#and tim is holding on by a thread

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 4

All the parts I've shared from the ask game collected into one post! I didn't add more than a sentence, I'm afraid. It seemed to fall on a perfect scene break.

Story Summary: Jack and Maddie install a new ghost shield on the house which activates the moment Danny tries to step into his home. His secret is out and his parents are determined to excise the ghost from their son.

Luckily Danny isn't alone. The Young Justice, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz aren't going to leave him to suffer.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: AO3, Tumblr - First, Last

Arc 3: First, Previous

Word Count: 1k

-----

“Hold him down, Jack!” cried his mom.

“I’ve got him, sweetie. Go ahead,” replied his dad.

The knife was cutting into him again. Deeper and deeper.

“I know who you are, Danny. But I could never, never love a ghost,” sneered his mom. She drew her hand back and stabbed right into his core.

Danny woke screaming.

Hands were holding him down, restraining him, pushing him. Pain radiated out from his torso from the endless torture he’d been undergoing.

“Stop! Stop! It’s me,” he begged.

He begged. He could talk. The muzzle was gone. And he was lying on something soft.

The figure above him wasn’t wearing orange or blue. And he wasn’t shouting in anger, but concern.

“Danny! It’s okay, you’re not with them. We got you out. You’re safe now.”

“Secrets,” croaked Danny.

“Yeah. That’s right. It’s me. Back with me?”

Danny nodded and reached out, fisting his hand in his friend’s shirt. He didn’t try to stop the tears.

Tim clasped his hand over Danny’s. “I’ve got you, Polaris. Always.”

“Hurts,” said Danny. He closed his eyes, only for images of the lab and his parents to fill his memories. He opened them again.

“I’d say you’re due for some more healing ectoplasm if you can take it. And I can reapply some of the salve to your injury if you’d like.”

Danny shook his head. “Is… the ice. Is there more?”

“The ice Jazz and Sam put inside your injury?”

Danny nodded.

“Yeah, there’s plenty. How do you take it?”

“I can suck on it. It’ll help. And… yes. More of the salve, please.”

Tim nodded. Then, louder, he called, “Kon! Pull over, could you? Danny wants us to add some more salve to his injury and I’d like you to remove his bandages.”

“Will do, Rob!” replied Kon from the driver’s seat.

Then the vehicle was slowing and pulling over. A moment later, Kon appeared next to Tim.

“I think I heard something about the ice, too? Which containers is everything in? I’ll get it.”

Danny let his mind drift as Tim and Kon figured out the logistics of helping him. Throughout it all, Danny never let go of Tim’s shirt and Tim never let go of his hand.

“Danny,” said Tim, tapping the back of his hand. “I’ve got the ice. Ready for it?”

Danny nodded and the case opened without Tim doing anything. Tim’s other hand had one of the heavy gloves on it that would keep him safe and he picked up a piece before holding it out.

Danny opened his mouth and Tim fed it to him. The chill spread out pleasantly from his tongue, cooling the fire of pain radiating from his chest just a bit.

As he sucked on the medicinal treat, Kon used his TTK to remove the bandages. If only he’d been around more—never had bandage removal been so painless before.

Tim had to let go of his hand to spread the healing salve, but Danny didn’t let go of his shirt. The first touch of a gloved hand to his chest had him flinching away and begging for mercy, but Tim’s reassurances and Kon’s jokes pulled him back to reality.

“Hey, ghost boy, freedom sure smells great. The back of a van and the interstate. Couldn’t get much more comfortable than this. Doesn’t that prove you’re not back with them?” Kon asked.

Danny tried to smile, but was afraid it probably looked more like a grimace.

Tim huffed. “If you think I’m gonna let another one of my friends die on me any time soon, Polaris, you’re out of your mind.”

“Not allowed to clone me,” warned Danny around the ice he was still sucking.

Tim flushed and focused on applying the salve. “I’ve grown as a person since then.”

Kon huffed. “You better have.”

Before long, they finished. “How’s that, Danny?” asked Kon.

Danny hummed as he took stock. Touching the injuries had obviously come with its own pain, but the area was now under a numbing coolness that helped beat back some of the pain. “Better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Great!” said Tim. “Do you want anything else? Let’s try to get you a few spoonfuls of ectoplasm and yogurt. You need your calories if you’re going to heal at all.”

