark, not knowing what’s going on or if Jon has been kidnapped again. Martin’s going to get a stress ulcer at this rate. And well, if it’s true that there’s no way out of this for him, then at the very least he’s going to use this to help the others as much as he can. (Martin ignores the way he can still feel the ghost of Elias’s lips on his own, or how he doesn’t actually hate that Elias had kissed him.)

Martin shrugs. “Sure, if you’re paying,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way Elias gives a genuine laugh at that. Elias acting so openly… fond of him will take some getting used to, but as they walk to the restaurant Elias has chosen, Martin finds himself thinking of ways to exploit that affection.

[banashee]

Hi Folks, welcome to my second fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week two (June 8-14) Prompts: identity, embrace, celebration, intersectionality, firsts

The key words I've used here are identity, embrace, celebration and firsts

-

Content Warnings: Once again, this is mostly a bunch of fluff but to be safe:

- the words "murder" and "crime scene" are there, but it's not related to anything serious, no one comes to harm here and it's only part of some jokes related to hair dye. - mention of Top-Surgery, nothing graphic - some swearing

----

Oh and by the way? Jon's move of accidentally dousing Tim with the showerhead was taken out of real life. My best friend fucking did that to me when helping me with dyeing my hair... Thanks, Dear. @bananaink I love you lots! ♥ Thanks for being my favourite human and being a great inspiration for shenanigans like this :D

-

 Wear your colours and be proud

 “Careful! The tub already looks like we murdered a smurf, if you move too much we’ll have to clean the entire bathroom... Again.”

 “Excuse me, Mx. Sims, if I recall correctly it was      you     who put the entire showerhead down the back of my shirt and scared the ever-loving shit out of me.” Tim complains good-naturedly, bent over the bathtub as Jon is standing over him and washes out the bright blue hair dye.

 “Okay, one: it wasn’t the      entire     showerhead, two: there was hair dye on your neck and I didn’t think it through. Besides, I already said I was sorry!” Jon is having a hard time not bursting into laughter again – they didn’t lie, they really are sorry, but washing off the dye from Tim’s neck before it stained too much, with what they were currently holding in their hand anyway, seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do at the time. The startled yelp of a dripping wet Tim informed them that no, it wasn’t, in fact, a good idea. Who would have thought?

 Jon had simultaneously apologized profusely and burst into laughter that had them wiping amused tears from their eyes. Okay, so, they hadn’t exactly planned this through as well as they could have.

 “You’re laughing. I am suffering, cold and wet, and you’re laughing at my misery!” Tim laments, but the amusement that creeps into his voice absolutely betrays him. Nevermind that it is in the middle of summer and anything but cold. It is a matter of principle.

 Behind him, Jon bursts into more helpless giggles – in their defense, they had too much caffeine already.

 “Aw, Love, I apologize.” This time, it doesn’t sound like it at all, but they keep massaging Tim’s scalp, blunt nails scratching gently even as the water begins to run clear. The happy, satisfied hum they get in response tells them everything they need to know.

 Jon has learned many many years ago that Tim will absolutely melt into a puddle under their hands if they give him head massages or even just play with his hair. They love doing it, but it also serves as a useful distraction sometimes.

 “On the plus side, we’ve got two more rounds of colour to go! Plenty of opportunities for me to not do that again.” Jon tells him innocently, wraps a towel over the back of Tim’s head and squeezes out as much residue water as possible.

 “Well, that’s reassuring, Dear.” He replies bluntly, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he gets up from the floor and then pulls Jon into a very wet, very tight full body hug, causing them to yelp.

 “Tim! What the hell!”

 “      Now     we’re even, my Love.” Tim tells them with a shit-eating grin, and then presses a quick kiss on top of his half-heartedly glaring partner's head.

 “…Would you like to blow dry it yourself or do you want me to do it?” They finally ask instead of a rebuttal, and Tim considers this for just a moment.

 “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to do it. Cover the mirror while we’re at it, then it’s a surprise for me as well.”

 “Of course, Love. Turn around?” Jon asks, and Tim does as he is asked, but not without turning the simple request into the beginning of “Total eclipse of the heart”, using a hairbrush as a makeshift microphone. Of course, he is putting his everything into the little performance. That is, until he is cut off by Jon and the hair dryer, which they are blowing directly at his face.

   Somehow, Jon, Tim and most of the bathroom survive their shenanigans for long enough until Jon lifts the towel away from the mirror and lets Tim take a look at his new hair colour.

 Hours ago, they started out by trimming his undercut, which is easy enough, followed by removing the rest of some particularly stubborn shade of green with bleach and giving his dark roots their own quick round of bleach. Then, the disaster with the blue dye starts. After that, the bathroom looks a bit worse for wear – indeed, it looks like a smurf crime scene and they keep joking about that. But Tim and Jon keep going, only having to take a break to fight off a giggle fit about two or three times.

 Even now, after so many years with them, Tim is amazed and happy to see and hear Jon laugh like that. He hadn’t known they were even capable of being so carefree, let alone silly, when they first met. For most people, it is still a rare treat to see, if they even get that honor at all. But after many years of being together and acquiring two more wonderful and lovely partners, things are different – and even better.

  They wouldn’t want to trade their family, this life together, for anything.

   After a round of bright purple hair dye and much of the same, they move on to pink, and by the time that last round is done, Tim is getting more than a little excited, but truth be told, so is Jon. They really hope that they did good on this dye job – they only ever helped Tim, and many years ago, Georgie and some of their friends at Uni, to dye their hair in one solid colour. This multicolour thing is new territory for them, and they hope it turned out well. At least they’d like to think it did, but what it comes down to really, is what Tim thinks of it – it’s his head, after all.

   As the towel falls from the mirror, Tim steps closer to take a look. Even under the unflattering bathroom light, his hair is shining bold and bright in the colours of the Bi Pride Flag. Pink, purple and blue in the longer hairs on top of his head, neatly sectioned off into thirds and dyed in hours of work. The smile on his face is bright and instant, but there is no trace of a joke in it. He looks really happy, and most of all, proud – as he should be.

 “It’s perfect!” he exclaims, turning his head a few times to look at himself at all angles, the genuinely happy smile still plastered all over his face as he pulls Jon into another hug.

 “Thank you, Love. I appreciate the help.”

 “Glad you like it, then.” They pull Tim down for a kiss, fingers brushing gently over the freshly buzzed sides of his head. It’s one of those feelings they’ll never get tired of. The soft, short stubble feels incredibly satisfying, and Tim just knows he’ll spend the next few days with Jon, Martin and Sasha constantly running their hands over it. Not that he minds – as if he’d ever turn down head scritches from anyone.

 Right now, just for a moment, the two of them remain standing in front of the bathroom mirror together. They are surrounded by and covered with various hair dye stains, despite best attempts to achieve the contrary. The bathroom needs a good cleaning session and both Tim and Jon are in desperate need of a change of clothes. But they look at themselves just for a moment, taking in how much they have changed over the years. It’s definitely for the better. Both of them are happy and comfortable with who they are, they have each other – and they have two wonderful people who they love dearly waiting downstairs to see the result of their hair shenanigans.

 Neither of them says any of this out loud – they don’t have to. But it is Jon who breaks the silence this time.

 “Let’s go show the others, we’ve been in here for hours.”

 “Oh they’re fine. 5 pounds say they’ll roll their eyes and just tell us –“

   “- All we heard was yelling, laughter and occasional singing, so we thought, you know, what else is new, they’ll be fine.” Sasha says without looking up from her phone. She’s nestled into Martins side, the both of them cuddled up on the couch with their phone and book, Crumpet dozing in the crook of Sasha’s knee while Gandalf has decided that a day with 26 degrees outside would be the perfect day to become a sentient scarf for Martin. The poor guy looks hot, but he doesn’t make a move to dislodge either the cat or Sasha.

 Really, it is too warm to cuddle, way too warm, but what can you do? The two of them are wearing shorts and matching Hawaii shirts and have an old but steadily blowing fan facing their direction on the couch. It helps a bit, but neither of them looks to be up for much. At least it’ll cool down a bit at night.

 “That about sums it up doesn’t it? Worth it though.” And with that, Tim rounds the corner, arms stretched out next to his head.

 “Tadaa!”

 A small cheer erupts from the couch, quickly followed by variations of

 “You look great!”

 Of course, Tim takes the opportunity to be dramatically fabulous and bows down in front of his audience and then makes a beeline for the couch where everyone else has now rearranged themselves.

 Being the catlike human that they are, Jon is immediately by Martin’s other side, leaning in as their hands find one another. Their hair is tickling his nose, but he is so used to it by now, he simply bends down a bit to press a soft kiss against the side of their head.   It’s only then that he realizes that Jon is drenched with water.

 Martin huffs a laugh.

 “Did you take a shower with your clothes or something?”

 “No, but Tim did.” they answer, a sly grin on their lips.

 “Jon means they fucking doused me. ‘By accident’ as I’ve been told as they laughed their arse off.” Tim corrects the statement, air quotes included, as he flops down on the couch on the other side. He wraps an arm around his partner, pulling them close for a moment, then his hold relaxes a bit and his fingertips travel over to Martin in search for more physical contact. He happily lets him, summer heat be damned.

 Tim continues with a shrug and a shit-eating grin of his own,

 “I just decided to share the joy, generous as I am.”

 The explanation is met with laughter from everyone, as well as an affectionate sigh of,

 “You two, I swear...”

 “In our defense, you knew bloody well what you were getting into with us.”

 Crumpet, annoyed by the human’s sudden loud behavior, gracefully gets up from her spot, stretches and then swaggers off, her head and tail held high. Gandalf, on the other hand, merely lifts his head from Martin’s  shoulder and only stares for a bit, as if to say “What on earth are you silly creatures up to now?!” but then goes back to sleep.

 Once again, it is too hot to cuddle, but that doesn’t stop any of them. At least, there is ice cream and the ancient fan that rattles for its life but still gets the job done.

 It’s the end of June, and that means it’s hot, way too hot to be bearable for your regular British person, or anyone really, who doesn’t enjoy boiling themselves in their own juice.

   End of June also means: its pride month and the London Pride Parade will take place very, very soon and that is a source of excitement for all four of them. Due to various circumstances in the past, this year is the first year that they can go to pride with the whole family together. That in itself is cause for celebration, really, but there are also the individual, personal milestones.

 For Martin, this is the first summer and thus, the first pride that he can experience post top-surgery. That in itself has him excited to no end, and as a result, he’s spent much more time in open chested shirts than ever before. His happiness alone would make him an utterly beautiful sight, but honestly, his partners would readily admit, very vocally, that they enjoy the view an awful lot.

 The first time he receives their plentiful heartfelt compliments, Martin blushes a bright scarlet red, but even more than that, there is euphoria and happiness. He might have cried a bit from being overwhelmed with too many feelings at once, but it had been a good day – a very good one.

   For Jon, it is going to be the first pride they’ll spend not hiding their gender - or lack thereof, depending on the day. For many, many years, even long after they figured it out for themselves and told a handful of loved ones – mostly those in their chosen family, really – they didn’t tell anyone. Mostly for work reasons, because it seemed safer and easier in everyday life.  It’s why they kept going by He/Him for their entire career in research, despite heavily preferring They/Them, but at that point, only Tim and Sasha knew.

 It really helped that they would avoid pronouns at work, and only call them by their name and refer to them as They when in private.

 Later then, they met Martin and got transferred into the Archives together. At this point, Jon felt comfortable enough to use their preferred pronouns at work, at least in their private circle.

 As of now, they stopped caring – they deal with so much bullshit, in general and from Elias, they simply stopped giving a fuck, and this is how they explain it. All things considered, it goes over relatively well, and thankfully, no one bats an eye when they arrive at the institute in skirts or with nail polish or anything else they feel like wearing that day.

   Early in the morning, with all doors and windows open in the house, so they can let in the fresh, cool morning breeze, Jon sits on the living room floor and in front of the couch. There are several bottles of nail polish scattered about in their lap, and Jon scowls with intense concentration as they slowly and meticulously paint each nail a different colour. Pink, purple and blue surrounded by two black nails on their right hand, which is still kind of drying, and yellow, white, purple and black on their left hand. They’re on their second coat by now, and as a result, their posture starts slouching again. Sasha gently pulls them back and closer to her.

 “Hey, stop moving away, I’m not done yet.”

 “Oh. Sorry, go on please.”

 Sasha adjusts her grip on Jon’s hair. There is a tablet open on the coffee table and Sasha skips back to an earlier part of the video tutorial that is currently playing, just to check if she got everything right.

 The thing is, Jon has a lot of hair as it is, but now, there are some bright purple clip-in extensions added to it. Paired with their natural black that keeps getting more and more grey over the time, it all creates a swirl of colours, dark and beautiful and very much resembling the Ace Pride flag. Originally, they would have gone for a simple, partially braided half updo but that was before Sasha had grabbed them by the bony shoulders, sat them down in front of her and said,

 “Don’t move, I want to try something.” – That had been about an hour ago, but just going along with it is a lot easier than arguing with Sasha, especially when she gets excited about something.

 Besides, being forced to sit still gives Jon the time they need to paint their nails properly without ruining them after 5 minutes because they couldn’t wait long enough for them to dry before they start doing something else. It also gives them the perfect opportunity to ramble on about the article they read the other day. This seems like a fair trade off: Getting a complicated hairstyle done that Sasha wants to practise, in exchange for an info-dumping monologue about tropical birds and their natural habitats.

 Their cats come and go, occasionally rubbing themselves against whichever human body part is currently closest, and there may or may not be a touch of cat hair in Jon’s manicure. Then again, there is always cat hair on them. All of them - it’s part of the wardrobe at this point. .

 After a while, Sasha cheerfully informs Jon,

 “And it’s done! Here’s a mirror, but you’ll see better when I take a photo from the back… Hold on…  And here we go.”

 Truth be told, Jon isn’t sure what they expected, but it certainly wasn’t a complicated arrangement of different kinds of tiny braids, falling down the back of their head in loops and little waterfalls, far down their back, surrounding what looks like little roses in the middle made of hair. There are four of them, and Sasha managed to sneak in more of those clip-in extensions, which leads to the flowers sticking out even more – each and every one of them is one solid colour. Black in the top, followed by grey, white and purple.

 “Oh, wow.” They carefully touch the back of their head – this is probably the most detailed hairstyle – or anything, really – they’ve ever worn.

 “Thanks, Sasha. This is really beautiful. I, I know I’ll feel bad whenever I have to take those out again” They pull her into a tight hug that she happily slips into and squeezes back just as much.

 “Thank      you     – I’ve always wanted to practice this, but it’s way too hard to do on my own head, my arms will fall off long before I’m done.”

 “…I’d offer help, but the result won’t be anywhere near as good or intricate as yours.”

 Still, Sasha smiles brightly.

 “Please do. Like I said, arms are falling off and all that.”

   So this is how their morning goes. By the end of it, Sasha’s long curls are in a half updo with fishtail braids and glittery hair clips in her pride colours. Black, grey, white and purple on one side of her head, two shades of green, white, grey and black on the other side. Together, they form a constellation of some sort on the back of her dark, shiny hair, and she seems to be thoroughly happy with it.

 In the meantime, both Tim and Martin  have managed to finish getting ready entirely. The two of them are currently sprawled out on the floor, right in front of their trusty old fan, now that it’s getting hotter again. They are holding drinks with ice cubes swimming in them.

 Martin and Tim patiently wait for Jon and Sasha to be done with their hair - those two have a truly impressive head full of it each - and they do so with their legs tangled into one another. Tim and Martin are currently discussing a video game that neither of the other two is interested in - something, zombies, something something. Thankfully, it’s still early enough in the day so no one needs to rush. Besides, it’s nice to just spend time with one another, in any way that presents itself.

 Meanwhile, Gandalf is living his best life. He is dozing on his back, nestled into Sasha’s lap while she happily provides pets and scritches for their giant spoiled feline wizard. Crumpet, on the other hand, has made herself comfortable on the back of Jon’s shoulders, completely unbothered by their constantly moving arms. By the time they’re finished braiding Sasha’s hair, the little black cat  still clings on, even by the time they make their way to get dressed for their day out.

 Jon knows it’ll be fruitless to try and dislodge Crumpet from her current place, but they still try it. Surprising absolutely no one, the little cat meows pitifully as if to say “No one in this house loves me anymore, oh how shall I live on?!”

