#and Tim’s standing there on edge the whole time

[automaticsoulharmony]

Y’know that TikTok sound from The Good Place that went around a while back? Yeah here’s Tim with it

Dick: why can’t you just accept that Bruce is a good Batman/dad for Damian?

Tim: Because I wanted that B! I wanted the person who would take me out for ice cream after patrol! I wanted the Bruce who insists we have a party for my birthday! Instead of sending me home and testing me every chance he gets! Why does Damian get that Bruce?

(And then the whole arc is Bruce being like, “you made me like this. I couldn’t be this for you and I’m sorry, but you brought me out of that low point.” And Tim’s like “wow, thank you.” And Steph/Babs/Duke/literally anyone or everyone except Tim is like “BULLSHIT he does not get a thank you for that!! Bull. Shit.”)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem) A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.” 

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before… 

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[nightwngz]

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝒕. drake ✮ eng. . . !

tim drake x female!reader

WARNINGS. . . porn with plot. friends with benefits. fingering, face riding, sex (p in v)

COPYRIGHT. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

LANGUAGE. . . english is not my first language and I am still studying to master it. It makes me insecure to write by myself in another language, so I used the translator. I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

You had never thought of Tim Drake as anything other than your best friend, the guy you trusted and could turn to whenever you were worried about something.

He was your emotional refuge, a place where you could feel completely vulnerable, where you could share all your concerns, knowing that he would be honored to listen.

At the time, you would have sworn that you would never think of Tim as anything other than a friend. But time began to form a deeper bond between you and him.

Conversations that used to be a fun time between friends began to turn into a strange and strangely palpable tension. The hugs grew longer, the rubbing of your bodies more intense, and every lingering look seemed to contain a caged lasciviousness that only you could understand.

As time passed, the emotions you had sworn you would never feel for Tim began to flutter inside you. You found yourself thinking about him differently, noticing how your skin prickled when he touched you, how your sexual fantasies about his person began to invade your mind.

Ever since you started sleeping together and made the deal to be, as Jason said, "friends with benefits," your best friend discovered there was a side of you he didn't know.

You didn't mind invading his room because you wanted to be devoured by someone. You were not afraid to kneel on either side of Tim's head, just because you wanted to ride his face.

Fortunately for you, your friend was incredibly good at the task of eating you. His tongue pushed obscenely between your wet folds to open them, his fingers were busy fluttering against the pleasure cap that ached from lack of attention. With these movements, you gave in to him; the surge of pleasure and the sensitivity you kept in your wet pussy made his touch make you see stars.

— Hold on a little longer. I'm not done yet.

Your hole was getting closer to the emptiness of the stimulation he was giving you. You imagined what his face would be like underneath you, and just the thought of him with his whole mouth smeared from your crying pussy brought you that much closer to the edge.

But to have him look into your eyes as he squeezed your clit with his lips and then scraped it with his tongue was too much for you to bear. The orgasm hit you so hard that Tim didn't even see it coming until his whole mouth was covered with your wonderful taste.

He gave you no respite from the hypersensitivity your previous orgasm had left you with, so he immediately began to fuck you without pity through the hole he had just abused.

With his thumb, he sweetly stroked your center again to make you feel completely at ease with the onslaught.

You felt full. You felt his body fit perfectly into yours, as if he had been made to fuck you. His hot skin burned against yours as his pelvis slammed into you, making a lurid sound that could be heard throughout the room. It was too much to bear.

— T-Tim, Tim! - You cried on his shoulder. - I want you to come inside me, I can't stand it anymore.

You moved to kiss him instead of letting him answer. Your tongue was focused enough on exploring his mouth when you felt the thick, hot fluid between your legs.

You might never be the same friends again, but you could live with it.

[connorsbonez]

Stalkers and Cryptids

Incorrect Quotes #3

Tim: There is no future. there is no past. do you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every facet.

Danny:

Bernard:

Wes:

Everyone Else At Tim’s Surprise Birthday Party:

Danny: All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake first.

0000000000

Tim: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel.

Danny: An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel.

Bernard: A realist sees a freight train.

Wes: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.

000000000

Danny: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything?

Bernard: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Danny: That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you.

Bernard: But I heard a siren.

Wes: That was Tim.

Tim: Sorry, I got nervous.

0000000000

Bernard: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Danny: Hey, spaghetti, we're having Wes for dinner.

Wes: What is wrong with you people?

Tim: Shut up, chocolate.

0000000

Wes, banging on the door: Tim! Open up!

Tim: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Bernard: No, they meant-

Danny: Let them finish.

000000000

Tim: What's it like being tall?

Danny: Is it nice?

Bernard: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Wes: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb four chairs, two boxes, a small coffee table, and six oddly placed stools to get what they want.

000000000

Wes: Christmas is cancelled.

Tim: You can't cancel a holiday.