Danny frowned, but acquiesced. “Fine. But I want another piece of ice when we’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” agreed Tim readily.

“Well, looks like it’s back to driving for me,” said Kon. He stood and stretched before heading back to the front of the vehicle and out of Danny’s sight.

This time, with the salve numbing him and the nightmares still haunting him if he closed his eyes for more than a blink, he ate much more. He finished an entire vial of ectoplasm and half the yogurt before he couldn’t stand the thought of eating any more.

“Talk to me?” he asked before taking the second piece of ice.

“Of course. What do you want me to talk about?” asked Tim.

“Anything,” admitted Danny. “Just need something to distract me.”

Tim hummed in thought. “Well, I know I’ve talked about Gotham before, but it’ll be different now that you’re coming with me to live there rather than visit. You’ll be moving in with me to my civilian apartment. It’s a penthouse downtown near the Drake Industries offices. My dad may have nearly ruined the company, but Bruce has been helping me build it back up. I’m not officially in charge, but as my dad was the owner, I’ve got a controlling interest.

“There’s lots of places to eat nearby. My favorite is this little hole-in-the-wall Hispanic place run by a Puerto Rican family. You have to try their empanadas. Simply to die for. I’ll get us take out from there when you’re finally up to eating something more solid than smoothies or yogurt. There’s also a killer pizza place within walking distance…”

Danny let the words drift over him, and this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see images of his parents or the lab. Instead, he saw himself and Tim and a new chance at family and home.

-----

Next

Tim will not survive if another one of his friends dies on him. He's finally got Kon, Bart, and Bruce back and he will not lose anyone else.

Hope you enjoy!

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[ask-tim-stoker]

🎪

absolutely the fuck not.

[melody-han-wayne]

if Tim becomes evil so will I

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[p1nkshield]

I made a post earlier about how Dick should have taught Damian to use his baby face to his advantage and someone said he would teach all of his siblings. So here is the aftermath. A task force specifically designed to bring Bruce down.

Dick: Hey B, I was wondering if we could borrow the Batmobile for the weekend?

Bruce: … [no]

Dick: Pretty please I promise it will be in one piece when I give it back!

Bruce: Hnn. [Still no]

Dick: Fine then, you’ve forced my hand. ATTACK!

Tim steps forward, yawning and promising to try and sleep properly.

Bruce loses two health points.

Duke is next in the initiative order.

Duke: It would be fun!

The full power of the sun shines through his smile.

Bruce falters but passes a quick time event in his head, only losing another two health points.

Cass steps up to the plate.

Cass: I would like to go on an outing with my siblings, it sounds fun.

CRITICAL HIT!

Bruce is starting to sweat as a total of ten health points are swept away by the fact cass considers them family.

Damian decides to use his special attack! Holding the target’s sleeve makes it especially effective!

Damian: Baba, please?

A whopping fifty points! BRUCE IS HANGING ON BY A THREAD!

Jason: c’mon Dad.

Fatality

Bruce: fine.

Dick: Great job team!

Damian: yes, we got the Batmobile successfully. I will drive.

Dick: No-

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

[noxcheshire]

Taking it with Phantom now turned Robin, let’s assume he had been de-aged and was wandering different universes, cause I have a VISION. He’s around Tim’s age physically now, but mentally? He’s less human than he is ghost now a days.

So the questions is: just how long Danny stays.

Angsty route is that Danny never intended to stay longer than to just help Batman, and when he sees him healing — perhaps to a human it’s been so much longer, long enough for people to have become comfortable seeing this new Robin, long enough for years to pass, but so short for Danny because time is almost nothing even to a half ghost — and he vanished.

Just up and vanished, because he looked at Batman — he looked at Bruce Wayne — and saw a man who has healed since Jason’s passing. And if this is BEFORE Jason’s return, then I do believe even Red Hood would be confused as to how his replacement is just? Not? There? Not anywhere, what will he think?

Does he believe, in his own burdened mind that maybe Bruce had done it again, he caused another Robin to die because what else could have caused a prominent figure both in the vigilante night life and in the civilian one to suddenly disappear?