 “I know, my little void, I know. Would you mind letting go of me for, like, 2 minutes?” Jon tries to soothe, but the next attempt to pluck Crumpet off of themselves results in her digging her claws into their T-shirt. Well -      technically     Tim’s T-shirt, but the tiny claws still end up in Jon’s shoulder since they’re currently wearing it.

 “Ow. Crumpet, please. I cannot and will not be going out in my pyjamas.”

 Crumpet meows again, more intently this time. Accusingly, almost. Jon sighs - they knew this was going to happen. While they gently, very gently pry off the cat claws from their person, they try to reason:

 “Yes, I love you, too. But you need to let go now, please. Thank you.” As they hold Crumpet up with both hands, to keep her from digging in her claws again, they blink slowly and return the gentle head bump, making sure the “I love you” will travel over in cat-language. Then, Crumpet is set down and immediately jumps into the open closet. Oh well.

 Jon starts rummaging through the shelves, looking for a specific top. It must be in there, somewhere, but in an array of… very mismatched clothes, it’s not that easy to find.

 To be fair, their part of the closet very much looks like the laundry baskets of several retirement home residents and a punk rock band got put into a blender and the result is what they wear on a daily basis. Although their work attire leans more toward cardigans and grandmother skirts than fishnets most days. Sometimes, just sometimes they’re tempted to try, just to see if they would get away with it.

 On their search for the purple fishnet top, they come across a swooshy, purple skirt they haven’t seen in a long time. They acknowledge their find with a surprised but happy noise. Quickly, Jon puts it aside on the bed and as well as the shirt that falls out with it. Upon closer inspection, they realize it is a shirt that they got for their first ever pride - it’s a simple black cotton shirt with a rainbow print, slightly too big for Jon and cut off in some places to make it look more interesting. It’s survived with them since uni, and they’re pretty sure it will always have a place in their closet, even when it falls apart completely one day.

 There are a lot of memories tied to it, a lot of stages to their self discovery. Naturally, it’s what they choose to wear for the big day.

 When the four of them step out of their house, they all but leave a colourful trail down the street on their way to the train station. Behind them, over their front door and tied to the rails of a small balcony, a rainbow flag is blowing in the wind. It is big enough to stretch across it the entire way, something every single person in this household is very happy about.

 They are chatting away and laughing, holding hands with one another for the entire way. Some people on the street shoot them odd looks - this isn’t central London, and here they stand out a lot more than they would there. But trying to find a house, let alone a flat there that is big enough for all of them, has been… Difficult. Especially since finding a place that would have a bedroom big enough for their double queen sized DIY-we-are-all-clingy-and-can’t-sleep-apart-bed while still allowing them to walk through the room has been hard. Harder even close to the city, which is why they decided to move here in the outskirts.

 Living there means a longer commute to the city and the institute, but it is a small price to pay for their collective happiness.

 On the train itself, there are a few more people and smaller groups, decked out with rainbows or their own specific pride flags. The closer they get to the city, the more people who are clearly coming to London for Pride Celebrations enter the carriage, and soon, everywhere is full of happy and excited people.

 By the time they step out into the streets together, there are people everywhere. Most, if not all of them are proudly wearing their colours and as do Jon, Tim, Martin and Sasha.

 Martin is happy and comfortable in his skin. Just like planned, he is wearing a white button up shirt with a light blue- and pink floral pattern, only closed halfway up. There are several bracelets on his wrists, one in matching pink, white and blue, one with bright pink, yellow and turquoise blue and one rainbow. Both of his arms are occupied though, with one arm wrapped around Jon and the other around Tim, whose other hand is occupied holding Sasha’s.

 She chose comfort over most things, settling for Jeans shorts and another older pride shirt. Additionally, she is wearing a split Aromantic/Asexual flag wrapped around her waist like a half-skirt - and her hair, of course. The clips are sparkling in the sun, instantly noticeable in her dark hair.

 Next to her, Tim is literally a walking Bi Pride Flag. His new hair colour is bright and bold as anything, shining in the sun, and then there is his shirt that stands out bold in the same shades of pink, purple and blue. Even if it wasn’t for his bright smile and loud laugh, he would be shining bright.

 On Martin’s other side, happy to be able to have one arm free to gesture around with while they’re talking, Jon is looking just as fabulous. Their skirt is dark purple, and the thick soles and front of a beaten up pair of Docs are only just visible under it. They successfully found the shirts they were looking for earlier, and they are wearing a belt made out of multiple small pride flags. There are four different ones - the rainbow, pink, purple and blue, followed by black, grey, white and purple followed by yellow, white, purple and black.

 Of course, there is the hair - it got them, and in addition, Sasha, many many compliments back home, where all of them admired each other shortly before leaving.

 “What can you do, all of us have great hair!” Sasha had said, and is 100% correct. While her own and Jon's hair is long, thick and structured, Tim always rocks some sort of fashion colours in the fluffy tuft of hair. Martin has just as thick, defined reddish brown curls that fall into his face sometimes, and a well-kept and well-cultivated beard to match it.

 There is a little bit of glitter stuck to them - all of them, actually, because no one remembered to stop Tim from getting into the loose glitter. Hence, all of them are wearing glitter now.

 That stuff travels, especially if one keeps hugging or kissing the culprit who brought the sparkly plague along in the first place. And it’s not like any of them keeps their hands off of each other for long. So, it spreads… It doesn’t take long at all until the tiny, sparkling specks find their way to everyone else.

 There is no doubt that they will carry the remains of it into the office next Monday, whether they want to or not. But right now, they couldn’t care less. They are here to enjoy the day, enjoy themselves and be proud to show their colours.

 For once, they fit right in.

[rose-blooms-red]

oooooooooh, re. prompts-- perhaps something with bly & aayla & ryloth?? or maybe something with tim & cass & dick that's centered around the manor in some way?? ❤︎

sorry it took so long!! Hope you enjoy!!

(Read on Ao3)

The heat is not yet unbearable, but Bly is still glad that they managed to get to shelter deep below the planet's surface before the worst of the heat storm began.

 It’s just him and Aayla, they’d gotten separated from the rest of the 327th in the rush to get to cover before the heat storm hit.

 It’s just her; blinking up at him, beautiful and oh so kind and him; weak and half in love with her.

 He breathes steadily, doesn’t think about it, doesn’t give in to that temptation. Knows it will go awfully wrong for one or both of them if he does. Refuses to let that happen.

 He drops the supply bag, does a perimeter check and scans for any danger, finds none other than the heat above them.

 Aayla shuts her eyes and breathes, opens them and smiles, says at the same time as him, “Clear.”

 He huffs and she laughs, bright and beautiful.

 Bly looks away from her, “We should get set up for bunking down, we’ll be here for a while.”

 Aayla nods, “Yes, these things can last a while if they choose to.”

 He looks up, watches her as she tilts her head, hums and walks steadily around the cave, “In the case we are here for a while, we’ll need to entertain ourselves I suppose.”

 Bly nods, “Yes, though I’m afraid you’ve already heard most of my stories worth telling, Sir.”

 That’s not quite the truth, but it’s not quite a lie either. He’s told her the fun and funny stories, the others, with pain and suffering and nothing good for miles, those aren’t worth telling, not when it will break her heart. Maybe one day, but, not now.

 He is not ready for that.

She huffs out a quiet laugh, “As you say, Bly, though I’m afraid I am quite low on stories that aren’t simply the stumblings of a youngling as well.” She jokes, stops in front of a section of the wall. And Bly withholds his curiosity as best he can.

 He’d be fine with whatever she gave him really.

 “You know I’ve never been as into literature or all the poets as my Master and Grandmaster, yes?” Aalya asks softly as she traces a seemingly random, not meaningless, never meaningless, pattern on the wall.

 He does, he knows that she would rather spar than read books on etiquette, knows she prefers katas to meditation, that she meditates anyways because she loves the feeling of peace she gets from it. Knows that when she has to do paperwork her nose will wrinkle just the slightest.

 He knows a lot of things about her. Because he is her commander and her right hand, yes. But also because he finds that sometimes he can’t take his eyes off of her.

 He can’t say any of that, doesn’t know how to put that into words, nods instead and swallows against the knot in his throat.

 She smiles softly at him, that kind, gentle, smile with even kinder eyes. Warm with something that Bly hopes—just to himself, in the privacy of his head—is love, thinks could maybe be love, if things were different. If she were not a peacekeeper turned general, in a war she didn’t want, fighting for people who call her and her people awful things. If he were not a weapon trained from birth, one of millions and inadequate in hundreds of different ways, replaceable and meaningless.

 Aayla presses her hand gently against the wall, closes her eyes and is silent for a breath, before laughing, the sound of it filled Bly’s ears and made it a little hard to breathe past how much he adored it, adored her.

 She looks up at him with a grin, eyes soft and smile carefree despite the fact they are stuck in this cave until the heat storm dies down.

 “Come here,” she beckons him, and he listens without a second thought.

 She hums and does something with her hands and Bly is startled when there is suddenly a plant sprouting out from the wall in front of him.

 She laughs, twines her fingers around the plant and coaxes it gently to bloom. Bly breathes and it feels like he is about to overflow with the love in his chest, growing every second as she stands there. Gorgeous even after the panicked rush underground, with dust smeared on her arms. The vibrant red of the plant stands out starkly against her skin, as it twines around her like she is the warmth it needs, the nutrients giving it life.

 He thinks he can understand that feeling, knows it deep in his bones everytime Aayla smiles or laughs, everytime she shows just how much she cares about the men under her command.

 She sighs, “It’s been growing in that little space there, this species doesn’t need the sun, just warmth and some humidity and nutrients. It’s quite happy to have all this new room to grow now.”

 Bly smiles, fingers twitching at his sides, doesn’t know if he wants to reach out and touch the plant and it’s leaves and blossoms, or her. He clenches his hands into fists, stops himself before he does something regrettable.

 “Gorgeous,” he says, and means her and the plant both, hopes she doesn’t know that, can’t read it off of him.

 She smiles at him, a glimmer of something in her eyes, “Yes.”

 She hums, strokes a few of the leaves and blossoms gently, “What I was saying before, Bly, was that I do not often read literature, nor find myself entranced by poetry.”

 Bly nods, chest tight and breathing steady. His mouth is dry, maybe from the heat, maybe not, he closes his eyes and exhales, opens them to Aayla watching him. Her eyes are soft and searching and they tear into him, leave him feeling stripped bare and vulnerable.

 Her voice is soft as she speaks, tone nonchalant as she fiddles with the supply bags, “Despite that all, there has always been some that stuck with me.” She glances up at him again, a wry grin on her face.

 “It comes with having both Master and Grandmaster attempt to find something to convince you to appreciate the art of words.” She jokes, before looking back down.

 Bly wants to go to her, hold her hands in his, press his forehead to hers and exist in that moment until the heat storm passes and they can go out and reunite with the rest of their men.

 Wants, desperately in that moment, to have just this before having to go back to what is right and acceptable.

 He doesn’t, folds his hands together and grips them, keeps his back straight and his too weak shields up as high as he can.

 (He’s always been too greedy.)

 He chuckles instead, quiet, says softly, “I imagine something had to stick eventually, Sir.”

 She nods, laughs, and Bly feels that happiness in his bones.

 “Indeed it did,” she agrees, taps her fingers against her arms, “I mention this because there was a set of lines, from the ending of a particular story, that always seemed to catch my eye.”

 Bly tilts his head, “Sir?”

 Aayla smiles, self-reproaching, “I have always been a little too much of a romantic it seems.” She says, and Bly can’t breathe past the hope in his chest.

 “Sir?” He asks again, and it is maybe the voice of a desperate man.

 She takes a step towards him, reaches her hands out to his, flicks her eyes up to his in question.

 He has never been so thankful for his bucket, and also never hated it more.

 He nods, a jerk of his head, and she slips her hands into his, squeezes them gently.

 “Where you reach to the Force to hold and keep,” she begins, voice falling into an even cadence, “Tempered and tamed, A being and a lover, Entombed, Then the suffocation of the Dark will be a slow descent into madness.”

 Bly exhales, and it is a struggle, Aayla squeezes his hands, runs her thumb over the back of them soothingly.

 “Where you reach to the Force gently and let it sing,” she continues, voice soft, “it will glow and blossom, encourage the being and the lover to thrive, and the joy of Light will be breathtaking.”

 Bly swallows past the tightness of his throat, “General I—”

 He cuts himself off, doesn’t know what he’s trying to say and can’t find any words to string together right.

 She hums, doesn’t look up at Bly as she explains, “It’s meant to be a cautionary tale, of the dangers of possessive love.”

 Bly tilts his head, and Aayla hums again, “It’s based off of a story about a Force-sensitive who fell so deeply into love with someone, with the idea of having and keeping them forever, until the love was more important than the being they loved, that they twisted themselves into something Dark.”

 Bly breathes, steadies himself, “What happened next, in the story?”

 Aalya smiles, “That is the happier part of it, it tells of how another Force-sensitive fell so in love with someone and still saw them for who they were, loved them and not the idea of them. Loved them enough to respect them and to let them make their own decisions, let the two of them each do the duties they needed to.”

 Bly shakes, squeezes at Aayla’s hands, feels too warm and lightheaded. He worries for a second, that maybe they didn’t head deep enough for cover but—

 Aayla looks fine, it’s just him.

 He doesn’t look at her as he steps back, clears his throat, “Sorry, Sir, I’d love to hear the rest of it, just getting overheated.”

 She steps forward, “I could help, if you don’t mind.”

 Bly’s chest is full and overflowing with love, he is shaking with it and she is kind and everything he should never be able to have, never deserve to have.

 He nods, and she steps forward, kneels down and starts with the greave on his left leg, sets the plating down gently, almost reverently when she finishes, and switches to the next leg.

 She is gorgeous and Bly is warm and shaking in a way that has nothing to do with the heat, the soft feeling leaving an aching in his chest.

 She starts to explain the story again, as she moves up to the knee platings, “The second Force-Sensitive, with their gentle, growing love, was so bright that it hurt to look at them sometimes. But they were kind and they were wonderful.”

 The knee plates join the slowly building pile and his fingers twitch at his sides, to stop her, or to help her, or to reach out and cradle her head in his hands he doesn’t know.

 He feels vulnerable like this, trusts her with it in a way that terrifies him.

 “A lesson story?” He asks her, and his voice is hoarse.

 She hums, sets his cuisee’s next to the rest, let’s him detach the codpiece as she unclips his utility belt and starts on his breastplate and plackart.

 “Yes,” she says, her hands gentle, the movements soothing and bleeding safety into Bly’s mind, “It’s a story to teach anyone the difference between loving someone so much it destroys you, and loving someone in a way that brings you both up.”

 She sighs, “It’s an old one though, and doesn’t get read as often as it maybe should, but Master Quinlan gave it to me and asked me to give it a try and I did, ended up loving it.”

 Bly smiles, “I’m glad that you did, Sir.”

 Aayla laughs, “Yes, so am I Bly.”

 He swallows, as she settles her hands on his shoulder, takes the spaulders off both his shoulders and then pauses, grips lightly there and she hesitates for a second, before she smiles again. Moves on to the rerebraces.

 “There’s a poem that I always loved,” she says softly, like it’s a confession, “Master Kenobi actually showed me it. Master Quinlan would’ve been intolerable for weeks if he found out about that.”

 Bly chuckles and she grins as she looks up, says with laughter in her voice, “It’s true."

 She shakes her head as she sets the elbow plating down. "I think it’s something to do with the fact they’ve known each other so well and for so long," she says, "the friendly rivalry there is strong.”

 She unclasps his left vambrace, and it’s so very hard to keep he’s shields up like this, stripped of armour and in her gentle hands.

 He clears his throat, closes his eyes, “What was the poem?” he asks, feels the barely there stutter of her fingers over his other vambrace.

 “It’s by a Naboo poet, and it’s,” she pauses, sets the vambrace down and purses her lips as she thinks, “well I did admit that I was a bit of a romantic” she smiles sheepishly, “it’s about love as well, though it’s about gentle, selfless, love, and how thankful the poet is to have their lover.”

 He doesn’t look at her, unlatches his gauntlets himself and sets them down, reaches up for his helmet and is startled when he feels hands grasp his.

 Aayla holds his hands in hers, and there is something so very soft and warm in her eyes.

 “There’s a nebula somewhere that birthed a star, and let you find your way to me.” She says, her voice gentle, and slipping into a cadence that is soothing and leaves Bly feeling raw and far too seen.