Wes: Keep it up, Tim, and you'll lose New Year's too.

Tim: What does that mean?

Wes: Danny, take New Year's away from Tim.

000000

Bernard: Why is Danny crying on the floor?

Wes: They took one of those 'which Amity Park ghost are you?' quizzes.

Bernard: And?

Wes: He got Plasimus.

0000000

Danny: Wes isn't answering his phone

Bernard: I'll call

Danny: Tim and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Wes: Hello?

000000

Wes: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?

Danny: Put spaghetti in it.

Wes: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you.

Tim: Put spaghetti in it.

Wes: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two.

Bernard: Put spaghetti in it.

Wes: I am no longer taking suggestions.

[rottingworship]

67 and 74 of the smut prompt for masky pleaseee

AAAHHHH YEESS Thank you!!! I love this! I had fun writing it! Thanks for the request! If anyone is curious, the prompts are from this list if you want to send some in too!! This ended up not being as freaky as I wanted, but I'm still getting used to these characters. I hope you enjoy this! P.S. I'm aware marble hornets is not creepypasta, I'm just enjoying myself right now :)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, thigh riding, slight degradation, AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used for reader though!)

Prompt: 67. "did you touch yourself while i was gone" 74. "the only way you're getting off is on my thigh"

You do not expect your boyfriend to come home so early. He was out ‘working’, and you thought you at least had one night alone.

You lay in your bed, curled up, wearing one of Tim’s shirts. And that’s it. Deep in REM sleep, you are completely unaware of the door of your house opening. Oblivious to the stalking up your steps. Deaf to your door creaking open.

You only come to consciousness when you hear your name being spoken. You sit up in bed, letting out a short yell when all you can register is someone in a mask standing at the end of your bed. You rub your eyes and focus. You realize it’s Masky. You aren’t sure if you are relieved or more unsettled.

“What-”

He interrupts you. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

Your eyes widen. You notice your panties in one of his hands. His head slightly cocks to the side as he waits for your answer. “Yes.” It’s all you can muster. Your panties drop from his hand, and he motions for you to get up. You don’t hesitate to move. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Masky watches you closely. His eyes don’t move from you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, suddenly very aware of everything. Cold air hits your bare legs, and you shift your weight.

“Are you still needy?” His voice is almost mocking.

“Yes.” You respond quickly. You wait for his next move.

Masky sits on the edge of your bed, his eyes watching you the whole time he does so. He pats his thigh and you give him a confused look. He pats it again. You have a feeling there will not be a third time, so you awkwardly walk towards him, hands still gripping the hem of your shirt. Masky’s hands rest on your hips and you swallow hard. You bite your lip as Masky spreads his legs a little wider. You sit on his lap.

“Do you wanna cum, darlin’?” Masky’s eyes don’t leave yours. You nod at him. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.” He deadpans.

You stare at him, a deer in headlights. “Oh, okay.” This is definitely a good way to wake up. Masky’s hands grip your hips tighter, and you whine. You begin to grind into his clothed thigh. Masky grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up. He watches you grind against him. You let out a huff as the friction begins to feel good. You bring yourself onto your tiptoes and grab his shoulders.

“Still so wet…” Masky hums, his hand briefly touching his thigh. You’ve left a stain on his jeans. When you grab his shoulders tighter, bearing down on his thigh, Masky grabs your hips harder. He pushes you down onto his thigh. He begins to bounce his leg ever so gently.

Your grinding does not slow, small whimpers and whines coming from you. “Please,” You whine at him. “I wanna- Wanna feel you!” Your forehead touches his.

“Get off on my thigh and I promise, I’ll fuck your brains out.” You know he’s not lying. Without thinking, one of your hands leaves Masky’s shoulders and one of your finger's ghosts over your clit. But only briefly. Masky is quick to grab your hand and click his tongue at you. “I said, only my thigh.”

You grind harder into him and let out a whine. “Come on!” You huff at him. “At least let me kiss you or something…”

Masky shakes his head. His leg begins to bounce a little more violently and you gasp. You feel a heat beginning to build up in your stomach. You begin to tense, holding his shoulder a little tighter. He’s still holding your other hand. He notices you’re close. His rhythm becomes steady and yours becomes sporadic. You are doing anything and everything to cum.

“Fuck,” You whimper, “I’m close-” You cut yourself off with a moan. Masky steadies you. He releases your hand and grabs your hip again. His eyes are boring into yours. You look up at him and notice his eyes have darkened. You fall back onto the balls of your feet and let out a loud cry. “I’m- shit-” You hiss, coming undone on his thigh. Your entire body is hot and tense, and you can feel your pussy spasming.

“See,” Masky remarks, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” You reply with a whimper, your head leaning against his shoulder. “Since you were so good,” he starts, “do you think I should reward you?” His tone causes you to cut your eyes to him. “I’m sure your fingers can’t do what I can.” He says it with confidence, he knows it’s the truth. His fingers are digging into your skin.