Jason’s no longer angry that he had been replaced, now he is angry that even that new Robin had died and Bruce is keeping it hidden.

And the rest of the Batfam?

Bruce who had become dependent on his third child, who could trust and rely on his capabilities and warmth, being the very glue that kept him together — and Dick, whose second brother is now missing, the one he would crack silly little jokes with, and who loved to bother him with that cocky smile and affectionate shove of his shoulder when he would visit — and Cass who felt seen because Danny just knew even when she didn’t speak, like he could hear the voice kept tightly in her chest, and had made her feel like she was just as normal as anyone else — and Damien, who had been righteously upset from the get go, who ran his sword straight through Danny who simply laughed, his blue eyes lighting up with expectation and joy, and who never scolded Damien for his differences and more violent tinged upbringing — all these soul touched people?

He was their brother/son/friend and they wanted him back.

On the other hand, the non angsty Danny side, this boy is just chilling with a smoothie and patting himself on the back for helping out a fellow hero(s).

As for Tim, I’m not sure.

If there is no reason to become Robin, then is there anything truly to integrate himself into the Wayne household?

But he is a kid, a tiny wisp of a child and maybe Danny saw him some nights when he would burst across rooftops and cock his ears to listen for crimes.

He would stop for a moment, and maybe he wanted to help the kid too. Because he was so tiny and pale, and there are bruises clinging to his eyes from lack of sleep.

He begins to act as Tim’s little shadow, a companion, and when finding out Tim is all on his own?

Well, Danny had never really thought too hard about his actions and simply dropped the child right in front of Alfred so that Tim could be feed.

Bruce doesn’t even notice the kid, at first. After all, Tim doesn’t need to be a Robin, Danny has this role filled, so what does Tim do? He stays away, hiding dem sight and trying not to bother because he has nothing to offer the Batman.

Bruce doesn’t notice until Dick visits and finds Danny with a kid not even younger than himself, obviously taking care of the kid and is demanding why Bruce hasn’t introduced them to Timothy Drake.

Tim in this way becomes Timothy Drake-Wayne, but he still isn’t a Robin. But what if he wants to be included? What if he wants to help? What if there’s a moment in all this where Danny get’s hurt, or Bruce, or maybe even both, and Tim decided that he would be the tech support. He would be the mini Oracle of that time, without ever taking the name.

In the future Bab’s and Tim are a fearsome duo.

And maybe that’s what causes them the most pain, because even together, they are not capable of finding Danny.

At least, not until John Constantine gives an unexpected clue: “You never even knew, did you?” Perhaps he’s sympathetic, or maybe he’s just curious because surely they must have noticed how very not human Danny is. “That kid was already dead.”

After Jason's death, Bruce spiraled hard. Tim decided something needed to be done and went to Dick for help. However when the man refused to go back to being Robin, Tim resolved to become Robin instead. It turns out he didn't need to though as by time he makes his way back to Gotham, there's already a new Robin swinging through the streets.

[orionremastered]

hi! I was wondering how the bats would be with a reader who is disabled or has prosthetics? they're all just very protective of people they care about since...everything, and how maybe that could start to feel sufacating at some point? Or something, idk dude

(also-the way you write is realy cute and sweet for all of them, makes them feel a lot less heavy when they have someone to hold them <33)

Masterlist

Batboys with a Disabled S/O

Dick Grayson [Fully Deaf]

A gentle touch on your shoulder prompts you to slowly turn around, a smile stretching across your face when you realise your boyfriend's back from work.

You pull him into your arms, threading your fingers through his hair. Pulling away reluctantly, you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he's not smiling; only a sad smile that makes you tilt your head in a silent question.

Don't worry about it, he signs. Have a good day?

You nod, though your frown remains when he moves to the kitchen, always adamant that he cooks whenever he's home. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the caller ID and puts the phone on speaker as he begins cooking.

Dick gets more and more angry as the conversation goes on, his hands waving wildly around the small kitchen, only stopping to return to the cooking.

Finally, he hangs up. You tap him on the shoulder and he turns, watching as you sign;

Who was that?

Dick's shoulders raise and drop. A case I'm working on. I'll figure it out.

You nod slowly, satisfied with his response.