 She squeezes his hands, raises them to her mouth, presses a gentle kiss there and Bly can’t breathe past the longing in his throat.

 Her voice is soft, but to Bly it echos like a thunder clap, “And when I watch you laugh I am reminded of how much I owe it.”

 She raises their entwined hands to his bucket as she speaks, and Bly can feel his heart pounding out of his chest, “How do you thank the atoms in the air? The elements?”

 “How do you thank something that keeps the universe spinning,” she asks, as she lifts his bucket gently, reverently, “for giving you someone so infinitely precious?”

 She holds his bucket in her hand, and Bly watches as it slowly drifts over to join the rest of his armour.

 She brings a hand up to his face, brushes gently fingers along the streaks of gold splashed across his cheeks, says with something awed in her voice, “I think this must be how it feels, to touch the Force.”

 Bly shudders out a breath, leans his head forward, slips into keldabe as if it’s natural, and she presses up into it without hesitation.

 “Not bold,” she says, voice a whisper now, “not brash, not possessing.”

 Bly gives in to temptation, lifts his hands and holds the nape of her neck gently, brings his other up to press against her cheek, runs his thumb under her eye and closes his eyes.

 She breathes, wraps her arms around his neck.

 “Careful,” she continues, “quiet, holding in your hands the breath of the universe,”

 She presses into a kiss and Bly kisses her back gently, and as if it will be the only one he ever gets.

 She pulls away, and he opens his eyes, meet’s her gaze and the love-adoration-warmth there as she finishes the poem softly, “and wanting nothing more than to see it glow.”

 He holds her close and laughs softly, under his breath, “I think it’s a good one.”

 She laughs and kisses him again and he has never been more thankful for a planet and it’s ridiculous whether in his life.

[jasonrae117]

Night at the Wayne Casino

PART 6

Here we are, Part 6! Sorry this doesn't have much in the damirae department, but there will be more! I also wanted to see if anyone would be interested in a sort of behind the scenes chapter of the more mature stuff (what happened in Damian's suite) etc. that happens throughout. I'd post it on my ao3 account for those that want to read something ~saucy~ like that. Let me know! 💙💜💚

Damian had dressed himself and wanted to drown himself in his work. His mind was pulled in every direction and he was utterly conflicted. He had stared blankly out the window for an hour trying to process everything that had happened since the party and where it had all gone so wrong. Of course he knew it was his fault that his plan backfired. He had slipped and slept with the demon he was trying to expose. 

It was strange, he felt less motivated to bring her down, and the thoughts that occupied his mind when he recalled their… encounter, were about how badly he wanted to fix things, not about figuring out her next move as it should have been. 

He had forgone his morning workout, seeing as though he and Raven took care of that some hours before and he had slept in late. He figured he may as well head in early to work because he desperately wanted the distraction.

He was almost in the clear to the security office when a large figure accompanied by a smiling face intercepted him.

“Jon, now is not the time.” Damian tried to brush past him, but Jon was quick and kept his pace and swung an arm around his shoulders. 

“There’s always time for your best friend, especially when you need to tell him all the details from last night.” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and Damian scoffed at him. 

“Grow up Kent. I don’t have to tell you anything. It wasn’t official business, therefore I have no need to brief you on what happened. Not that anything did.” He was quick to throw in the last part to avoid any misunderstandings of his words. 

“Aw, c’mon Dami, this isn’t work. I wanna know as one of the guys, as your best friend. That’s got to give me some clearance to what’s going on in there.” Jon used the arm around his shoulders to pull him down and ruffle his hair. 

Damian grunted and forced himself out of Jon’s grip. He straightened his collar and ran a hand through his now unkempt hair. “Being an asshole won’t get you anything. Besides there’s nothing to tell. I observed her and besides countless men hitting on her, there unfortunately wasn’t anything suspicious. Now would you leave me alone.”

“And how exactly would you know that I’m lying?” Damian had stopped his movements and his voice was low. almost threateningly so. 

“Damian,” he whined. “You can trust me. I know when you’re lying… well sorta, but the point is I know you’re not telling the truth.” He crossed his arm over his chest and looked down at him. 

A nervous laughter escaped Jon and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well...you see I kinda sorta was monitoring people coming and going from the elevator on that floor. It was a slow night and Dick had everything under control.”

“What exactly do you think you saw?”

“I saw you show up and a few hours later I spotted Raven. Then I saw you both enter the elevator together and uh...get close. Then you both left pretty excitedly, and well...one can only assume.” He trailed off.

“Well your assumption is incorrect.” Damian growled out. Internally Damian was panicking, he didn’t want to lie to Jon, but it was his only chance to get out of this mess unscathed.

“Damian,” Jon almost sounded disappointed, “I tried to give you the chance to tell me on your own but you’ve given me no choice.”

“What are you-”

“Raven told me everything. Well everything from her perspective. And I gotta admit bud, you don’t look too good.” Jon shrugged dismissively and began to walk away. Damian, however, was stunned. She had gone to his best friend to get her story in first so it would be harder to prove ill intentions, that sneaky witch. 

“Whatever she said is probably a lie. Some fantastical story she made up to make me look bad.”

“As much as I want to believe you, and truly I do...I can’t help but feel that her story sounded fairly accurate. Given how well I know you.”

“What the hell does that mean? Tell me what she told you!” 

“I have no obligation to brief you on what she said, best friend or not.” Great Jon was being cheeky. What the hell was with people finding a way to use his own words against him?

“Jon, you tell me now or so help me.” Damian snatched his by the front of his shirt, not caring that it would leave it a wrinkly mess. 

“Fine, fine, relax. We’ll talk in the security office.” Jon frowned at his wrinkled shirt but reluctantly followed Damian to their shared office.

This one was slightly different from the room Tim used. It had two desks each with a state of the art computer that also had access to the security camera feed. Behind each desk were large cabinets of files from all cases they’ve had throughout the years. Tim’s had more of the recent and ongoing hardcopies, but they were shared electronically, this office was more of an archive section. It also doubled as a semi-interrogation room. 

Damian took his seat behind the desk and folded his hands together as if preparing to listen to a business report. Jon on the other hand was pacing until he settled for leaning against his own desk. Damian looked at him expectantly and stayed silent waiting for Jon to begin.

“So..uh, Raven said that she showed up to the party late because she was trying to get ready but was interrupted by her boss. When she got there, all sorts of guys were approaching her which was starting to get on her nerves until you popped up.” Damian leaned forward gaining interest. “She was surprised to see you there and not on duty. She mentioned that you were handsome and charming by the way.” A heat rose to his ears. “Then she said after a drink and some flirting you invited her back to your suite. She was pretty excited when she was telling me this. She told me that she thought you were hot when she ran into you that first night...so uh there’s that. Now where was I?”

“Raven was excited that I invited her to my suite.” Saying it outloud made it too real and his blush deepened as he cleared his throat. He held a hand up gesturing for Jon to continue. 

“Get on with it Kent.” This was absolutely humiliating, having their night together thrown back in his face by his friend. 

“Oh right, well then she said you made the first move, kissing her and adamantly trying to remove her clothes. Apparently you ripped her dress?” Damian glanced away and tugged at his collar. He remembered being so impatient with the material, he wasn’t sure how to properly take it off, he just knew it needed to come off. “So that’s a yes. Anyway, then after hours of screwing her, of which I must commend you, she said you were quite formidable and were very attentive, you both were tuckered out and fell asleep. She said she asked if you wanted her to go, but you ignored her and cuddled...Who knew Damian Wayne cuddled?”

“Geez alright. Well then she gets up in the morning to take a shower and clean up and when she comes out you are right outside the door completely shocked. At first she thought you had been drunk and forgot what had happened but it turns out that you were aware and had completely dismissed what had happened between you two.”

“I wouldn’t say I dismissed it-”

“You said it was a misstep.”

“I-”

“Did you not?”

“I mean I did, but I was being honest!” Damian rose to his feet.

“You weren’t being honest, you were being an asshole. Then you get mad at her for using your computer! Like what the actual hell?”

“She wasn’t supposed to use it, and now she had access to the security footage and who knows what she did with that access.” His eyes went wide as he took in Jon’s face. Jon’s eyebrows were furrowed and his head tilted while he was processing what Damian had just revealed. I guess she didn’t tell him why I was pissed that she used my computer. He had just told Jon on his own. 

“Why do you have the feed transmitting to your personal computer?” Jon pushed off against the desk and was now standing, only a desk separating the two.

“I like to know what’s going on around the casino.” He shrugged.

“Damian, this is serious. That is totally not acceptable. It certainly isn’t protocol, and it breaks at least a dozen policies. Do you think I can’t do my job well enough without you?”

“Jon, it isn't about that. I just like doing my job. My computer software is encrypted so nobody can access it or see it unless I want them to.”

“Nobody except Raven.”

“That was an accident. I didn’t lock the program. It won’t happen again.”

“Damian, it shouldn’t have happened at all! You’re supposed to be the leader. You sure as hell have given the rest of us enough lectures about what’s acceptable and what’s not. And then you have been doing this the whole time? Do I even want to know what other shit you might be doing off the clock?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“You need help Damian, that or a stable relationship.”

“Would you stop!”

“You need to make this right.”

“I can’t get rid of the software Jon. You’ll never know how helpful it has been in keeping this casino safe.”

“Yeah, but it’s not right. Think about if it got out! Huh? We could be in so much trouble and in lawsuits up to our eyeballs.”

Damian hadn’t thought too much on the matter, he always assumed he would never be caught. The failures kept piling on. 

“And that’s not the only thing I’m talking about fixing.” Jon sighed. Damian just shot him a quizzical look. “I’m talking about Raven. It’s clear you’re attracted to her and she is to you. You’re letting your stupid overanalytical brain mess up something potentially good for you.”

“She’s not ‘good’ for me, I hardly know her.”

“You seem to have gotten to know her fairly well last night.” Damian glared at him. “In any case, you can’t leave it like this. You were wrong about her and treated her like an ass. You need to apologize.”

“She’ll be gone in two days, what do I care how she feels about me or if she’s upset? This is her first time and probably last time in Vegas. I’ll never see her again.” The prospect of that statement made something inside twinge strangely. 

“You could try to see her again. You know, long distance relationships. Who knows she may live somewhere close.”

“She lives in Seattle.” Jon looked at him surprised. “What? She was a suspect and I needed more background on her.”

“Hmm...funny, you said she was a suspect. Are you finally relinquishing that crazy theory?” He now smiled broadly, seeing that Damian was finally coming around. 

“I suppose she has shown no more clear signs of being a threat.”

“Great! So will you go apologize to her now?” The peppy and energetic Jon had returned much to his dismay.

“I’m not using company time for personal matters.” He spoke flatly.

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing that you’re not on the clock for another hour and a half. Now go, before I force you, and that will just be more embarrassing for you.”

“Please Kent, you can’t force me to do anything. But I suppose that I can’t leave an unhappy guest if it’s my doing.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever gets you to do it.”

Damian dragged his hand over his face and groaned. He hated apologizing, he hadn’t had much experience since he rarely found times that he was wrong and the situation actually called for it. He moved to the door to begin his quest.

“Oh, and we’ll have a discussion about the use of company software on personal devices later.” Jon had called after him. 

The door shut behind his and his shoulder slumped. He could feel a headache coming on. Well, I better get this over with so I can get on with my life and get to work. He guessed that she would still be in her room avoiding the risk of running into him so soon after their fight. He stopped by the cafe and picked up an order of tea and a chocolate croissant as a peace offering and then made his way to her room. 

Suddenly he was right in front of her door and he realized that he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say. His throat felt dry and he seemed to be too warm. This is a bad idea, she doesn't want to see me. She probably doesn't even care. What if she isn’t even in her room? He paced outside for a few minutes before he heard a muffled voice coming from the inside of her room. He felt only slightly creepy as he pressed his ear to the door to listen to what was being said. It was definitely her voice and an indistinct voice on the phone.

“Yes, I’ve gotten quite a bit of research done, but it’s not quite going the way I wanted.” The other person sounded irritated by the inflection of the muffled sounds. “The participants gave me some information, but none of it is really useful for us. Perhaps we should look elsewhere….I don’t know maybe another casino? Look, it’s your job to find someplace we can actually work with. It’s my job to survey and collect data and tell you if it's worth the investment or not.” The voice grew louder and he heard a loud exhale from the woman. “I’m telling you that I don’t see a good outcome of working at this casino, and that’s my professional opinion. Have I ever let you down?” She was clearly agitated. “Great, I’ll be coming home Tuesday and I’ll wrap up my report by the weekend.”

The creak of the bed signaled that she was done with the conversation and had sat on the bed most likely out of annoyance and irritation. Was it really the best time now? Now or never he supposed. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A moment passed before the door finally swung open revealing a tired looking Raven. Her hair was thrown up into a messy bun and there was a small smudge of mascara under her eyes. Most intriguing to him, however, was the navy silk robe she was wearing. You’re not here for that. She cocked her hip and raised her eyebrow in question.

“Damian.” She said curtly.

“Miss Roth. I came to..uh..apologize.” He held out the now barely warm tea and croissant. Her face lit up with surprise taking the items into her own hands. She still eyed him skeptically, but took a step back gesturing with her hand that held the croissant for him to enter.

“Sorry for the mess, I’m between packing up for my return trip and figuring out what to wear tonight.”

“I’m sorry for my intrusion to your plans, maybe I should come back-”

“No.” She commanded. “You came here for a reason, and so you should see that through. I’m intrigued.” She took a sip of the tea and scrunched her nose a bit before hastily putting it down onto the nightstand. She proceeded to sit on the bed criss crossing her legs, allowing the robe to split open revealing lacy underwear. Damian quickly averted his eyes to her smirking face and his throat suddenly felt tight and his face felt hot.

He cleared his throat and began pacing, keeping his attention away from her alluring body.

"The way I proceeded with our engagement earlier was unjustified and I regret that I upset you. As a guest of our resort, it is my priority to make sure you are happy and content with your stay here." He chanced a glance at her face and was surprised to see it held astonishment and something close to disgust.

"You've got to be fucking joking." Damian blinked dumbly at her not understanding. "You're not...wow. Ok, try doing this," she spun her finger around indicating his speech, "again, but this time be a fucking man and talk to me like Damian. Not the head of security or son of the CEO. Otherwise get the fuck out." 

Her face turned red with fury and she stood. Her arm shot out pointing to the door. "Get the fuck out now!"

Damian swallowed, he hated this. He hated that Jon convinced him to do this. "Fine, I'm sorry that I fucked you." The words had left his mouth in a rush and he even shocked himself at how it came out. He spun to her hoping he didn't just royaly fuck up this apology. Jon is going to kill me.

"Wait no. Raven, listen."

"You're not listening. I said get out, or do I have to call your friend to get you out. How dare you come here and say that to me."

"Would you stop. That's not how I meant it. I don't regret doing it, I regret how it came about."

She looked bewildered. "What do you mean how it came about?"

Shit, this is why he meant to come prepared. Well no use in hiding it now. "I wished it had happened naturally, like you and Tim." The words were bitter in his mouth and she licked her lips looking off to the side. "I...I was following a lead that you were a suspect in conning our casino." 

Raven's head snapped to look at him, mouth open slightly. She shook her head and rubbed at her temples. "You're telling me that all of our encounters haven't been accidental and you've been stalking me because you think I was going to pull a fast one over your casino?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Who was in on this?"

"Tim actually logged it first when you had been winning probably more times than usual. But he quickly dismissed you, particularly when he found out you were single. The others in security knew about you because they were doing their jobs, but they didn't believe it to be true. And the girls at the spa knew after when I discussed it with them. Admittedly I was the last one unconvinced." He cast his stare at the floor finally feeling guilty at his stubbornness. Saying it out loud, he could hear how foolish he had been. 

She released a humorless laugh. "Wow. I...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I am sorry for how I behaved. I see the errors of my ways. I convinced myself you were still a suspect so that I had an excuse to learn more about you and get closer to you."

"If I wasn't so pissed off right now I'd say that's kinda romantic in a stalkerish kind of way." A ghost of a smile graced her lips. 

"I know you're scheduled to leave Tuesday, but would you consider accepting a free four night stay? We'd even reimburse your plane ticket. Though we may have to upgrade your room if there's a reservation on it."

"Excuse me?"