“Please,” You begin to beg, “I need you. Only you-”

Your desperation is palpable. Masky laughs. “Such a little slut.” He huffs at you before easily picking you up and putting you on the bed. He is hovering over you. “The night is far from over,” His head cocks to the side, “and I can assure you, I’ll be much better than your fingers.”

[cupids-chamber]

— " 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 " | Listen to this on loop for full experience.... ★. Content tags/warnings , 1.1k+ words, gender neutral reader, technically everyone x reader (including staff/not so much RSA), can be seen as both platonic and romantic, angst, mentions of food/eating less (reader no longer has an appetite), reader is tired, reader is having a really bad day, reminder: I haven't written in awhile.

Today was a difficult day, many days have challenged you in so many different ways, yet a keen feeling of gloominess had washed over you this particular morning. Your alarm rang blankly into the silent room, you let out a groan of displeasure as you sat up on your bed, staring blankly at the wall feeling a churn in your gut. The curtains were closed, a small ray of light shone through the empty space between your window and the fabric of the curtain; you took a moment to sit and stretch. 

Mentally you cursed yourself, reaching a hand to shut off your phone alarm. Perhaps it was a bad idea staying up late after all, yet how could you resist the urge to finish that new Twisted Wonderland fanfic you found on AO3 recently; The reader resonated deeply with you, and the author's writing was just what you needed. Your eyes stung, you felt like banging your head into your headboard just to stop it from ringing and aching, not to mention you could practically feel the weight of your eyebags.—had you known your body would behave in such a way, you'd have slept at least a bit earlier—Well that's what you're saying now at least, you knew you'd probably repeat the same mistake tonight if another storyline enraptured you just as much as the previous did. 

You began standing up, your whole body woozy from the lack of sleep, you found yourself stumbling over something you left on the floor. You recall how tired you were, too done with the day to be bothered to pick it back up. You walked right past it, 'today was going to end badly' you thought to yourself, since your morning had been a dead giveaway. 

You pocketed some random snack, as breakfast; Running a bit later as per usual. You'd lie to yourself, saying that you'd get up a bit earlier tomorrow but you knew for a fact that unless a miracle happened, you wouldn't. 

The rest of the day was but the same routine, you felt tired all throughout your morning classes, on edge. You would've fallen asleep but you tried to keep your eyes open, as your professor was going over some important project intel that you really didn't want to miss—though you were only half understanding what they were saying—their words felt like gibberish for your only half-functioning brain.

Lunch felt like a chore, despite it usually feeling like a break. You felt like something bad was definitely going to happen, which made you feel anxious; The churn in your gut made it difficult to eat, chew, or drink. Your lunches weren't all that gigantic, as you disliked the feeling of being bloated, yet you barely could find it in yourself to eat. You took a deep breath, you logged into tumblr, perhaps one of your favorite fanfic writers uploaded something new? Anything to distract this heavy mind of yours. 

You checked @kalims page first, they hadn't uploaded in a while—It's been a couple days since they've posted; you figured they'd be busy with school… You pondered on the following page for a while, checking @spadecentral‘s blog, they were far more active then most other blogs you’ve been following and their soft and sweet writings was perhaps just what you needed in this tim—They haven’t uploaded in a while as well? You looked at your screen, maybe everyone was just busy with their finals and/or finishing up midterms at this time. 

You hummed, scrolling frantically through your follows, you sighed softly, maybe today wasn't the day to read fluff, you started checking yandere blogs; ‘nothing like obsessive men to calm you down’ you thought as you clicked on @writingforatwistedworld‘s blog, you scrolled down.. 

‘Weird, nothing new..’, it was as if the whole world had conspired against you today, you took a sigh, perhaps @honey-milk-depresso had uploaded something new on her art blog, after all their wholesome tsundere ship art was just the perfect source of serotonin—And if you were just a bit lucky, perhaps she’s uploaded writing onto her main blog an—Oh.. She hasn’t uploaded either?..  

Your brows furrowed letting out a tired sigh, maybe you should just listen to some music. ‘How bad could this day possibly go?’—you consoled yourself with those words, as you tried finishing up at least a small portion of your meal. 

You forced yourself to clean up and change, crashing onto your bed afterwards. It always felt softer on these sorts of days. Like a welcoming warm embrace, that you didn't want to leave. You took a few moments to vent your stress onto one of your poor pillows, before getting nice and cozy with your warm blankets. 

You laid down on your bed, burying yourself in the blankets, as you grabbed your device from near you, turning the brightness to the lowest possible setting, perhaps you should finish your general tasks on Twst before you take a nap.. 