Jason Todd [Fully Blind]

Mornings with Jason always start like this. They always start with you gently running your fingers across his face, mapping it out and imagining it in your head. Over his nose, his lips, his stubble.

"Did you clean the apartment?" you ask, lying on top of him as your guide dog sits next to you on the mattress. "I almost knocked one of your guns off the counter yesterday."

"I did," he murmurs. You rest your fingers on his lips and feel that they're stretched into a smile. "I'm sorry for letting it get messy."

"That's okay," you reply quietly, "Ollie picked it up before it hit the floor."

Ollie, your guide dog, makes a huffing sound beside you, causing you both to chuckle.

"Good boy," Jason says proudly, feeling him shift underneath you, mostly likely to pat Ollie.

"You're both good. Too good, maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason asks.

"Hmm."

Tim Drake [Classical Ehlers-Danlos syndrome]

"Love? Can we go for a camping trip on the weekend with my friends?"

Tim turns his head slowly as he sits in his study chair. He taps the pen he's holding against his lips. "What happens if you get exhausted?"

"We can go back to the tent and rest."

"You can get bruises. A lot of bruises," he frowns, gesturing for you to walk to him. You comply.

"That's fine, they're just bruises," you respond, sitting on his lap. He begins gently drawing shapes on the bare skin of your thighs.

"You could dislocate something," he says to you, quieter now.

"You know how to put it back. You do it for me all the time."

Tim's brow furrows at the reminder of having to put back in dislocated joints more often than he'd like. "Fine. But if you even start to get a little tired, you tell me. Okay?"

You rest your forehead against his and murmur, "Okay."

Damian Wayne [Prosthetic Arm]

"I'll take those—"

"Damian, I love you, but I can put shopping bags into the car just fine." This and many similar conversations have been going on practically since the start of your relationship. And while you do find it endearing that he cares, sometimes you just want him to treat you like you didn't lose your right arm in an accident.

The man scowls. "But—"

"I'm not going to hurt myself, really."

He watches you warily, weighing the outcomes of the situation. "Fine. Only the lighter ones."

You suppose it's better than not being able to do any of them. Still, he watches you like a hawk as you put the lighter ones in the back of the car he bought you (you protested but that man has the most selective hearing).

He closes the trunk/boot after the bags are inside.

"Can I drive?" you ask, hoping you'll get luck there too.

"No."

"I know how."

"No."

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a part two where they meet kindergarten(y/n)’s “boyfriend” 

have a good day/night 

Yes and my apologies for a late reply. And yes, it's the same GIF. Why? I'm lazy to look for anything else.

Part 1 everyone - Batfamily x male!reader

Summary: Bruce wants to meet the supposed boyfriend and the parents.

Warnings: fluff, no one wants (Y/N) to grow up

The revelation of (Y/N) having a boyfriend sent everyone into a spiral. Everyone. Bruce still couldn't believe and when reflecting back on (Y/N)'s adorable revelation, Bruce was glad to be sitting down. And yes, him and Alfred had that scotch. How could they not? The baby of the family, not even a double digit age, has a boyfriend.

Dick still can't come to terms with it. He refuses to believe it. His baby brother... Having a boyfriend... No.

The rest were in almost the same mindset, but not so severe as Dick.

Either way, they were slowly, but surely, accepting the fact that (Y/N) has a boyfriend. Bruce has decided to set up a playdate with the supposed boyfriend. He needs to meet the boy and the boy's parents. He was going to make sure that the boy is worthy of dating (Y/N).

Hold on... (Y/N) is not a teen yet... He is still a toddler. Bruce sighed as he sipped his scotch slowly in his study, while (Y/N) was napping in his room. Why is Bruce in a mindset that (Y/N) is a teen? Probably because he has 4 teenage boys and those 4 do love testing his patience.

So, Bruce went on a solo pick up trip. He prohibited the boys from coming because none of them would be able to be calm. Damian would be him scary self, Jason would join him, Tim would look like he didn't sleep for days and it would look like Bruce abused him or something. And Dick? An emotional mess to say it lightly.

So Bruce waited patiently, watching as (Y/N) interacted with a boy... Holding hands... So there it is... The boyfriend. Bruce crossed his arms as he watched, trying to pinpoint the parents of the boy. And he found them.