"We'll the girls want you to join them for their plans on Friday. And it's the least we can to make up for the time you wasted being bothered by all of us. Namely me." He didn't know what made him offer her these things. He had never done such a thing for any other guest and it was actually a rather expensive apology. 

Raven pursed her lips trying to weigh her options. "I suppose it would be foolish not to accept. But is your father alright with comping this?"

"I rarely care what my father is alright with. I'll see to it myself that it is all taken care of." He shuffled around a bit before nodding in her direction and making his way toward the door. 

"Damian wait!" He stopped and watched her jog a few steps, closing their distance. 

She fiddled with her hands as if trying to decide whether to use them or not. Damian quirked an eyebrow at this and just watched with anticipation. "I accept your apology." Her eyes were still on the floor.

"Thank you, I suppose I should leave you alone now." Raven's hands on his chest halted his exit.

He looked down into her mesmerizing indigo eyes and saw how they gleamed with mischief. She bit her lower lip and turned her gaze to her hands running smoothly over the plane of his chest sending a trickle of electricity through his body.

"What if I don't want you to leave me alone? I can think of another way you can make sure I hear your apology." Her eyes looked up at him through her dark lashes with a coy smile on her lips.

Damian smirked in response and pulled her in, relishing the way her body feels against his. He leaned in keeping a fraction of space between their lips. He could feel her chest rise and fall with heavy and excited breaths.

"Where do I begin?"

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Loved By You | Damian Wayne • Tim Drake

Pairing: Older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader, Tim Drake x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Request: Tim and Damian were in love with the reader, they were rivals. The reader who didn't know about this rivalry started dating Tim while seeing Damian as a friend. Damian kisses the reader who thought it was Tim, Tim discovers this and feels a certain fetish about it, and Damian and Tim make a deal where they keep switching places. When the reader finds out and gets angry, the two boys want her to choose one of them.

Warnings: love triangle, mentions of cheating, kissing, light angst, fluff.

A/N: the ending was also requested.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Tim’s kisses lately felt different from the other. He’d be more passionate on some occasions, usually at night when he came back from patrol. You liked to feel the difference, it made some shows of affection more special.

Like that night you stayed at Wayne Manor, waiting for him to come back safe. He had hugged you so tightly, his scent so strong due to his very recent shower that it lingered on your pajama — his kiss had been heavy, the most passionate he had given you. And since then, he kept it up.

You had asked what was going on with him, worried that there was something he hadn’t told you. He assured you everything was more than fine, hugging you from behind as you laid in bed. He had never been one for being the big spoon every single night but you weren’t complaining.

Scanning the room as you walked beside Tim with your arm intertwined with his, you smiled at Damian from afar when your eyes landed on his green ones. He nodded cordially, in the same fashion he did while in public. You would’ve taken issue with the cold gesture if you didn’t know him so well. Your boyfriend sighed, but before you could ask what was wrong someone came to introduce themselves.

Galas bored you, the family you were so attached to had to act in ways you weren’t used to seeing them. You didn’t like it, it almost saddened you how much they had to fake and repress for the sake of the city — and the world to an extent.

You got so distracted by Dick’s dance moves that you didn’t feel Tim slipping his arm off yours. You reacted when Alfred hurried down the main hallway, away from the reception and turned left on the second door.

Following Alfred’s steps, the yelling from behind the door caught your attention. Well, the voices. You closed the door behind you. Damian and Tim were yelling on each other’s faces, Damian’s startling sharp gaze filled with anger.

You seemed to be the only shocked person, Alfred was trying to interfere with so much calmness, as if he had done it thousands of times, that you grew worried. Had your boyfriend and best friend been fighting on a regular basis?

Both turned to look at you apologetically. You stared at Tim, then at Damian. “What is the matter with you two?”

Tim stuttered, “nothing, it was nothing.”

Damian scoffed, tutting in that way he did when exasperated. Seeing you focus on him, he dropped his arms to his sides. “There’s something you need to be aware of.”

Tim stiffened, his head snapping to glare at his younger brother. “Damian,” he warned.

“Tell me,” you demanded to know what they were talking about.

Damian stared at Tim, waiting for him to speak first. Tim, knowing he was the one responsible for all of this swallowed harshly. Alfred seemed to realize he wasn’t wanted and scurried out of the room and back into the reception.

“A month ago,” your best friend started explaining when Tim didn’t speak quickly enough, “no. A month and a week with two days, almost three, ago—“ Tim groaned, but Damian didn’t give him the word, “I kissed you. You thought I was Drake, and I didn’t say anything to deny nor confirm.” A sound in the back of your throat came out before you could even open your mouth to reproach him. Damian used it to his advantage to continue explaining, “he found out and let me know he was more than fine with it.”

Your head whirled in your boyfriend’s direction who nodded, “it was hot, I liked seeing you kiss someone else.”

“And why didn’t you tell me then?! What part of it was so fucking hard to articulate?” Tim lowered his eyes to the floor, prompting you to glare at Damian. Your best friend didn’t shy away from your eyes. “And you?”

Damian did answer. “You would’ve chosen him again, why bother?”

“Because I deserved to know. You said it so earlier, for goodness sake!”

“Well, I didn’t think it would go that far!” Damian excused himself at the same time you were speaking.

“And why did you let it, Damian?”

“Because I fucking wanted it to!”

Tim wasn’t shocked by Damian’s confession, your boyfriend simply waited for your reaction. You didn’t react, you weren’t sure what to say or if you should say anything at all.

However, you asked, “Is that why you were fighting?”

Tim explained, “Damian knows he shouldn’t stare at you like that in public.”

You tilted your head to your right. Damian had always stared at you in the same way, no matter the setting. In fact, the two of you instantly found each other in any crowd every time. It was an unspoken rule between the two of you, it kept him grounded and lessened your nerves— it was a comfort, a fundamental part of your friendship.

Without realizing it, you did just that. Damian’s green eyes told you everything you wanted to know, slowing down his blinking for you to get his point across. The intensity of his gaze was new, the twitch of his brow so unusual in your presence.

Damian saw it on your face, the realization of how deep his feelings for you were. He didn’t try to hide them, not anymore. It was liberating, nodding as he followed your shifty eyes that couldn’t stop examining every inch of his face.

“Now that you know,” Tim grabbed your attention, “we can stop this, but you need to choose.”

You immediately found it unfair when you hadn’t decided to be in such a situation.

“You two should go back to the party,” you reacted, hoping they wouldn’t object so you could be alone with your thoughts.

Tim frowned whereas Damian nodded curtly, emerald eyes lingering on your face for a few seconds before he fixed his suit and turned around to leave the room.

“Why?” Tim inquired, “you don’t care about galas.”

“I want to be alone,” you deadpanned. He was playing dumb which you found endearing when you were in a good mood but shitty and annoying in that situation.

“Baby,” he cooed, placing his palms on your shoulders, “you don’t have to worry. Damian will understand,”

You moved away from his touch. “Understand what?”

He spoke as you walked toward a cushioned chair, “that you don’t love him.”

“Don’t I?” you inquired, craning your neck to face your boyfriend.

“Do you?”

Shrugging, you reminded him, “I made out and cuddled with him for a month. Yes, I thought it was you but now I know the truth and the truth doesn’t change the fact that I enjoyed it.”

Tim wriggled his tie out of frustration. “You can’t love two people that way, and he’s my brother.”

“Your brother who you fight over everything from what I see.” Reclining against the back of the chair you placed your hands on the seat’s arms, “why didn’t you tell me it turned you on? We could’ve tried something, I guess...”

“I didn’t want to get cucked. And Damian surprisingly followed the rules of just kissing and cuddling you.”

The fault in Tim’s logic and plan was glaringly obvious, it didn’t please you but you weren’t going to lie and say you could still choose him in a heartbeat.

“Where did you sleep while I slept next to your brother? Here?”

Your boyfriend shook his head. “At Conner’s.”

“Really, Timothy?” you chuckled bitterly, “at Conner’s from all people?”

“You love Conner!” he tried to defend himself.

You sprung up from the chair. “I do! But come on Tim... what are we doing?” You hadn’t wanted to speak about it with a hot head, you wanted to think this through at your pace. Fuck it. “Have we been emotionally cheating on each other?”

“I’m not—“ he shook his head, rubbing his hands against his face. “Are you telling me you’re choosing Damian?”

“Don’t deflect, please.”

“I don’t know,” Tim confessed, “maybe? I lost control of it.”

You supposed you would’ve lost control of it too. It would’ve been nice to have control in the first place,

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You couldn’t find him anywhere, the garden was his favorite spot to lose time when galas took place but you only found a couple making out near Alfred’s roses.

Trotting up the stairs as quickly as you could in high heels had been tricky. He seemed to hear you, by the time you reached his bedroom door it had cracked open already. You still knocked, sticking your head into the room to ask if you could come in. He beckoned you in, avoiding your eyes when you closed the door behind you.

You couldn’t stop staring, his hair was disheveled from tugging on it and he had discarded his tie and blazer but hadn’t bothered on changing into more comfortable clothing.

“Were you going to tell me?” you broke the silence. He shook his head. “Why not?”

“You made your choice a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

Damian scoffed, “you picked him and started dating him.”

You set your jaw, “I didn’t know. It was not a choice because there weren’t options to pick from.” It sounded awful, but you were sure he had understood what you meant.

“I tried to make you fall for me,” he recalled, “but you were busy seeing whatever it is you like about Drake.”

You never saw it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet you felt a slight pang on your chest as a few memories came to you. Your connection with Damian had been instant and therefore special from the get-go, you wouldn’t have identified it as attraction in any other instance.

You wouldn’t even think of yourself as his type, no one imagined Damian with anyone who wasn’t a fit model or a badass superhero. You were clearly none of those, and now as you mulled it over you realized how much sense it all made.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to know how it felt.”

You hummed, “you could’ve asked me for a kiss.”

“I wanted to know how it felt to be loved by you,” Damian clarified.

You had been there in very important moments of his life, when Alfred scolded him for his language for the first time, when he got his second Ph.D., when Dick died, when Bruce died, when Jon went to another reality, when he trained Titus, the day he officially got his driver’s license, the third time he fought his mother... you had gotten him hooked on your favorite tv-series and he had to feign hating it at first to not look pathetic, the two of you cried out of laughter when he told you.

He wanted you to be there in other ways, for firsts and lasts. He wanted to be grounded by taking your hand in social events instead of staring at you from afar, to get back from patrol and see you asleep on his bed, to be the one you pampered by playing with their hair. Damian wished he could lay his head on your lap on movie nights, take you out on dates even though he had never been a fan. He had fantasized with so many things, romantic and sexual, a few a combination of both due to the nature of his feelings.

“I do love you,” you stated. “All of this is overwhelming, but no matter the outcome I need you to get through your head that I do.”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Tired of staring at the window, you sat up on the bed with your back against the headboard. The past week had been a roller coaster of emotions and dilemmas with sleepless nights in between.

You had seen his silhouette on the fire escape every night, but neither one of you had attempted to speak. You had hoped he would that night, he must’ve known how things had gone with his brother already.

Playing with the edge of the fuzzy blanket, you got the sensation of being watched. He was there again. Your gut told you to get out of the bed and confront him, yet you were aware that if he had wanted to speak he would’ve entered the room already. The window wasn’t difficult to open from the outside, he himself had pointed it out in more than one occasion — and even if it was, you had left it unlocked in case he wanted to come in. You were sure he knew that, too.

You did leave the bed in direction to the kitchen, the night was being the warmest of the week but you were cold still. As the kettle boiled you considered inviting him in, at least to warm up a little bit. You waited impatiently for the water to be ready, swinging your hips from left to right.

The clear water turned murky as soon as the herbs came in contact with it under your eyes. You carried the tea back to your bedroom, closing the door with your foot.

“What are you doing up?”

The question startled you, making you jump and consequently spill the hot liquid. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Damian?!” you shrilled.

“You knew I was there,” he pointed out matter-of-factly, extending an arm to turn the lights on. His tone changed, “did you hurt yourself?”

Shaking your head, you put down the ceramic in your grasp. He smirked to himself, seeing you had been carrying two cups and not one. “Not badly,” you answered, looking down at your now stained shirt.

“I’ll prepare some more while you change” he announced, his hand brushing your arm as he stretched his own to reach for the cups.

Throwing the dirty shirt into the laundry basket once you had changed into a clean one, you walked out of the bathroom and directly toward the window. The room had gotten colder due to Damian not closing the window when he sneaked in.

You got distracted by the light reflecting on the pavement, the simplicity of the observation amazing you when you lived in a chaotic city. Getting lost into the complications of what being a Gothamite entailed was so easy that you had forgotten to enjoy the trivialities the city had to offer.

Damian stood behind you, looking outside to get a glimpse of what you were so interested on. The familiar position made you unconsciously lean backward, prompting him to lightly lay a hand on your hip out of reflex.

He inhaled the scent of your lotion, the one that had lulled him to sleep for a month, the one he had missed the entire week. You craned your neck to look at him.

The tea would get cold if you didn’t drink it soon, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything about it. You didn’t want to move, to lose the comfort of his chest against your back nor the tickling warmth of his breath on your face.

Your eyes shifted to his lips. You still found weird to know you had kissed him without being aware it was him— you also missed kissing him. It had been the cataclysmic realization that ultimately drove you to make your choice.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered very timidly, afraid he’d say no.

Damian leaned forward, his free hand coming up to rest on the side of your neck. With his thumb on your cheek, he nodded and waited for you to close the gap.

You wetted your lips, breathing a laugh almost on top of his. You felt him chuckle and part his mouth, impatient for you to kiss him already. You took him out of his misery, slowly moving your lips against his at first. Chastely kissing him, you turned your body around to not hurt your neck. Damian pulled you closer by snaking his arm around your hips, his thumb digging into the side of your face as he deepened the kiss.

Damian grunted, tilting his head to change the angle and be able to kiss you the way he wanted. Fisting his hoodie when he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, you parted your lips.

Both of you panted when you pulled away, his arm tight around you and your knuckles lighter in color from gripping the grey hoodie.

He was staring at you, it wasn’t clear if he was waiting for you to say something or not. You spoke anyway. “I missed you.”

“Me too.”

Letting his hoodie go, you wrapped your arms around his torso. Damian mover his hand away from your face to hug you back, sighing contently when you rested your head on his chest.

“I thought you wouldn’t talk to me anymore,” you confessed in a low voice, ashamed for doubting him.

“I didn’t want to pressure you, that’s all,” he assured. Upon hearing you hum, he took a breath, “what does this mean?”

“It means I love you.”

“Good.” You could hear the smile in his tone, feel the breathiness of it on his chest.

Looking up, you smiled at him too. “Yeah?”

Damian pecked your lips, “more than good.”

[fanatical-san]

Hey, I love your blog! May I ask for a damijon story where they go on date?

Okay, so this is kind of a part two to this, as you may know. The date is also kind of…eh, so I’m sincerely hoping you don’t hate me for this. (Also, I may, um, have gone over 1K words. Sorry.)

Quick reminder: Damian is bold, and Jon is bold italics.

Damian is currently sitting on his bed, in his best suit,and trying to stay calm. He has been searching, for almost a week, for a Julietrose, but it’s all been in vain. And Jon specifically said that his favouriteflower was a Juliet rose. How is he meant to get Jon to like him if he can’tlive up to his standards?

Of course, it isn’ta date. Not that Damian would mind adate; Jon would just never accept. He had mocked him about it being a date, soDamian can’t really hope.

Yet if he can get Jon to like him, then a date could be possible. Just as he’s thinkingthis, a text pops up on Damian’s phone.

Text from J.K.:

Where r u

Damian reads the text twice. What?

I’m at home, ofcourse.

Why?

Where are you?

Waiting? 4 u to pick me up???

Did u forget?

Oh. Yes, Damian hasforgotten he’d said half seven and not half eight, even though he should’ve known because he planned it, but hecan’t tell him that because it’d be awful, and Jon would hate him, and thiswhole ordeal is just too much for him.

I can’t come

didn’t I tell u

I have

studying

2 do

Really?

R u sure?

Ye

Ttyl

OK

Damian has to fix this. It’s simple; he’ll find the flower,get Tim to confirm to Jon that he was busy, and then try again. He pulls hislaptop out of the drawer and opens it, determined to track down the Julietrose, when his phone buzzes again.

R u alright?

Damian doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. Jonwill understand. He’s meant to be studying, after all.

*

Two hours later, he gets another text.

On the roof.

It’s a perfect imitation of the message he sent exactly a weekago, and Damian can’t help but to continue the joke.