10 minutes passed and you let out a groan, where did the app go? You never heard of an app disappearing randomly; perhaps you miss-clicked and hid it by accident? A few minutes passed, and you still couldn't find the Twisted Wonderland app, you desperately opened up your computer.. Typing in panic, and yet the official website was gone as well—perhaps it’s just going through some weird update?—Maybe this was only happening to certain servers. You logged into tumblr once again, checking your mutuals profiles and.. some of them were gone? Most of the blogs had nothing from Twisted Wonderland left, the tumblr tags for Twst were completely empty. 

Two hours had only passed and your panic grew, it was odd. You scrolled through your mutual’s blogs for minutes on end hoping to find one post about the game which put a smile on your face on the daily... Yet none... You went on AO3 and even checked other websites which you'd only go to out of sheer desperation for content... Yet nothing...  

You took deep breaths, your breathing pacing as you scrolled till your fingers began to sting from pressure and stress.. Your back arched, as you stared at the screen with an intense expression, desperately tapping away…  finally you entered the app store hoping this was a weird dream or update, like those movies and manga’s and yet.. the app was gone. No mention of it.

You couldn’t even trace a single picture of the game down, not even on Pinterest where everything deleted was still sometimes somehow available. 

'Were you crying? You couldn't quite tell, you felt tired, perhaps this fictional world was just something you created as an escape, yet you didn't think you'd get this attached to some characters on a screen, and now that's it's all gone you feel... kind of.. empty.' 

‘Maybe it was all just a fragment of your imagination…’

| Masterlist | Kofi | Join Taglist

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[blughxreader]

Seeing you post about taking beginner Chinese lessons made me think of how so many members of the Batfam are just crazy levels of intelligent and they could probably have secret conversations around you all the time in languages and they could be saying the most sinister shit right next to you and you'd never even know

Bruce, in Greek: --- which is why, since y/n can't remember anything from the amnesia caused by their injuries, I told them that they lost their entire family and that's why we took them in

Dick, in Romani: and you made sure to tell their parents the exact opposite right? That y/n died in the accident and you couldn't find the body?

Damian, in Sanskrit: or we could just kill their parents to avoid the risk of them coming to look for their adult child

You, literally sitting at the dining room table with them with a mouthful of some of Alfred's delectable pancakes and assuming they're just talking about hero stuff: 😊😋🥰 this family is so nice, I'm so lucky to have met them

I eat this shit up with the same ferocity as Ras al ghul slurping pit water

I don't think they'd touch your family as long as you remain an amnesiac! Vacations would be held on a different continent because 1.) Gotham is too dangerous, honey :( 2.) The Waynes are famous so lets go someplace where no one will recognize us! <33

Day-to-day life would be annoying.

Tim's been a tick on your side the whole day and your patience is gone.

Dick comes in and Tim says in French, "They're in an prickly mood. Tread lightly."

Dick coos and plops down next to you on the couch, jostling you as he wraps an arm around your back. He replies to Tim in Portuguese, "Do they need a calming pill?"

You shove Dicks arm off and stand up, then re-situate yourself on another couch. The boys make eye-contact before Tim sends a text on his phone. In Greek, he says, "Not a whole one. 70%?"

Dick frowns at you, sad to see your back facing him. In Japanese, Dick says, "But I still wanna talk to them. Make it 45%, just to take the edge off."

Tim's head dips down to his phone again, and Dick says to you, "Want some tea? Alf's got some fresh chamomile."

[somewherebetweendisorder]