My roof?!

Haha

Very funny

Plz hurry up tho cos it’s cold

Damian grabs a spare blanket and opens the window, lookingup. He offers the blanket to Jon, who’s perched above him.  Jon offers a hand in return, which Damianreluctantly accepts. Once they’re sitting beside each other, Jon frowns.(Although in that blanket, he still looks cu- no, he looks normal. He looks normal).

“You lied to me!” The statement is simple and straightforward,but Jon seems to be so hurt. Damian’snow sure that Jon’s never going to think of him in the same way Damian thinksof Jon, but he tries to cover up nonetheless.

“As I told you, I was studying. Why would you assume I liedto you?” Jon makes an exasperated noise.

“You’re wearing a suit,you dummy!” Just as Damian opens his mouth, Jon cuts him off. “I may be slightly younger than you, but I’m not dumb, Damian. You cancelled on me, anddon’t try to pretend, please.

“And don’t think that I’m okay with that, cos, well, itstings a little, but anyway: are you alright?”

Damian tilts his head slightly in confusion.

“Am I…? I’m fine. Did you come all the way here to ask aboutthat? Really? Why wouldn’t I be fine?”Jon rolls his eyes and starts counting points off on his fingers.

“You cancelled on me, then you started texting all weird –well, normal, but that’s weird foryou – and then you didn’t reply to me asking if you were alright, so something must be wrong. I think.” Damian is…well,he’s not speechless, because thatwould be absurd, but still. He just stares.

Jon shifts about a little in his blanket, looking back. Thepair are silent for a moment, before Jon coughs.

“Um, so,” he begins, still watching Damian, “are we still goingto do that date, or…?” Damian tuts.

“I’ve told you, it’s nota date. Stop making fun of me!” Jon’s eyebrows do that confused wigglything that Damian thinks looks adorable (or you know, just normal, because Damiancan filter his thoughts perfectly well).

“I’m not making fun of you,” Jon says softly. “I justthought that you, maybe, I dunno, liked me? Don’t laugh at me, please, I know, it’sstupid, and this is going to be really awkward now, and-”

Damian really can’t help it. He knows he’s being a littletoo forward, but Jon has seriously got to stoptalking.

He’s glad to find that hugging him seems to work. He should doit a little more often.

“Um, Damian?” Jon squeaks, and both of them try to move atthe same time. As a result, they both go tumbling off the roof, and now Damian’sreally glad he hugged Jon, because ifhe wasn’t clinging on to him for dear life right now, he could be in a lot ofpain.

Jon flies them inside the open window, and they touch down onthe ground.

“This can be a date,” Damian mumbles.

“What?” Jon asks incredulously.

“This,” Damian repeats, gesturing about him, “can be date. Youknow, if you really insist on-”

And this time, it’s Jon who’s crushing him in a bear hug.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,”he babbles, and Damian smiles a little.

*

Their positions are reversed. It is now currently Jon who isholding on to Damian for dear life. To be honest, he doesn’t really mind. The moviethey’re watching isn’t the scariest in the least, but Jon seems to be terrified.As a wholly predictable jump scare happens, Jon buries his face into Damian’sshoulder.

“No more,” he whines, and Damian scoffs.

“You’re not a toddler anymore, Jon,” Damian chides him.

“Please, Dami?” Jon whispers, and Damian grumbles, but turnsthe movie off anyway.

“So…what do we do now? I’m sure this isn’t how a date ismeant to be.” Jon grins.

“A date can be whatever we want it to be, and can includewhatever we want it to,” he says, “like…a pillow fight!”

Damian can accept that Jon puts an admirable effort intoambushing him, but he’s no match for Damian, especially in his home territory.A few minutes later, Jon is lying on the bed, exhausted.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, “enough! I surrender.” Damiansnorts.

“Of course yousurrender. I’m obviously superior at this.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Sure.”

Damian ignores that remark, and settles in next to Jon.After a minute or two, he says, quietly: “You should be heading home.” Jongroans. “Your parents might try to check up on you…”

“Fine, fine,” he relents, and leans over to quickly peck Damianon the cheek. Damian, who is definitely not expecting that, jumps and falls off the bed, causing Jon to giggle absolutelyuncontrollably.

That’s how the first date ends.

*

Hi

don’t hate me

but why did u cancel b4

Damian feels that, at this point, telling the truth is probablyeasier than fabricating a lie.

and don’t lie

Seems that Jon agrees too.

I couldn’t find yourfavourite flower, and I didn’t want to be a failure.

So you panicked?

No.

Yes.

Dw about it next time

K?

And btw

My boyfriend is not a failure

He’s awesome

Damian’s aware that this type of sweet talk is a thingbetween couples, but Jon obviously thinks he can outsmart Damian at this.

Well, two can play that game.

Maybe, but myboyfriend’s better.

Touché.

Again, a lot of liberty taken. I hope it’s been enjoyable, though :D Thanks for the kind words about my blog, btw, and right back at you

(Also, your icon is iconic)

((see what I did there? Never mind, I’ll shut up.))

[pirate-patton]

Title: Curiosity Killed the Cat; Satisfaction Brought Him Back Tag List: @undertakershairline @mewsicalmiss @romananalogicality @rose-gold-roman @thegoldenmink @the-prince-and-the-emo @theawesomestofsauces @jellyjam24 @sabriel-fanboy-83 @the-sanders-sides @amazable01 @milk-withtwosugars @bbcanimefangirl @analogically-prinxiety @asexual-trashbag @calz-craze @gayfagg @gracefullyinsanedancingunicorn @phandemoniumclub @virgils-anxiety @natalie-wheres-the-tampons @hrtnsolofytube @greymane902 @ashrain5 @fandom-screamings @mira-jadeamethyst @cefmua56 @colie7700 @madd-catter @leesacrakon @a-blog-just-for-sanders @doesdanielhowelisgay @viva-la-nordics @just-fic-me-up @justanotherpurplebutterfly @thebeautyofthomas

Virgil had a notebook.  A kind of worn out, once black notebook with purple pen scratches all across the front.  The others rarely got to see this notebook, but they were well aware of its existence. For the most part, no one dared to ask what it was for or if they could see it.  No one, not even Patton, was curious enough to risk the little bit of trust and confidence building between them and the anxious side.  

That is…until Virgil got more confident and trusted them more.

The notebook made its way out of his room more and more, finding its way onto the coffee table, dining table, the counters, and the sofa much more often.  Every now and then one of them would catch Virgil with his knees to his chest scribbling away in the book, and just seeing it drove them crazy.

To say that Logan wasn’t dying to know what was in the book would have been the biggest lie ever told in the mind palace.  As the logical side, he was also the side that enjoyed learning the most.  Learning, observing…dying of curiosity.  Secrets were not his thing.  They were not his “jam.”  What was his “jam” was figuring out why Virgil hid the notebook when he was using it.

And now, he had an opportunity.

“Be right back,” Virgil mumbled.  The anxious side hopped up from his spot on the other end of the sofa and dragged his notebook into his spot.  Logan watched him leave and round the corner to his room, and it didn’t take long for all of that curiosity to come rushing to the forefront of his mind.

What could be in this mysterious notebook?  Drawings?  Logan thought of all the possibilities for Virgil Drawings.  From a Tim Burton-esque style all the way down to an Invader Zim style. Mainly monsters or gore…or possibly he’d be full of surprises and fill the notebook with drawings that calmed him? Kittens, puppies, maybe a few koalas or red pandas?  Or maybe he was a classic early 2000s emo child and filled his notebook with stitched-up, bandaged-up, and bleeding hearts?  

Perhaps the notebook contained his thoughts.  What a trip that would be.  Thoughts and analyses of ever scenario Thomas encountered.  It’d probably be a mish-mash and assorted lists of words indecipherable to anyone but Virgil.

But then…Virgil had said before that he wrote.  Sonnets, at least.  Could this notebook be his writings…?

Logan caught his hand gravitating toward the book, and he snatched the offending digits back against his chest.  No, he couldn’t.  He would not be the first to break.  Virgil would share the contents of the book when he felt he was ready, and Logan would just have to respect that.  

…But he wouldn’t even know if Logan took a quick peak just to see what Virgil used the notebook for…

…But that would still be abusing Virgil’s trust.  He left the book there out of trust.  

…But-!

“I’m back,” Virgil announced, throwing himself down on top of the book.  He pulled it back out from underneath himself and opened it up to wherever he’d left off. “Needed a different blue.”

Ah.  Drawings. Had to be.

…Right?

Logan’s curiosity had yet to die off a week later.  All four of them sat around the dining table for breakfast, and after eating they all stuck around the kitchen, taking the day as a lazy day.  Virgil stayed sat at the table hunched over his notebook, a purple pen in his hand this time.  

Logan watched him, barely paying attention to Roman as the creative side spat off about whatever adventure he’d been on the day before and how he’d hurt his neck rescuing some…royalty, Logan assumed.  No matter, it wasn’t like there’d be a quiz.

“Are you even listening to me, Logan?!” Roman whined.

“What?” Logan turned to face him, holding back laughter at the frustrated look on Roman’s face.

“While you simply read about these kinds of adventures, I’m living them!” Roman exclaimed in that whiny voice of his that Logan so detested.  “Why, you’re more interested in whatever Wednesday Addams over there is doing than my actually interesting story!”

“Falsehood, I was paying neither of you any mind!” Logan insisted.  At this point, Virgil had looked up, squinty-eyed as ever, to figure out what the heck was going on with these two.  Logan looked over at him when he heard a snicker, and he caught sight of lines and lines and lines and lines of words.  So, he didn’t draw in the notebook; it was for writing.

…But writing what?!

Before he could figure it out, Virgil flipped the book shut and got to his feet, tucking the notebook in his jacket.  “I’m gone; you two are way too noisy.”

“Look what you did, Roman.”

“ME?!”

“Alright, you two, who wants to help me make muffins?!” Patton called as he bound into the dining room holding up a recipe book.

Now Logan was just getting frustrated.  He’d been so good up to this point!  Now he had a glimpse of the inside of the notebook and all of its overwhelming amounts of blue and purple and green writing, and he desperately wanted to read it.  Unfortunately, the unmade muffins were getting the brunt of his anger.  

“Logan, be careful stirring the blueberries!”  Patton’s increasingly shrill concern snapped Logan back, and he looked down at the bowl before deciding that, yep, he’d done a good job mixing.  “I will take that…” Patton said, slowly removing the bowl from Logan’s hands.

Logan groaned and dropped his head onto the counter, gently banging his forehead against the corner.  He couldn’t take this anymore.  He was going to lose it.

“Is there any reason you’re suddenly so grumpy?” Patton asked as he scooped the muffin batter out into paper liners.  

“It’s…nothing…” Logan said.

“Now you and I both know that’s not true.  Has it got something to do with Virgil’s notebook?”

“You’ve noticed…”

“Well, it’s not every day you lose control of your curiosity, Mr. Calm and Collected.”  Patton had a point, Logan supposed.  Why did Logan care so much?  Before this point he’d chalked it up to him being naturally curious as apart of who he was, but now…  “Why don’t you just ask Virgil if you can read it?”

Logan shook his head rapidly, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter heavily.  “Curiosity killed the cat, remember,” he said.

“Ah, but satisfaction brought it back.”  Patton smirked and gave Logan a wink, nudging his side to make Logan move away from the drawer he needed in.  “If you don’t want to ask him, fine.  But I’m sure he’d share…”

“Why do act so confident about that?”

“No reason…”  The grin on Patton’s face was more than concerning, but Logan could only take one obsession at a time.

Logan stood in the doorway to the commons room just watching Virgil scribble away in his notebook.  He had to ask, just say something to end this yearning.  But…why was he so nervous?  His stomach felt off, not sick, but wrong, the longer he watched Virgil write.  

Virgil moved and rested his cheek in his right hand, and wow now it looked like he was doodling.  Logan covered his mouth to fight off a smile, wondering why in the world Virgil was so cute like that.  This was all too much; Logan had to put an end to it.  Ugh.

“Verge – Virgil,” Logan called, making the anxious side jump.

“Just use an air horn next time, why don’t you!”

“My apologies,” Logan said, moving farther into the room. He gingerly took a seat not too far from Virgil, just an arms’ length between their knees, and he looked at the notebook.  Virgil followed his eyes and snatched the book, slamming it shut.  “So…” Logan started, daring himself to just ask already, “…what is it that you fill that mysterious notebook of yours with?” he asked slowly.  Finally, finally the words were out and the answer, be it rejection or truth, was right in front of him. Hallelujah.

“What does it matter to you?” Virgil asked, guarding the book with his knees.

“Well…”  Think of a good reason!  “As we are all making a better effort to get to know you and include you, I should think that a good way to do just that would be learning about what you can and do put to paper.”  Nailed it.

“Ummm…”  Virgil’s eyes darted back and forth, never landing on Logan.  He concentrated them on his socks eventually, going silent. Logan could watch the gears turning in that nervous mind, and his heart ached to know what was going on in there. Gah, what was wrong with him?!  “I –“  Oh? “I guess there’s some stuff you can look at…”  

…Satisfactory.

Logan watched as Virgil flitted through the pages, scanning quickly yet carefully each one until he found one he was willing to share. Virgil handed the book over and dropped his face so only his eyes were visible over his knees.  Logan greedily looked over the page, taking in every single thing about it.  

The page was very brittle, very fragile.  How old was this notebook?  So many things on the backside of the page had been scratched out and scribbled out, to the point that holes poked through to the side he read.  Navy blue ink filled his page, which was good because at least he could comfortably read navy blue.  Then, with the page absorbed, he could finally read.

…Poetry.  Huh. And not sonnets.

Keeping me grounded must be an awful job, Though you do it well. I’m whiny, insufferable, and unbearable, But you take on my personal Hell And give me a minute at most in your Heaven.

“OK, that’s enough!” Virgil snatched the book away, face red as could be.  

It wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be enough.  Five lines that read like that was basically a cliffhanger, and it wasn’t fair.  But, Logan had to respect Virgil’s boundaries. No matter how frustrating they were. Maybe…maybe he could test his limits? “You are a very good writer, Virgil,” he said.

“Thanks, I guess…” Virgil mumbled, tucking the notebook back into his jacket.  

“You must write from experience?”  There, Logan threw out his line, and he hoped Virgil hooked on.  

“Yeah, what else would I have?  Roman’s the creative one…” Virgil said.  His sleeve found its way into his mouth and he looked at the ground. Great, he was anxious and uncomfortable, and he was making Logan feel bad.  

Just.  Not bad enough.

“Who were you writing about in that poem?” Logan asked.

“…It doesn’t matter.”

Oh, but it did.  It very much did matter who Virgil was writing about, because it was killing Logan.  He was sure he’d burst any minute and now he understood exactly how those curious cats felt when they were ready to just die.

“Well, it must matter if whoever it was does so much for you,” Logan said.  

“Don’t worry about it!”

“And that is supposed to make me not?”

“Really just – it doesn’t matter, Logan!”

“Then why do write them to mean so much?!”

“Because I just felt like it!”

“Well if you felt like it, then you must believe the words you put down, which means –“

“Would you stop!”

Logan shut up.  Clamp – jaw screwed shut – no more talking for him.  He really wanted to ask why it was big deal, but he refrained.  An angry Virgil was a dangerous Virgil. Possibly.  None of them had ever seen him truly angry.

“Look…” Virgil took a deep breath and brought back out his notebook.  “Everything in here is really personal.  I just…I dunno why I even let you look at it at all; I guess I trust you, but…maybe not for everything.”

Well, just rip out his heart and stomp on it.  Not like Logan wanted that useless thing, anyway. “You can trust me.”

Virgil bit his lip, nearly tearing a hole in it if his force was anything to judge by.  God, why couldn’t he just trust Logan with all of his secrets, PLEASE Virgil!

“It’s you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The poem, you idiot!”

Oh.  Oh!  Oh. That explains a lot.  “May I read the rest of it, then?” Logan asked, hoping with all his hope that Virgil would say yes.  

“I…nu-uh.  Not – not yet.”

He should’ve assumed that answer.  Of course, Logan still had to be there for Virgil.  He had to live up to the poem and be what Virgil saw in him. His anchor, the one that grounded him. The one that gave Virgil a piece of Heaven.

“I will not pry any more, I promise,” Logan said, pretending his useless hunk of heart didn’t leap when Virgil gave him a smile.  “So, would you want to watch a movie?”

“Wanna watch Scooby Doo?” Virgil asked.

“If that is what you want, then yes.”  

It didn’t take long for the two to get comfortable on the sofa, Zombie Island starting on the television.  Virgil slumped against Logan, resting his head on the logical side’s shoulder.  Logan rested his head on top of Virgil’s, and he now realized what was exactly meant by the end of that famous phrase.  No, he didn’t get all of his answers, and he still had questions, but for the moment he was happy with what he knew.  Virgil trusted him with a little snippet of his mind, and nothing could be more satisfying in that moment than that.

A/N: HA YOU THOUGHT THEY WERE GONNA MACK ON EACH OTHER DIDN’T YOU maybe one day. this is so long. i haven’t written something this long in forever. my brain hurts

[xxmgdreamsxx]

Take a hint

Reader Imagine. You round up your bat sisters to hang out and the boys obviously cause trouble so the three of you decide to teach them a lesson. Jason x Reader. Dick x Barbara. Tim x Stephanie. Enjoy!!

“ Look out!” You screamed as you watched in horror as the bag of chips almost decapitated your friend. Barbara quickly jumped out of the way, then ran to help you alongside Steph as she saw you sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by smushed bags of junk food. “Oh my god what happened Y/N?!!” It all started when you had decided to round up your fellow bat sisters at the manor for old times sake. Unfortunately Cass had to cancel as the new development in her mission led her to Croatia, so it was just you, Steph, and Babs. You guys had been having the time of your life in your old bedroom, blasting throwback songs and rapidly depleting the manor’s food supply. Being the backbone of the family, you took upon the task of sprinting downstairs to gather some more nourishment, before sprinting back upto your besties. When you turned the corner towards your room, you could hear that Hips Don’t Lie was currently playing from the speakers so you made a mad dash to get there as quickly as possible which led to you slamming the door open in an aggressive rage, tripping, all the food in your arms going up in slow motion, and a bag of doritos almost smacking your redheaded friend in the face. The two of them hauled you up and then you picked up all the food. “Ha sorry about crushing our carby dreams, just had to show y’all my hips didn’t lie.” you grinned sheepishly. “All good sis” Steph replied pulling you guys into a bear hug- “besides me and Barb know you’ve got the most truthful hips of all”. Snicker. “Your girlfriends are nutcases.” Smack “Shut up Damian, they can hear us.”

“ Um what was that.” you asked raising up your eyebrow. “Seems to me we’ve got some lurkers outside.” Barbara smirked, raising her voice so the idiots could hear. “See Damian, look what you did.” the unmistakable voice of Tim could be heard. “Oh zip it Drake” Damian snapped back. More muffled arguing. “That’s it.” you exclaimed, marching over to the door and swinging it open- Babs and Steph right behind you. “ What do you guys think your doing?” you inquired, hands on your hips, and putting on a death glare to scare them.  The shook faces of Jason, Dick, Tim, and Damian looked back at you. “ Oh hey Y/N what do you mean?, we were just walking by.” Dick nervously chuckled. Oh my god. That boy is the worst liar on the face of the planet. “Dick how dumb do you think we are?” Barbara struck back. Dick immediately got all flustered-“ Oh what no, no sorry Babs, guys, I didn’- I don’t think your dumb. Sorry babe.” he said, his eyes pleading to Babs, hoping his girlfriend wouldn’t get mad at him. The boys were looking really uncomfortable right now and it took so much for the three of you to not burst out in laughter. You looked to your boyfriend, Jason, who hadn’t said anything yet. “So Jay, wanna volunteer another half-ass excuse as to why you and the other boy blunders were cutting in on our girl time?” Jason realized there was no way he was gonna get out of this one, so he tried to play it cool, putting on his signature smirk. “ Y/N sorry bout that.. it’s all Damian’s fault.” “SERIOUSLY?!?!” Dami yelled back. “Ok enough!” Stephanie broke in. “Do you people see this sign??!- your blonde haired friend gestured to the piece of paper on the door. NO BOYS ALLOWED( TRESPASSERS AND LURKERS WILL BE THROWN OFF OF WAYNE TOWER) “ So do ya see it, do ya Tim?!” she glared at the teen boy. “Yeah Steph- Tim mumbled meekly, blushing madly. “Seriously guys come on.” Babs scolded then looked at Dick “Don’t expect any fun time for the next two weeks.” “But babe..!” Dick whined. “Shut it Grayson.” “Same goes for you Red.” you told Jason. “Aw come on doll, lets not get too serious.” your boyfriend tried to win you over. You just glared at him. “Now it’s three weeks.” “Ha” Damian smirked, clearly enjoying himself, watching his older brothers suffer. Stephanie continued “And Tim- OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SONG!!” You tuned in to the music that was still blasting and realized what song it was. “Guys OMG Guys!! It’s our song. Yaassss!!” you shrieked looking excitedly at the two girls. “Guys do we still remember our parts?” Barbara quickly asked. “Yes!!” you and Steph screamed in unison. The boys were just glancing at each other like what the hell is going on. Babs spoke” Ok guys. 1,2,3!”

“La la la la la la” the three of you sang skipping around each other. “Why I’m always hit on by the boys I never like? I can always see em coming from the left and from the right.” you sang. “ I don’t wanna be a priss I’m just tryna be polite but it always seems to bite me in the..” Babs continued. “Ask me for my number yeah you put me on the spot. You think that we should hook up but I think that we should not.” Steph sang twirling around you. You broke away from the two of them and walked a bit in front looking at Jason, and sang “You had me at hello, then you opened up your mouth.” “And that is when it started going south!” the three of you harmonized. Jason just stood there with his mouth open and Tim and Damian were laughing at him. All of you started the chorus. “ Get your hands off my hips before I punch you in the lips. Stop your staring at my HEY! Take a hint.” “Take a hint!” you vocalized. Now it was Barbara’s turn to look at Dick while singing “No you can’t buy me a drink.” Dick stood there uncomfortable af and at this point, all of the batboys were too shook to mock him. “Let me tell you what I think” Steph got closer to Tim. “I think you could use a mint” “Take a hint! Take a hint!” Tim went beet red and breathed in his hand. Your turn again. “I guess you still don’t get it so let’s take it from the top.” “You asked me what my sign is and I told you it was stop.” Stephanie cut in. “ And if I had a dime for every name that you just dropped.” Barbara sang. “ YOU’D BE HERE AND I’D BE ON A YACHT! OH!” you guys sang jumping on the couch. “Get your hands of my hips fore I punch you in the lips” you burst out pointing at Jay. “ Stop your starin at my hey! Take a hint! Take a hint!” Babs glared at Dick. “ No you can’t buy me a drink, lemme tell you what I think!”   “ I think you could use a mint take a hint. Take a hint!” all of you sang at the boys. The three of you spun around each other. “Take a hint! Take a hint! You sauntered over to Jason- “What about no don’t you get?”, bopping his nose. Babs went over to her Dick, tracing her finger around his chest. “So go and tell your friends.” Stephanie leaned in towards Tim then playfully shoved him back. “I’m not really interested.” You led the girls and marched away from you boyfriends before spinning around to face them. “It’s about time that your leaving.” you sang pointing to the door. “ I’m gonna count to three and” Stephanie sassed. “Open my eyes and you’ll be gooneee.” Babs joined in. With you in the middle, the three of you skipped over to the coffee table and you jumped on it. “One.” Stephanie warned. “Get your hands off my hips!” you sang stepping closer to the boys on the table. “Two.” Barbara followed. “Or I’ll punch you in the!” you went on. “Three!” Steph yelled. “Stop your staring at my hey! Take a hint! Take a hint!” you finished, twirling once before leaping of the table to join your friends. The three of you skipped around the room, holding hands, dancing, and twirling around the boys as you went through the last chorus together, belting out the words. “ I am not your missing link! Let me tell you what I think!I think you could use a mint, take a hint! Take a hint! WOOAAAHHHH! Get your hands off my hips, fore I punch you in the lips! Stop your staring at my HEY! Take a hint!” Y’all sauntered to the boys, pushing them towards the door while finishing. “La la la la la Take a hint! La la la la la!”- you slamming the door in their faces and locking it on the last note. “Yeah!” Steph yelled, high fiving the both of you. “Omg did you see their faces?!” Babs gushed. “ I swear Tim was about to faint and Dick and Jason are probably thinking we’re gonna break up with them.” you laughed. “Ha! Guys are so gullible. We totally owned them!” “Yeah fuck the patriarchy!” Steph exclaimed. “Guys we totally need to play Cellblock Tango now!!” you shrieked. “It was a murder but not a crime!” Barbara screamed.

All in all, the rest of the day was amazing. The three of you had a great time and you were so happy you got the chance to hang out with your sisters again. Of course establishing the fact that girls are vastly superior and showing your boyfriends’ who’s boss was yet another fun achievement to add to the day. As for the boys, the rest of the day went slightly different. After they had gotten kicked out of the room, Damian made an ill-timed joke about Jason which resulting in the vigilante throwing him over the staircase. Don’t worry, the little brat’s fine.( Jason’s words.) Dick raced up to his room, freaking out, and made a list of all the times he might’ve pissed off Barbara, making sure that she wouldn’t have a reason to break up with him. Just to be safe, he also ran to buy her flowers. Jason got a whole lecture from Bruce about how throwing your siblings over staircases is not the way to go when you need to vent. After that, Jason also started freaking out about Y/N. His way of an apology was to let you paint one of his helmets pink and that he’d have to wear it for a week of patrol. Tim probably took it the worst. That poor boy wrote Stephanie a letter telling her she was the best girlfriend ever and that he is sorry for leaving the toilet seat up that one time (The only thing Tim ever did wrong in their relationship, cuz lets be honest that boy’s a pure angel.) He even bought her a new waffle maker.

All three of them also embarrassedly went to the store to stock up on mints.

[thursdayplaid]

The Narrow Line 13

One more chapter to go!  Almost done!

Molly likes for Romantic poets and cutting down on nonsense.  And all the Watsons like Molly.

David had called her up and filled the screen of Molly’s tablet, looking like, like something romantic and epic.  Something written by a Bronte, or by Lord Byron.  Death on the eve of battle, vengeance not to be refused. Someone who had wrestled their way back from the pit, heavy with blood and leaving ruin behind them.  Something like a nuclear warhead: probably fine if you whacked him with a wrench, neatly packaged, threat understood.  This was the sort of David that the boys hyped but she’d never seen before.  She had always assumed it was just little brothers deifying their boss older brother. She bookmarked her copy of Percy and pushed it aside.

He also looked awful.  She pushed down her alarm with some mild medical consideration.  Too early for influenza, maybe a cold?

“What’s wrong?” she asked.  Her heavy stomach bumped against the counter as she leaned in. “You should be in bed.”

He all but pulled a forelock to her, looking regal even with that tick down of his chin.  As she watched him, he seemed to fold his temper up and tuck it away again.   “Don’t worry, I plan on sleeping this off.  It’s just Roost, he’s not feeling so good.  He’s all…”  He made a vague waving motion that could mean anything.  “Johnny would normally see to him, but he has something going on.”

“David, do I need to come over?”

“No!”  He jolted on the screen.

“Now you’re worrying me.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

She gave him a look.  “If you think it’ll upset me, I’ll come over with Greg once he gets back with the girls.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” He turned his head and she could see the slash of purple-blue-green under his eyes right before he half-covered his face with his hands.

“Just, nothing’s going on physically.  Not really, it’s psychological, just stress and exhaustion.  I need to sleep and drink lots of fluids, and I can’t do that with you watching me.  You should be resting anyway.  Eating chocolate-covered strawberries and reading books by old dead poets who cried about roses and stuff.”

She tried not to laugh, she was being firm and in charge. She was Jane Eyre.  Triple Boss.  “Sure, why are you calling me then?”

“Speaking of that other thing that John is busy with, some weird stuff happened.”

“Weird stuff like how?  Like with stealing dead bodies from my morgue again?”

“That was once,” David said, but without his usual vim. “It was once and it was for a good cause.”

“You never told me what it was for, what you were trying to hide.”

“Hide?” Davey said, shifting his head back and forth like a cobra.  “Why would I try to hide anything?”

“Because you stole it from me right after your father was killed.”

“You’ve always said that,” David said, voice gone a little stiff.  “You’ve always said killed, like he was murdered, like someone else did it.”  He pressed his lips together, looking at her intently.  “I’ve always appreciated that.  I’ve always trusted you for doing that, you know.  There’s another weird Sherlock from another weird universe. We’re not sure what’s happening, but we’re going to fix it.  That’s our job now sans W.  We just need a place to put weird Sherlock while Johnny goes and runs an errand.”

“You’re joking.”  He had to be joking.

“Me?  Ha. Ha, ha.” He looked even worse fake laughing.

“You’re not joking.”

“You were always smart, you were always the smartest.”

“Don’t lie,” Molly told him, but she couldn’t help being a little flattered.  David just had a way of saying things that just made a person believe him.

“I’m not.  You’ve floated on the edges of us for ages and while the elder Holmeses were so busy being excited at the prospect grandchildren they put bags over their heads or so the brothers Holmes who were convinced they’re the pinnacle of everything that they overthink every little strand of hair.  You’ve come the closest to figuring out the truth of us.”

“That you talk a lot of nonsense because you don’t have adult supervision?” Molly asked.

“I am adult supervision!” he declared, all but banging his chest.

“You’re something.”

He laughed, the sound raspy with exhaustion and soft with affection.  The boys treated her with so much affection she felt crowned, felt true like an arrow, felt Triple Boss.  Wondered that no one else had noticed how absolutely spectacular she had always been, she had always been pretty spectacular.

“You were serious.  About alternate universe Sherlock.”

“The worst kind of serious.”

“What kind is that?” she asked.

“Actually serious.  You know how much I hate to be actually serious.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m terrible,” he agreed.  “You love me.”

“I love you, but only because Greg needs an adopted son that’s not an unholy terror.”

“I don’t know,” Davey said, resting his chin on his fist. “I can be pretty terrifying.  He’s better than the Grandparent Holmes anyway. He reminds me of my real dad. He’s steady.”

“I don’t think we should talk about this anymore,” Molly told him.  “I feel like you’re sharing stuff you wouldn’t usually share with me because you’re tired and feeling vulnerable.  You’re welcome to talk about it with me if you want, I just don’t think you should right now.”

“Look at you,” David smiled.  “No wonder Johnny loves you so much.  Always looking out for us.  I think Johnny would have liked to live with you, except he was worried about keeping you safe and that he wouldn’t have been able to drag you into half the nonsense he got Sherlock to do.  You would have made him work smart.  I’ve said too much, haven’t I?  I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

There was a knock, sharp and patterned, from the front of the house.

“Who’s that rapping at my chamber door?” Molly said, feeling flustered.  It took a second for her to roll her center of gravity back up again to waddle toward the entryway.

“I gotta go sleep.”

“Go sleep,” she said agreeably.  “Rest.”

On the other side of the glass panel on the door was a tall shape and shorter stockier person with a distinctive posture and characteristic sticking out ears.

“Outies!” David said, and her screen went dark.  

She sighed, folding her tablet up to slide into her pocket.

There on the other side of the door was Johnny, looking apologetic, and a Sherlock that looked like he was still in his early thirties.

“You’re pregnant,” Young Sherlock said.

“Sorry about this,” Johnny said, holding a bulk bag of cat treats.  Organic!  Real fish! the bag said in about size twenty font.  Where had he found a bag so large?

“You better get in here,” she told him stepping inside. “This isn’t another weird clone thing, or aliens or something?”

“No,” Johnny said, leading the way in.  “No Doctor Who stuff.  Well, some Doctor Who stuff.  We’re not sure, we’re figuring it out.”

Young Sherlock took a step into the entryway and went stiff when she gently pushed him out of the way of the door.

“Why are you figuring things out here?” she asked.

“Because I’ve got something I need to do and Tim and Davey both need time to themselves.  He has to go somewhere safe, and there’s no one else I trust more to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble than with you and Greg.  If anyone could keep Sherlock from performing general mayhem it’s the two of you.”

“You and Greg?” Sherlock said at a pitch Molly usually associated with baby birds.

“If he’s too much trouble, I’ll find someone else.  I’ll think of something,” Johnny said with his usual Very Serious face.  She tried not to show how Very Cute it was.

She turned to Young Sherlock, giving him a quick look over and put her hands on her hips.  “You’ve been using.”