Touch Starved

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: slight angst I guess? fluff??

~~~

You were used to Jason coming home broken and bloody. Or at least, you should be used to it after two years, but it always comes as a paralyzing shock when he stumbles through the window, eyes wary as they land on you. Tonight is no exception. Just as he is inside the room, he falls to his knees, looking up at you.

"It's bad tonight," he warns, not quite meeting your eyes.

You step closer with the caution you would use to approach a wounded animal. There are days you forget this is your reality. Days when Gotham City didn't demand your fiance's time and soul. Days when the streets didn't deliver your boyfriend back to you, worse for wear and half dead. Days when the thought of having to stitch Jason up didn't even cross your mind.

Those fleeting pieces of normalcy were what propelled you through these nights. The hope that there would be another sunny day, sitting across from Jason at your favorite cafe, soaking up the heat like the baguette in your hand soaking up the minestrone in your bowl. Spoon froze in space halfway to your mouth as he recounted stories of growing up with Dick and Tim. Love weighed down the air around you, heavy with desire and longing and words you were both too terrified to verbalize. But you knew, you both knew what lingered there, in the tiny space between you.

So with that image in mind, fading in potency as you helped Jason to his feet, brought back to reality, you vowed to get him through tonight so that another day was possible. No matter what it requires of you. No matter how brutal the task, like a lighter held to wax, melting away your optimism.

"No."

The word is a cacophony in your bedroom, not a word he uses on you often. You struggle to remember the last time he said it. You can't. Meeting his eyes, a deep green, like spring foliage, you are alarmed by the apathy projected at you.

"What?"

"Not tonight. I'll do it."

"No, Jason, let me help. Please." You know the edge of panic is unmistakable in your voice, but you don't care. If he shuts you out now, it'll take ages to fix the damage.

He shakes his head but doesn't stop you from helping him into the bathroom and easing him down onto the closed lid of the toilet. He grunts in pain, and you wince, reaching for the first aid kit below the sink. The cache of gauze and hydrogen peroxide was long ago depleted from the original case. You have to buy more every couple of weeks.

Twisting the cap off of the brown bottle you set it on the edge of the counter along with a roll of gauze, a tube of ointment, and a pair of scissors that you just sterilized. You force your mind blank as you avoid his hard stare and hiss of pain as you work off his leather jacket and toss it on the floor. You cut off the black shirt he's wearing. It's beyond saving.

Once his torso is bared you set to work, cleaning the numerous wounds. You press a little too hard on a deep cut and he growls, hand encircling your wrist to stop you.

"Y/N."

"I'm sorry, Jason. I'm sorry. It's just-"

"Y/N," he repeats, firmer this time. "Stop."

He pries the antibacterial-soaked cotton pad from your hand and stands, towering over you.

"I'll finish. Go to bed it's late."

His words are dismissive, and he's already turning away from you, but your hand on his uninjured bicep stops him.

"Jace," your voice breaks on the nickname, your frayed nerves catching up with you. "What's going on? Why are you shutting me out?"

He doesn't answer, keeping his back to you. As the tears begin to track down your face, you trail your fingertips down his skin. The touch is soft, meant to soothe, but it's too much for Jason. He's been touch-starved his whole life, and on his worst days, your affection is overwhelming.

"Just stop!"

"No! It's been too long for you to revert to this self-destructive behavior. Stop shutting me out! Let me love you. This is how I love you. Just- Stop Jason, please."

His eyes finally meet yours, bloodshot and overflowing with emotion. Before you know what's happening he's easing down to his knees again, burying his face in your chest, breathing irregularly.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. It was so close tonight I just-"

"It's okay. It's okay," you repeat, fingers gently combing through his hair.

His lips seek yours out, desperate and hungry. You can sense it all, the toll that tonight took on him and the fear that lingers. You give in to the kiss, parting your lips and allowing him to deepen the kiss. As his hands begin to creep up your sides you struggle to tap back into the rational side of your brain. Mind foggy from the kiss you take a small step back, fingers ghosting over his lips.

"Let's finish getting you cleaned up, Jace. Then you can take me to bed."

[thelibrarian1895]

Gotham is WEIRD, especially the schools

So, just going to say it, gym classes in each and every Gotham city school, and Gotham private school, result in Gotham educated kids who don't skip gym class being just a little less than world class martial artists by the time they graduate high school. There are some who are better than others of course but for the most part, if you went to school in Gotham and you did your best in gym, you developed the ability to beat up an average of five non Gothamites without breaking a sweat. You also had an immediate edge if you wanted to try stunt work or feature in the action genre in movie or tv shows thanks to your elementary/middle/high school gym classes. This is how Batman can still have trouble with mooks in Gotham. It's not just quantity that gives him trouble, they have some legit skills to go with size, strength, and willingness to try to break someone's skull for money. Most gym teachers in Gotham are defectors from a martially adept cult, retired assassin with no concept of how normal not in Gotham gym classes are generally conducted, or Gothamites who were raised with the weird gym classes so they're teaching what they know and what they know is how to beat the snot out of people who have less than Bat level training. And the rest of school administration is generally too intimidated or doesn't care or they're happy the kids have an extra edge in case of school shootings to say or do anything about the scary gym teacher.

This definitely helped both Jason and Tim when they started their Robin training. This helped Stephanie when she decided to be a vigilante under her own power and gave Duke an edge when he had to go through his whole mess. This also made Dick's childhood athletic antics and Damian's current school antics stand out a great deal less than they would in schools outside of Gotham.

So yeah, only in Gotham is your gym teacher 100% a former assassin/mercenary/goon/mafioso who will make sure that you can hold your own in a fight against almost anyone.

Unfortunately for those who end up being goons or rogues, almost does not include the Bats.

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 2/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.) ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

The weekly Monday team meeting had never inspired much in the way of passion in the past, but then, the topic of Champion the cat had never been raised before.  

“If you’re adamant about it living in the archives, Jon, then my requirement is that it be useful!” Elias repeated, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and discreetly wiping his eyes. He kept a healthy distance from the Head Archivist and the armful of ginger-and-white fluff he held, but the creature’s shedding fur seemed determined to attack him all the same. 

Jon readjusted the cat in his arms, his stubborn scowl set despite his difficult load. “Champion is useful!” he retorted, earning a loud and happy purr from a delighted Champion. “And he will remain useful in the archives, yes. Not in the tunnels!” 

In the what? Martin thought to himself, snapping out of his happy reverie of Jon complimenting him. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to the meeting as he ought to have been. It was difficult when he’d been allowed to sit on one of the comfier chairs, and Jon had been scratching behind his ear the whole time. 

“He’ll not be locked in there.” Elias sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Champion, as though he’d like nothing more than to keep the cat underground at all times. “I’m not that cruel. But I have reason to believe there are rats in the tunnels…or at least one…” A smirk played on his thin, pale lips. “It would be a better use of resources to have the cat flush any out.”

“Of course there are rats in the tunnels! This is London! And the tunnels are underground! You can’t expect Champion to rout out every bloody rodent this side of the Thames!” Jon squeezed Champion a little harder than was comfortable, but Champion didn’t protest. 

Tim, however, spoke up from where he was lounging behind them, his chair rocked back onto two legs. “He’s got a point, Elias. Have you seen Champion chase a laser pointer yet? Honestly, it’s pretty tragic. I don’t think he can see all that well, you know.”

“It’s a cat,” Elias drawled, looking down his nose at Tim. “I’m sure its eyesight is fine. Look, this is not up for debate. Either the cat is put to use in the tunnels during the day, or it goes to a cat sanctuary. Tonight.”

Champion wriggled in Jon’s grip, panic surging. If he ended up in a cat rescue centre, then what? He’d have absolutely zero chance of anyone realising something was wrong – a normal family wouldn’t even know things could be paranormally wrong about their cat! If he was going to have any hope of changing back, he had to stay in the archives!

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, Champion, don’t listen to Elias,” Jon said, petting the wiggling giant in his arms. “We’d never put you in a rescue centre. You could live with me! Or Tim!” “Err, actually Boss, my landlord��” 

“Or Sasha! Or even Rosie! No one’s going to abandon you here, don’t you worry.” 

Champion settled somewhat, if only because his heart began to swell at the very notion of not being abandoned. Joy and sorrow in equal measure – Martin had never been so noticed and cared for before. And yet…he wasn’t Martin, was he? They didn’t care about Martin; they cared about Champion the cat. In fact, Martin’s absence had only been brought up in passing at the meeting to ask if anyone had heard from him, and to agree Tim would swing by his flat again that night. 

“The point stands, Jon.” Elias gathered up his files from the meeting and began to head to the door. “If that bloody cat is here when I next visit, it’ll be thrown out the front door. If you’re going to insist on it being here during working hours, it goes in the tunnels.” 

──── •✧• ────

The trapdoor closed behind them, plunging both Jon and Champion into a moment of gloom. Jon rustled around in his bag for a moment, then something clicked; he’d pulled out a flashlight, and its bright beam pierced the dark ahead of them with ease. 

Champion looked up at Jon, bashing his head lightly against the man’s thin leg. 

Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me down here! I can hide under the desk, o-or under the bookcase, or hell, Tim’s car all day, I don’t mind! Just not down here on my own!

Jon, evidently sensing Martin’s distress, crouched down and petted his head lightly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. If Elias wants you down here, well…we’ll have to do that. But he never said you had to be alone.” 

The head archivist straightened up then, taking a few tentative steps further into the tunnels. “I-I’ll be here with you. And eventually, Elias will realise this is a grand waste of time. Besides…there’ll be horrible echoes in the statement recordings I do down here. He’ll have to give in.” 

He turned to offer a smile to Champion; yet another Martin had gained this week despite months of trying as a human. Still, the reassurance that wouldn’t be alone down there meant Champion trotted after Jon, keeping close to the light and to his companion.

Jon chuckled. “There we are, see? It’s actually not so bad down here, is it? It was worse a few months ago – full of worms. A-and a worm-woman. But she’s not here anymore. Don’t you worry.” 

Jon led them both to one of the many doors leading off from the main tunnel. He paused, pulling out a piece of chalk from his bag and marking an arrow back the way they’d come. Then, he opened the door. 

He peered inside – by his feet, so too did Champion – checking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, Jon pushed the door further open. “Right! This can be our office, then. You don’t need to be wandering the tunnels, Champion – Elias said nothing about that. Only that you had to be in the tunnels.” 

Jon headed inside, setting his bag down on the ground and then sitting himself down. Champion hurried after him curling up as close to Jon’s leg as possible, shivering a little. A comforting hand came down once again to stroke his fur. “Oh, I know…It’s not as nice as the archives, but hopefully, we won’t have to endure this for too long. Just until Elias gets sick of the echo.” 