“No,” he tried.

Johnny hauled back and punched Sherlock so hard he stumbled.

“Johnny,” she scolded him.  “No hitting in the house.”

“Yes, Molly,” he nodded, looking cherubic.  Like he wouldn’t do it again as soon as he and his brothers were all sitting on her sofa.  He turned to Sherlock and held up a finger.  “No lying to Molly ever.  Molly asks a question and you answer honestly.  It’s A Rule.”  As if he hadn’t spent the first months of their acquaintance blatantly lying to her.

“What is your muscle development?” Sherlock asked Johnny, rubbing his arm and looking that familiar mixed of shocked and fascinated Molly associated with new parent Sherlock.  “I hope you aren’t planning on doing that again.”

Johnny actually looked guilty.  “I am sorry about that.  I’m used to punching my brothers.  Roost is built like a tank and Davey always wears a vest so it always hurts me more than it hurts them.  I didn’t actually hurt you, did I?  I really didn’t mean to.”

“I’d hate to see how you’d hit if you did.”

“We’ll get you home by then,” Johnny told him, patting him consolingly on the arm.  “I have an ice pack in my bag if you need it?”

Sherlock pulled up to full height.  “Of course I don’t need an ice pack.”

“Oh.  Okay then.” Johnny looked awkwardly between the Molly and Sherlock for a moment until she sighed and opened her arms.

“Come on then.  Give me a hug and go beat the Daleks.”

His arms wrapped around her from the side, his body trying to tuck against hers, going soft for a moment with a relief that made him seem very young.  Poor thing, only fifteen.  She smoothed a thumb against his cowlick and gave him a little squeeze.  He made a soft happy sound and then darted away like he was afraid even all these years later he might get in trouble for love freely given.  “Okay good,” he said quickly and darted out her door.

“Well,” Molly said, looking at Sherlock.

“Well,” Sherlock said, looking back.

“So,” Molly said.  “Alternate universe Sherlock.  How have things been for you?”

Maybe Johnny shouldn’t have made such a point about Sherlock being honest.  

Half an hour later she had her feet up on an ottoman while Sherlock pacing back and forth telling her his life story from meeting Greg at the Yard to his return from his very short plane ride.  It was a long story.  She felt for him, for his suffering, his anguish had been sharpened by his confusion at why things couldn’t go the way that had before. What had he done wrong?  In the past she may have cooed at him and given his hand a pat, now she saw how little good it did either of them.  He wasn’t a child, if he asked for advice he was going to get it.

“Have you ever considered involving John in your decision?” Molly asked. She remembered her old crush the way one might remember an A-level, how important it had seemed at the time and how distant it had seemed now. But comparing that to the warm, bubbling, adoration she had for Greg, the way she felt like she begun to glow internally whenever she saw Greg’s lovely face, it seemed adolescent.   No offence to herself, but what had she been thinking?  It was clear they simply wouldn’t suit.  People changed she supposed.  She certainly had.  Love made one blind and all that.  Byron was certainly proof enough: great poet, hot mess.

“I did!” Young Sherlock paced across her living room. “My decision was entirely based on him! Could I keep him safe?  How long?  How good of an actor was he?  How reliably could I fake his death?”

“No, you considered how he could be convenient for you because you were used to thinking of him as convenient.”

“I- No, I’m not.”

“If your John is anything like our Johnny, then the reason he’s so angry with you is because he believed in you.  He let himself be of use to you because he trusted you.”

Sherlock’s eyes were big and pale in his face.

“Maybe you should try to listen to him,” she told him.  “If you wanted to maybe change things.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he told her.

“The truth is often hard to hear.  You can fix things, things like this are easy to fix if you’re willing to make the first move, willing to show that you’re prepared to make yourself vulnerable.”

Before Sherlock could answer there was a frantic series of knocks at the front door getting louder and louder.

“Help me up,” Molly told him, lifting a hand. “Somebody’s at the door.”

Somebody turned out to be Roost with huge panicked eyes and Johnny carried in his arms.  Johnny looked awful, and by awful Molly meant specifically he looked unconscious.  She darted into action, taking his pulse and checking his eyes.  

“Bring him into the living room, what happened?”

“I got scared,” Roost said, eyes darting away, cagey as anything.  “I checked him over.  I didn’t forget.  I just got scared.”            Molly pressed her lips together to keep in the immediate response and moved out of the young man’s way.  Hormones made things feel strange.  Sometimes things were hyperreal, ultra-sensory, so it seemed she could taste her own mouth, feel her own skin, so everything but Greg’s steady hands on her shoulders made her feel overstimulated and frustrated.  Sometimes they made her feel disconnected and floating. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling now, like there was some kind of symphony floating through her, reedy panic, the low hum of muscle memory, the percussive patter of her mental list taking form.  She felt a bit like she’d been floating from conversation to conversation since Davey had called her and the shock of the whole thing snapped her into movement.

In the living room, Roost had arranged himself in the corner of her sofa, with Johnny’s head supported in his lap.  On further inspection Johnny looked less unconscious that in deep sleep from exhaustion.  Roost’s pale hand curled over Johnny’s crumpled brow and held him close as his body gave fitful shivers.  When Sherlock tried to come near them he almost crawled backward up the wall.

“It’s okay, Roost,” Molly used in the same voice she used with the parents and spouses who came in to identify their loved ones.  Eyes cloudy with distress drifted back toward her. He let her approach, let her smooth down his hair, let her take Johnny’s pulse.  Too fast, thin and fluttery.  She didn’t have anything to check his blood pressure, but she could bet it was low. Johnny’s skin felt tacky from drying sweat and was passing into clammy. “He’s going into shock.”

“Body heat,” Roost said.  “Touching.  It will fix him if I stay here and be his big brother.”

“Roost,” she said again, this time involuntary.  “He needs to go to hospital.  Did he eat anything weird?  Take anything strange?  Medication, something like that?”

“It’s not an allergic reaction, its hypovolemic.  His body is really strong, but there are limits to what it can take.”

“What happened, I need to tell emergency services.”

Roost looked between the two of them and made an observable decision not to care. “Grendel, the man who wanted to change us, had this idea. This machine.  John calls it a gun, but it is only as much as you point it at someone and it does something to them.  The same could be said for words or bright lights and those things aren’t guns.”

“This wasn’t a word,” Sherlock said.

“I understand what you mean,” Roost told him, eyes and voice drifting over an invisible landscape.  “That doesn’t mean you’re not wrong.  Grendel wanted to go back, he wanted Before, and when he couldn’t get that he decided he’d settle for different.  Johnny could tell it better, I don’t remember much about what I was like before.”  His eyes darted away for a second and then back to his brother’s face.

“Roost,” Molly said.  “Time.”

“Yes, Johnny could tell it better, but it makes Johnny sad. It makes him the most sad because he was closest to what he wanted when Grendel had him and then didn’t have him and then had him again, and probably always had him.  Some people are like that.  They always have you until you can get someone bigger to have you.  Like Daddy, Daddy was the biggest, he was so big The Thing choked and then it broked and then stuff happened.”

It felt like Roost was telling them exactly what happened in the truest sense, but also that without the context behind that truth it was practically meaningless.  “What did your dad do with the gun, Roost?” Molly asked, the back of her hand pressed against Johnny’s forehead.

“He did something to it, he made his mind go inside and it moved him around, but he loved us, he was our dad.”  Roost swallowed, pressed his cheek to Johnny’s forehead.  “It tried to change him, but instead he loved us and broke it apart inside.  John has done this twice.  Someone had to do it, and he’s just like Dad almost exactly and so we thought it would be okay.  He did it twice and even though he won both times I think it hurt him real bad.”

“Has he had a seizure?” Molly asked, already pulling out her phone.

“No,” Roost told them.  “He just came out of it and looked real sad threw up and fainted and then I brought him here.  I got real scared, but Johnny left me a list of things to do in case it went wrong, even seizures, but he hasn’t had any.  Even bleeding ears, but he hasn’t had any.”

“Why would he be worried about his spine?” Molly asked.

“It’s okay if you call the hospital,” Roost told her. “Johnny wouldn’t like it, but he’s real sick and I’m scared and want him to be healthy and safe.  Sometimes Johnny thinks it’s okay for him to be hurt, but I don’t think so, and what I want is important too, isn’t it?  Ormond wouldn’t want me to be scared.”

“Who’s Ormond?”

Roost froze, eyes going even more unfocused.  “Did I say that?  I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Just stay here,” Molly told him, kissed him on the forehead as she stood, her phone at her ear.  She’d made this sort of call for her father enough times she knew how to do it. It was second nature.  She stood at the doorway to watch young Sherlock seated on the coffee table, bent toward Roost.  She forgot sometimes that Roost was in his twenties now.  In this moment he looked it, face serious.

“We don’t have a fifth anymore,” Roost told Sherlock. “Dad died and now there’s only four of us.  We just hoped nothing bad would happen.”

“Where’s the last piece?” Sherlock asked him.

“Dad didn’t tell me, I didn’t want to know,” Roost blinked up at him.  “Dad hid it somewhere.  I mean he didn’t, but he told one of the others where to hide it.”

“You don’t know wh-”

“You figure it out,” Roost snapped.  “My brother’s sick.  I’ve just had the third worst day of my life.  You don’t matter to me right now.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, pulling back.  “I’m sorry.”

“Is everything alright?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock told her, standing up.  “If you don’t mind I’m going to get out of the way.  It looks like the three of you have enough to worry about.”

“Aren’t you staying here?”  Molly raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Sherlock stood up with his hands in his pockets, looking pale and tightly strung, looking young and lost.

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.  “Just do what you need to do.  Greg will be back in the evening if you want to come back here.  I have to go take care of the kids now, so do what you have to do.”

[camsthisky]

No Amount of Time or Space (2/9)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: So Dick isn't okay as he'd like people to think, but what's new? Well, communication, apparently 

or 

Tim reminds Dick that communication is important aspect of friendship and Dick talks to his friends and tries to reconnect with the friends he'd lost in the face of the Reach's invasion. Unsurprisingly, it's hard. Part 5 of Tact

ao3 | ff.net

Dick’s day—his whole last year, really—had been really crappy. Honestly, he’d give anything just to be able to curl up with someone he loved and pretend that the world wasn’t spinning. Just for a day or two.

Of course, it was never that easy. Alfred and Bruce were out of town on an actual business trip, and Tim was on an extended mission with M’gann, Conner, Cassie, and Jaime, so he had the house completely to himself. Just Dick and some carved pumpkins, just days before Halloween.

He hated it. It felt too much like the emptiness was trying to swallow him whole. He wanted out, but he had absolutely no idea who he could call and ask to come keep him company.

Okay, so that was a lie. Dick had a whole list of people he could call, but none that he thought would be willing to come over to his house and make him feel safe from his own head and the weight still somehow dripping off his shoulders—which. That didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t Batman anymore, he wasn’t leading the Team anymore, he barely patrolled anymore, his best friend wasn’t dead anymore. There shouldn’t have been anything that was messing with him anymore.

But he still felt it. Like a phantom, he could still feel the way the cape sat on his shoulders, the way he could hardly move during patrols because of the drag, the way the world seemed so dark and bleak and terrifying when everything was on him.

So an empty house was the last thing Dick needed, and yet, he got it anyways.

He didn’t want to be alone, and he had no one he could really call and trust they’d pick up and drop everything. Not anymore, but the creepy jack-o-lantern that Clark had carved the day before sat on the window sill, staring at him and Dick came to the conclusion that he had to at least try, if not to just get out of his own head for more than moment.

are you busy?

He shot off the text quickly before he could chicken out, and ended up pacing the foyer, tossing his phone between his hands nervously. It took almost five minutes before his phone chimed cheerfully, and Dick was almost too scared to check it.

Almost. He unlocked the phone and looked at the message.

Kinda. Why? Emergency?

Dick swallowed and typed, albeit a bit shakily, no emergency

Maybe it had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have just let it go. An empty house probably wasn’t going to kill him any time soon, and he didn’t want to interrupt anything, even if his chest was just a little bit too tight, and he couldn’t seem to think straight.

It was a mistake to send that text.

His phone chimed almost immediately, though, and Dick couldn’t not look at it.

I see. Just want someone to chat with then?

something like that

Should have just said something. Want me to come over?

i thought you said you were busy

It’s just hw. I’ll be over in a sec.

Dick snorted, his smile sad at the edges. So maybe not as much of a mistake as he had first thought. God, he couldn’t believe how messed up his head space was to think he’d be rejected just for trying to text his friend. He was glad that he wouldn’t have to be alone, if only because there would be someone to tell him how much of an idiot he was being.

Despite the words, Dick knew he wouldn’t have any company for at least another ten to twenty minutes, so he got to work in the kitchen, flipped on all of the lights, prepped the oven, started mixing. Just for something to do, to keep him busy, and when the door opened, Dick had just slid a batch of cookies into the oven.

“Hey, good lookin’,” Barbara teased as she walked into the kitchen, laughing as she swiped some dough from his cheek. “I thought Alfred banned you and Tim from making cookies after the Great Pancookie Incident of 2015.”

Dick smiled, but he didn’t laugh. Barbara didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead she just got to cleaning up the mess Dick had made making the dough, and Dick scrambled to help.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think she was funny. She was. She was bright and sunny and everything about her made something in Dick just melt. But he couldn’t. There was still that tight feeling in his chest that wouldn’t go away, and he didn’t know how to make it go away. He had thought that maybe Barbara could make it go away, where Bruce and Wally and Tim and Alfred had all failed, but it wasn’t working.

Barbara cleared her throat, and Dick looked up, blinking. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in thought, and Barbara had that small knowing smile on her face that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m sensing that this is more than just you wanting to chat,” Barbara said, taking his hand and just holding it, grounding him. “Wanna talk about it?”

Dick opened his mouth, maybe to say yes, or no, or I don’t know, or I think I’m going insane because I should be okay but I’m really really not, but what came out of his mouth was nothing more than a choked-up sob.

Nothing had triggered, just his own stupid brain, but suddenly Barbara was pulling him closer, guiding his head down to her shoulder, and he was crying on one of his best friends about absolutely nothing but being left alone, and it was so maddening. He felt like he was going insane.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while, once the tears had stopped. He didn’t move, but she didn’t seem to move. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Barbara sighed. “You know, for a smart person, you’re really dumb, you know that?” Like usual, she didn’t give Dick time to scramble for an answer to that before she was talking again. “You were alone, after a lot of time leaning on Tim and Alfred and Bruce, and it’s normal to not feel okay so soon. That’s fine, so don’t apologize, okay?”

“Babs,” he said, his voice sort of scratchy, but still relieved and sort of awed, because, “how did you know?”

He could almost hear her eyes roll. “Despite what you like to think, I do know you, Dick. I know that being alone and taking up every responsibility that came your way was your normal up until Bruce came back, and I know that you got used to everyone taking care of you these past few weeks. And with everyone gone, you’re lonely again. It’s hard.”

They took a moment, just basking in each other’s presence before Barbara pulled away and smiled at him, her fingers lingering on his arms, and Dick tried his best to smile back at her. Because she was here, and it was like she’s inside his head, and even though he still felt off-balance.

She pulled the thoughts he couldn’t make sense of from his head and turned them into words he could try to make sense of.

“Dick,” she said, pulling him back to her. She slid a hand over his cheek, her thumb gently rubbing underneath his eye. “I’m glad you called me. If you ever feel alone, just let me know, and I’ll be over as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” Dick said, and he smiled.

It was later, after the slightly burned cookies—he forgot to set a timer—were taken out of the oven, that Dick found himself sprawled out on the couch, his head in Barbara’s lap, her fingers carding through his hair.

“I used to have a lot of friends,” Dick said after almost ten minutes of comfortable silence. Barbara’s hand stilled, but she didn’t say anything, so Dick forged ahead. “Back before—before. I had a lot of people I could rely on, right?”

“I would say so,” Barbara said, but she sounded cautious, like she wasn’t sure where this was heading. Well, neither did Dick, so they had something common there.

“Okay, so you said that I’m feeling alone, and you’re right,” Dick told her, keeping his eyes on the wall. It was easier with his head in her lap. No chance of accidentally looking into those intense eyes. No chance of her extracting every bit of truth from him, whether he wanted it or not. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore, but I also know it’s not going to just change overnight.”

“Get to the point,” Barbara said gently, her fingers starting up again.