He pulled out a tape recorder from his bag, giving it a little wiggle to highlight his point. “He’ll have to cave eventually.”

Champion wasn’t so sure. What was to stop Elias simply demanding Jon return to work in the office and then chucking him down in the tunnels and locking the trapdoor? What if Elias got the locks changed? What if he got stuck down there, lost among the twisting corridors – oh God, what if Michael found him again? 

Champion shivered, lying down flat on his front and putting his paws over his eyes. It didn’t last long, however, before a worried Jon scooped him up, tape recorder and statement forgotten on the floor beside him. 

“Oh, Champion, it’s all right! I’m here!” he said, bringing him up for another cuddle that threatened to smother Jon in fluff. “I know, this place is horrid, isn’t it? It won’t be forever, I promise. A-and maybe I can bring some more things down every day to make it comfortable? I wonder if Martin would mind if we borrowed his emergency jumper stash to make you a little bed in here? We can ask Tim to check with him tonight when—” 

Jon’s reassurances were deftly severed by a loud bang from further up the tunnels that made both of them jump. Champion in particular yeowled and scrambled up from Jon’s arms to wrap around his head, knocking his glasses and latching on like the world’s weirdest woolly hat. 

“Gak! Champion, I can’t see if you do that!” 

Still, Champion wouldn’t let go. He stared at the door to their makeshift office in the tunnels, waiting to see what horror had caused that sound even as Jon’s hands tried to unpeel him from his head. 

The hands stopped as the door to their room began to creak open…

──── •✧• ────

[quadrantadvisor]

Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words

-

Jason (Red Hood)

The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.

They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.

Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.

The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.

Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.

Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.

Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.

They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.

“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”

“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.

A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.

And then he… giggles.

“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”

Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.

(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)

“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”

The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.

It's the Joker's laugh.

It's the Joker.

And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.

The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.

He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.

The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.

If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.

It'll be easy.

This is too easy.

“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.

The Joker just laughs.

“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.

“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”

“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”

“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”

“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.

His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.

By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.

Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.

“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.

At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.

But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.

Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.

It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.

He's crying.

Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.

Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.

Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.

Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.

Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.

Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.

Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.

Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”

The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.

It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”

“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.

“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.

Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.

“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.

Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.

The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.

Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.

Alright, then. This is probably fine.

Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.

The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.

Yeah. This is fine.

-

I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.

[prince-dork-the-companion]

Batfamily Presentation Night - Pizza - Jason

Masterlist

Jason: Alright fuckers, my turn.

Tim: Uh oh.

Steph: This is going to go one of two ways.

Steph: Okay, I now know which way this is going.

Jason: For the record, I made this presentation last night after accidentally making eye contact with Bruce, so if I seem very angry, that's why - and it's mostly justified. Damian, I don't hate your pizza that much, but it's still bad.

Damian: You're just jealous.

Duke: I respect using your status as a criminal like it's a title.

Jason: It's my full legal name, actually.

Dick: EXCUSE ME?

Babs: Jay, are you really going to turn against me like this?

Jason: I stand by this entirely. Cheese pizza is boring and no one likes Dick Grayson.

Duke: I think he's pretty cool.

Jason: You haven't known him long enough.

Dick: :(

Cass: I like Dick.

Tim: [snorts]

Babs: I - You do know -

Jason: Again, I stand by everything stated on this slide.

Duke: This is oddly philosophical.

Steph: Jason you're no longer my favourite Robin.

Jason: You act like I care at all.

Duke: Man I'm just sitting here and I'm just being ATTACKED on ALL FRONTS.

Steph: PINEAPPLE DOESN'T BELONG ON FUCKING PIZZA YOU HETHAN.

Bruce: Stephanie, get off the table.

Steph: Stfu Bruce you're old.

Bruce: ...

Tim: [sips coffee loudly] I dunno what all the fuss is about, it's just Pizza.

Steph: Shut up Tim you're a war criminal.