“I have something I want to run past you. Something I came up with while I was talking with Tim the other day, and I need your help. Tim’s, too, but he already knows what I have in mind. Will you hear me out?”

“Of course I will.” There was a smile in her voice, and Dick felt himself relaxing into her touch. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

No. He didn’t, and the problem was he’d braced himself for rejection anyways. Still Dick didn’t answer the question. Instead, he sat up, looked her right in the eyes, and told her exactly what he’d been thinking about the past three days.

The whole time, she never looked anything less than supportive, and Dick was glad she was always just a phone call away.

Barbara Gordon turned his crappy day into something less than awful, and honestly? Dick couldn’t have asked for more.

[focr]

Mark Twain wrote, “What a wee little part of a person’s life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. All day long, the mill of his brain is grinding, and his thoughts, not those other things, are his history.” (Reader’s Digest [1/93], p. 155).

I would modify Twain by saying that our thought life forms the basis for and is largely revealed in our actions and words. But Twain’s comments correctly affirm that our thought life composes a major part of who we really are. Jonathan Edwards put it this way: “The ideas and images in men’s minds are the invisible powers that constantly govern them” (source unknown). Thus it is crucial for each of us to bring our thought life into submission to Jesus Christ by learning to think biblically about every aspect of life.

One of the most helpful things I have learned about the Christian life is that all sin begins in our thoughts, which the Bible often calls “the heart.”

Jesus said, “That which proceeds out of the man, that is what defiles the man. For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed the evil thoughts, fornications, thefts, murders, adulteries, deeds of coveting and wickedness, as well as deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride and foolishness. All these evil things proceed from within and defile the man” (Mark 7:20-23). No one commits these outward sins without first having committed them in his mind. If we want to grow in godliness, we must win the battle over sin on the thought level.

In Philippians 4:8 Paul exhorts us to develop a Christian thought life. His words should not be divorced from the context. Practicing verse 8 is essential if we want to develop and maintain healthy relationships (4:2-3, 5). A Christian thought life is also integral to a life of joy (4:4) and peace (4:6-7) in every situation. Since our thoughts form the basis for our behavior, a godly thought life is also essential for the obedience to which Paul exhorts us in verse 9. Clearly, Paul’s thought life was at the heart of the contentment he had learned in every situation (4:10-12). So Paul is telling us the way to be whole people in our relationships with God, with one another, and within ourselves. But before we look specifically at what Paul is teaching and how to obey it, we need to think about:

I. What Paul is NOT teaching: the power of positive thinking.

I need to focus on this for a moment because the Christian world has been infiltrated with the false teaching of “positive thinking,” popularized by Norman Vincent Peale and, with only slight variations, by Peale’s protege, Robert Schuller. If you are at all familiar with the teachings of these men, you know that they are not Christian in any orthodox sense of the term, even though they both have been welcomed into evangelical circles. Through their influence, the idea has crept into the American church that it is wrong ever to be negative or critical. This has resulted in the loss of discernment.

A young woman once stopped attending the church I pastored in California because she said I was too negative. When I pressed her for specifics, she showed me my sermon outline from the previous week. Sure enough, I had to admit, my points were stated negatively rather than positively. But I pointed out to her that I had taken the points verbatim from the biblical text. But that didn’t matter to her! And, of course, it didn’t occur to her that she was being critical of my preaching, or that Paul and Jesus were often both critical and negative. She believed that we must always be positive.

The positive thinking heresy has further spread through the so-called “Positive Confession” heresy, also called the “Health and Wealth” or “Name it and Claim it” teaching, that whatever you confess positively by faith, God must do it. This heresy attributes power to faith itself, and says that even if you are sick, you must not give a negative confession by admitting it, but must claim your healing by affirming, “I am well!”

Also a number of purportedly Christian sales companies or successful salesmen have utilized a form of this error through a sales motivational teaching called “positive mental attitude.” You’re never supposed to entertain negative thoughts. You’re supposed to use “positive self-talk,” have faith in yourself, and visualize yourself as successful and wealthy so that it will become a reality.

All of these errors are based on the heresy of Science of Mind, taught by Ernest Holmes, the founder of the Church of Religious Science, that your mind can create reality, that through thinking positively, you can do anything or achieve any success you want. The variations mentioned above, though claiming to be Christian and appealing to Philippians 4:8 as support, are satanic in that they appeal to the flesh, promote self, and do not confront people with the need to be subject to the lordship of Christ. (Dave Hunt deals with many of these errors in his two books, The Seduction of Christianity and Beyond Seduction [both by Harvest House].) But, clearly, Paul is not teaching the power of positive thinking in Philippians 4:8.

II. What Paul IS teaching: the Christian’s thought life should be focused on the great truths of scripture.

Even though Scripture is not specifically mentioned, it is assumed, because it is the only source for knowing what is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and of good repute. Let’s look at the list:

1. Think on whatever is true.

The word means, “true as to fact ... it denotes the actuality of a thing” (G. Abbott-Smith, A Manual Greek Lexicon of the New Testament [Charles Scribner’s Sons], p. 20). The “true” is that which corresponds to reality. God Himself is the only final test for truth. Since He is unchanging, the moral standards revealed in His Word, which stem from His holy nature, are also unchanging. They apply to every culture in every age. John 3:33 attests, “God is true” (see also, John 8:26; Rom. 3:4). As Paul writes to Titus, who was in Crete (the Cretans were notorious liars), “God ... cannot lie,” and He made known His truth by “His word” (Titus 1:1-3). Jesus also claimed for Himself that He is true (John 7:18; also 5:31-32). Opposed to God and Christ, Satan is a liar and the father of lies (John 8:44). He is a deceiver, and he uses sin to deceive those ensnared by it (2 Cor. 11:3; Eph. 4:22; Heb. 3:13).

Since as fallen creatures we are prone to Satan’s lies and deception, the only way we can know the truth and walk in it is to steep ourselves in God’s Word. We should know the Word so well that we automatically run everything we encounter through the grid of God’s Word. We live in a day that is geared toward emotions and strongly influenced by the supposed “virtue” of tolerance. Our culture assumes that love means being tolerant and accepting of everyone and everything, even if God’s Word plainly declares that something is an abomination. If you go with the flow, you will be carried far from God’s absolute standard of moral truth as revealed in His Word.

We also must resist the pragmatism of our culture, which determines the true by whatever works. If something works, which means, it brings you happiness (at least at the moment) or it accomplishes what you want, then it must be true. But God’s Word doesn’t always line up with what works. In fact, it’s clear that sin often brings pleasure for a season; if it didn’t we wouldn’t be so enticed by it. Many of the “positive mental attitude” methods are effective in making you a successful sales person. But the question is, Are they biblical? We must test everything by God’s Word, not by feelings or pragmatism.

2. Think on whatever is honorable (NIV = “noble”).

The word means “that which inspires reverence or awe; dignified, worthy of respect.” It is a character quality required in deacons and deaconesses (1 Tim. 3:8, 11). Elders should keep their children under control “with all dignity” (1 Tim. 3:4). All Christians should “lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity” (1 Tim. 2:2).

This means that Christians are to take life seriously. We are not to be silly goof-offs, who treat life as a perpetual joke. We live in light of eternity, keeping in mind the uncertainty of this short life and the reality of heaven and hell. This doesn’t mean that we can’t appreciate clean humor. But our overall tenor should communicate to a lost world that they must stand before a holy God someday soon. Think on these reverent themes.

3. Think on whatever is right.

This word is used of God Himself who is righteous (Rom. 3:26; 1 John 2:29; 3:7) and of Jesus Christ (Acts 3:14; 7:52; 22:14; 1 Pet. 3:18; 1 John 2:1). Thus we are to be righteous people, as John writes, “Little children, let no one deceive you; the one who practices righteousness is righteous, just as He is righteous; the one who practices sin is of the devil” (1 John 3:7-8). To think on what is right means to think on the holy nature of God, especially as revealed in the person of Jesus Christ, and to model our behavior after Him.

4. Think on whatever is pure.

The word refers to ceremonial purity, but also to the moral purity that is pictured by the ceremonial. It especially means keeping our bodies undefiled by abstaining from sexual sins (see 2 Cor. 11:2; 1 Tim. 5:22; Titus 2:5; James 3:17; 1 Pet. 3:2; 1 John 3:3). In Ephesians 5:3-5 Paul warns, “But do not let immorality or any impurity or greed even be named among you, as is proper among saints; and there must be no filthiness and silly talk, or coarse jesting, which are not fitting, but rather giving of thanks. For this you know with certainty, that no immoral or impure person or covetous man, who is an idolater, has an inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God.” As Christians, we must say no to our sexually impure culture and focus on moral purity.

5. Think on whatever is lovely.

This word occurs only here in the New Testament. It means what is pleasing, agreeable, and attractive. At times we all find ourselves attracted to that which is evil. But this word must be taken with the context, meaning that which is both pure and attractive. Jesus Christ is inherently attractive, and so we should think often on our lovely Savior, who gave Himself for us on the cross.

6. Think on whatever is of good repute.

This comes from a compound word meaning to speak well of something (our word “euphemism” comes from this Greek word). It refers to something that “deservedly enjoys a good reputation” (F. F. Bruce, New International Biblical Commentary, Philippians [Hendrickson], p. 146). As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13, love believes the best about another person, it refuses to believe an evil report about a brother or sister until there is certain evidence to establish it.

After this list of six items, Paul changes the sentence structure, beginning the next two phrases with the word “if”; I take these final two qualities to sum up all the others plus anything Paul has omitted.

*To sum up, think on anything of virtue.

The word “excellence” (NASB, NIV) means moral virtue. Although it is common in Greek literature, this is the only time Paul uses the word. Peter uses it as a quality of God and thus as the first quality that we are to add to our faith (2 Pet. 1:3, 5). This means that as a new Christian, one of the first things you must do is to stop any behavior that is not in line with God’s moral virtues as revealed in Scripture, such as the Ten Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount, and Paul’s list of the deeds of the flesh (Gal. 5:19-21). To continue doing such things will hinder your growth in godliness. We must focus our minds on moral virtue.

*To sum up, think on anything worthy of praise.

The word “praise” is used both of what is praiseworthy in God (Eph. 1:6, 12, 14; Phil. 1:11) and in people (Rom. 2:29; 13:3; 1 Cor. 4:5). Of course, every attribute and deed of God is praiseworthy, and so we should daily think about how great God is and on the marvelous works He has done, both in creation and in history. Toward other people, even toward those in the world, we should be gracious by focusing on their strong points and good qualities. Even though we all are depraved by nature, because of God’s common grace even unbelieving people can be kind, caring, and loving. Ultimately those qualities, even in unbelievers, do not bring glory to the person, but to God. So we should be appreciative and affirming toward people rather than negative and critical.

*Think on these things.

Paul means to reflect on these qualities that stem from God and should be characteristic of us as children of God. “Give them weight in your decisions” (Beare, cited by Bruce, p. 145). Allow them “to shape your conduct” (Ralph P. Martin, Tyndale New Testament Commentaries, Philippians [IVP/Eerdmans], p. 171). In other words, think on these things with a view to doing them.

III. How to obey what Paul is teaching: we must control what comes into our minds.

Proverbs 4:23 says, “Watch over your heart with all diligence, for from it flow the springs of life.” Patrick Buchanan has observed, “The food that enters the mind must be watched as closely as the food that enters the body” (Reader’s Digest [11/89], p. 203). Frank Outlaw wrote, “Watch your thoughts, they become your words; watch your words, they become actions; watch your actions, they become habits; watch your habits, they become character; watch your character, for it becomes your destiny” (Reader’s Digest [date not known]). To obey what Paul is saying, we must exercise control over our thought life. This involves at least five things:

1. We need the mind of Christ through conversion.

Before a person knows Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, he has a depraved mind (Rom. 1:28). He lives in the lusts of his flesh, indulging the desires of the flesh and of the mind (Eph. 2:3). God must supernaturally raise us from our state of being dead in our trespasses and sins (Eph. 2:1) and impart to us a new nature that is able to obey Him (Eph. 4:22-24). Paul says that “the mind set on the flesh is hostile toward God; for it does not subject itself to the law of God, for it is not even able to do so; and those who are in the flesh cannot please God. However, you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you. But if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Him” (Rom. 8:7-9). As he goes on to explain, the Holy Spirit gives us the power to put to death the deeds of the flesh and to live in obedience to God.

2. We must clean out and block out sources for sinful thoughts.

We cannot have a pure thought life without first ridding ourselves of things which defile us. It would be like trying to clean yourself while you’re lying in a mud hole. The first step is to get out of the mud and get to a source of soap and water. If we allow things into our lives which promote sensuality, greed, sexual impurity, crude language, violence, hatred, love of self, or anything else not pleasing to God, we cannot grow in holiness.

I agree with Pastor Kent Hughes, who in his book, Disciplines of a Godly Man ([Crossway Books], p. 75) writes, “I am aware of the wise warnings against using words like ‘all,’ ‘every,’ and ‘always’ in what I say. Absolutizing one’s pronouncements is dangerous. But I’m going to do it anyway. Here it is: It is impossible for any Christian who spends the bulk of his evenings, month after month, week upon week, day in and day out watching the major TV networks or contemporary videos to have a Christian mind. This is always true of all Christians in every situation!” (emphasis his). Amen!

It needs to be said: You will not be a godly person if you do not control the TV, videos, movies, music, magazines, books, and even the radio programs you take in. If something is polluting you or tempting you, get rid of it and make plans to avoid it!

3. Take in God’s Word from every source.

Read it daily. If you’re not a reader, listen to it on tape. You have no excuses for not saturating your mind with Scripture. As Kent Hughes also says, “You cannot be profoundly influenced by that which you do not know” (p. 77). I cannot encourage you enough to memorize verses that relate to problems you struggle with. Unless the Word is in your heart, God cannot use it when you are tempted (see Jesus’ example in fending off temptation, Matt. 4:1-11). You do not need to read the newspaper every day, but you desperately need to read your Bible every day! It’s like a daily shower--it cleanses off the dirt of the world (Eph. 5:26).

4. Expose your mind to the teaching and examples of the great Christians down through history.

Listen to and read sermons from godly men. The sermons and commentaries of John Calvin, Jonathan Edwards, Charles Spurgeon, J. C. Ryle, Martyn Lloyd-Jones, and other giants of the faith are available in print. Read the biographies of these and other godly men and women. With a few exceptions, avoid most of the modern Christian best sellers, and spend your time reading the works that have stood the test of time. These men walked with God, and they will feed your soul.

5. Listen to wholesome music, especially the great hymns of the faith.

I enjoy many of the praise choruses, especially those that are taken directly from Scripture. But also, some of the great hymns have a history of sustaining God’s people down through the years, and they are doctrinally meaty. The Wesley’s used hymns to teach theology to many who were illiterate. Get recordings of the great hymns and play them until you know them by heart. They will fill your mind with wholesome truth.

Conclusion

A number of years ago, the news media picked up the story of a woman known as “Garbage Mary.” She lived in a smelly Chicago tenement amid mounds of garbage. She spent her time rummaging through trash cans. She would bum cigarettes off her neighbors. Police took her to a psychiatric hospital after she was stopped for questioning and found to be in a confused state of mind. When they went into her filthy apartment, they were astounded to find stock certificates and bank books indicating she was worth at least a million dollars. She was the daughter of a wealthy Illinois lawyer.

It’s a pathetic story, but it pictures the lives of many professing Christians, who could be immersing their thought life in that which is true, dignified, right, pure, lovely, of good repute; that which is virtuous and worthy of praise. But instead, they surround themselves with moral filth, wallowing daily in raunchy TV programs, polluting their minds with the sordid stories of this condemned world, rather than focusing their thought life on the things of God and Christ.

An old Indian Christian was explaining to a missionary that the battle inside of him was like a black dog fighting a white dog. “Which dog wins?” asked the missionary. “The one I feed the most,” replied the Indian. Paul says, “Feed your mind on the pure truth of God’s Word.”

Discussion Questions

Why are Peale’s “Positive Thinking” and Schuller’s “Possibility Thinking” fundamentally opposed to Scripture?

Some Christians argue that we need to be aware of what’s going on in our culture through movies, TV, etc. Your response?

How should a Christian police officer apply Phil. 4:8 when he is daily confronted by moral filth in his job?

Someone may argue, “The Bible itself has stories of immorality, etc. What’s the difference between reading it there and watching it on TV, movies, or video?” Your answer?

~ Steven J. Cole