Damian: I don't mind the taste of pineapple on pizza. It's not bad, but I don't understand why you're so angry about it, Brown.

Steph: I hate this FUCKING FAMILY.

Cass: You love us. :)

Damian: TODD -

Bruce: Damian, off the table. Don't try to stab your brother.

Jason: He can try.

Damian: This is why Mother didn't want you around me.

Steph: WOAH -

[Long, collective silence]

Steph: Bruce what?

Bruce: I don't like getting grease on my fingers.

Steph: BRUCE WHAT?

Tim: The disrespect on this slide.

Steph: WE CANNOT GLOSS OVER BRUCE EATING WITH A FORK AND KNIFE.

Duke: Rich people...

Jason: You're one of us now, Shrimp.

Duke: Aw, shit.

Duke: The animosity...

Dick: I'm on the edge of my seat.

Tim: Not the STOCK image.

[uproar]

Steph: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, JASON?

Dick: HUH?

Damian: You put... fish on your pizza? Todd, what has gotten into you?

Duke: I'm gonna hyperventilate.

Tim: Lord, give me strength...

Duke: All of you were hating on MY TASTE, meanwhile Jason was RIGHT HERE the WHOLE TIME.

Steph: You're going to hell. Straight, DIRECTLY to hell.

Babs: Because nothing else Jason has ever done will land him in hell.

Steph: EVERYTHING ELSE HE DID WAS JUSTIFIED.

Bruce: Stephanie...

Steph: YOU CAN'T DEFEND THIS BRUCE HE PUT FUCKING FISH ON PIZZA.

Steph: NO, NOTHING you say is going to fix this Jason. I'm disowning you.

Tim: Half the time you aren't even one of us because -

Steph: SHUT UP DRAKE!! I'M GOING THROUGH A BREAKDOWN RIGHT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE. This is it this is my Jason Arc.

Duke: [loud breathing]

Damian: This whole event is unnecessary. I've got better things to do -

Jason: If I can't escape family bonding time, you can't escape family bonding time.

Damian: Tt.

Tim: Steph, are you good now?

Steph: No. I'm never going to recover from this.

Duke: I am no longer hyperventilating.

Dick: Let's just - move on -

Tim: I'll go next.

Steph: Uh oh.

TO BE CONTINUED

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-three of “obligatory sugar baby Kon”; no cut today. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“That the best you got, babe?” Kon calls teasingly. Tim glances back over his shoulder at him for a moment and sees Kon standing there grinning at him and feels a little–weird, maybe, about how easily Kon just called him that even with his voice raised. It’s not like . . . 

Well. He’s not out, obviously, and very obviously Kon is not out because otherwise Superboy would’ve told the whole damn world exactly what he thought about anyone who had a problem with that, but Tim Drake isn’t a superhero, and Robin isn’t a public figure. There’s not–it isn’t–the same, technically. 

And Tim knows that they’ve been very obviously on dates while out in public and not really worrying about who saw, objectively speaking. Like–he’s perfectly aware of that fact. Obviously. But it’s not like they’re really doing that around anyone they ever have to see again. They aren’t, like–introducing each other to anyone, or inviting each other over, or . . . 

Well–Kon said he couldn’t invite him over, admittedly. Cadmus has clearance or whatever, and the Justice Cave isn’t really civilian-friendly either, even though they use it as a hangout more than anything else sometimes. So technically it’s just Tim not inviting Kon over, but . . . 

. . . . . . should he be inviting Kon over? Is that, like . . . a thing he should be doing? 

Tim spends half a second picturing explaining Kon to his dad and Dana without outing himself and decides that he would actually rather jump off a bridge without a grappling line. Just–no. No, he is not going there. He is buying Kon a cul-de-sac or a condo or a small to mid-sized suburb and Kon can invite him over, if he wants to, and no one’s legal guardians will be involved whatsoever. 

Not that Kon actually, like, has those. Maybe somewhere there’s some paperwork with a “property of Cadmus Labs” rubber stamp on it, but not in any real way. 

Tim spends another half a second seething with rage about literally everything about the state of this bullshit-ass planet, then heads for the edge of the bowl and drops straight down into it. 

He really needs to not be thinking about that shit right now, so yeah, definitely time for some actual skating. 

Mind, Tim doesn’t really know what kind of skate tricks would actually interest Kon, since actually impressing him is realistically very unlikely, given the nature of literally everything about Kon’s entire life experience and also just the fact Kon can literally fly.

[damiduck]

Tim is one of those people that get such baby fever it's crazy. Also, he sees teen moms and yeah, he realises they probably have it very hard, but also,,, look at them. He's so fucking envious it's insane.

And one day after a league member brought their new baby to meet the team or sum, Tim is fucking done. He's tried so hard to fight it, but in the end he's no all powerful being. So, he slams open the door to Bruce's study and without prompting, "you have got to put a baby in me." And Bruce, without even looking up, goes "we can't baby".

Tim frantically fumbles over his words as he tries to explain they can just really really pretend and he really needs this bruce c'mon.

They've dabbled in a little bit of Tim's breeding kink before, but Bruce was always adamant about condoms and Tim has been on two forms of birth control for years (better to be absolutely prepared for anything in the field).

That night Tim begs and pleads (and edges) Bruce until he gives in and they do it without a condom. Bruce says he will pull out however. But he with how much Tim riled him up and the newer feeling of Tim's pretty pussy around him fully bare, Bruce can't even last a minute, and he would never leave his baby so empty so soon. He also can't help his hips stuttering forward as he's cumming, blames it on Tim locking his legs around him.

It should be fine, right? It has been for the past two years (and yea maybe Bruce has been poking tiny, inconspicuous holes in the condoms for almost as long as they've been doing this, he just can't stand the thought of his sweet little baby Timmy with anyone else besides him, so this is the way to make sure of that). Except Tim stopped taking his birth control a year ago, and had the implant taken out a few months prior. He knew a baby, Bruce's baby especially, would help not only him but the whole family. He had to do it. For completely selfless reasons ofcourse!!

So yeah, maybe theyve been trying to baby trap eachother for years/months now,,, but neither expected this time to actually catch....