A gay couple, one tall and one smaller. Adorable. (Y/N) noticed Bruce and ran to him, making Bruce smile. Bruce picked him up with ease.

" Hey (Y/N). How was your day? " Bruce asked as he adjusted (Y/N) in his arms.

" It was great. " (Y/N) said as he yawned, leaning his head on Bruce's chest, making Bruce chuckle.

" Someone's tired. Is that the boyfriend you were telling me about? " Bruce asked as he turned to look at the couple and their son. (Y/N) nodded, yawning in the process.

" I'm Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you. I would shake your hands, but they are full. " Bruce introduced himself to the couple, making them chuckle.

" No problem. I'm Theodore and this is my husband James. And this little boy is Dylan. " The taller one introduced the family and Bruce nodded.

" It seems our sons... Are dating. " Bruce said, rather hesitantly. He didn't know how he could approach this, how the other parent's feel about it.

" We know... James nearly passed out once he heard the excited, ' Dad, papa, I have a boyfriend. "

" My oldest wept once he heard it. One thought he was hallucinating since he is an insomniac. One who is usually stoic nearly lost it. And one is holding on by a thread. And I had to open up a bottle of scotch... So that's how we have been doing. " Bruce said, glancing down at his son, whose eyes were still closed.

" I did the exact same thing. " Theodore said picking Dylan up, adjusting his son in his arms.

" I was thinking about inviting you two to the manor, for a playdate. If our kids our... It's weird to say in a relationship, but you get my gist. " Bruce explained and the couple laughed.

" We'll be honored to come. " James said and Bruce reached into his pocket to give them a business card.

" My number's on it. Also, is Dylan allergic to animals? Cat and a dog? " Bruce inquired and both shook their heads.

" My second youngest has animals so I need to check. Just send me a text later and we'll go from there. " Bruce stated and the pair nodded.

" We'll do that. "

And the day finally came. Theodore and James came over with little Dylan and the two boys wasted no time in the big garden. Running, playing, Titus joining in, but being gentle... Bruce watched with Theodore and James, all of them sipping something. Bruce sipped some scotch, while they drank some red wine that Bruce pulled out of nowhere.

" So, if you don't mind me asking, what do you two do for a living? " Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over another.

" I'm a tattoo artist. " Theodore started and Bruce nodded. " I own my own shop. You might have heard about it, it's called, Majestic Ink. "

Bruce tilted his head as he thought about. " I have heard about it. Only nice things about it. " He said and Theodore smiled.

" And you James? "

" I own a chain of restaurants. " James explained and Bruce nodded.

" So we are all business owners. " Bruce noted and the two nodded. " Not an easy one. Especially bigger ones. " James laughed as he heard it and nodded.

" Tell me about it. I have to look after several restaurants and he looks after one shop. I envy him. " James admitted, playing with the stem of his wine glass.

" I envy small businesses. You don't have to worry about so many employees, you don't worry about your reputation, unless you are in a small town... I envy you Theodore. " Bruce admitted and Theodore chuckled at that.

" I don't envy you. All eyes are on you and if you mess up, everyone shits on you. Also, a quick question, how do you manage 4 teen boys? " Theodore inquired and Bruce laughed.

" That's the best part. You don't. You simply need patience and they need their daily dose of bickering. I bicker with them and they bicker with each other. I only tell them if they fight that they don't kill one another and no broken bones. I'm not driving them to the hospital. But, once (Y/N) into our lives, they became much more calmer, for his sake. " Bruce explained. " So I don't really worry about them fighting anymore. Physically at least. Verbally, they can throw it. " Bruce admitted, raising his glass of scotch up to his lips.

" We are just asking. We need to be prepared for Dylan. He is a sassy child already... I'm dreading the teen stage. " James rubbed his temple, laughing to himself.

" They are all going to put us in our early graves. " Theodore said, clearly referencing both (Y/N) and Dylan and the revelation of their... Relationship...

" You know, you know we love them and that they are doing what the rest of the kids do... They try to put us into our graves. " James concluded and Bruce let out a quiet amen.

" To our kids that are going to put us into their graves, " Bruce raised his glass, Theodore and James following his lead.

" And giving us gray hairs. " James added and the trio of fathers laughed, letting out a cheerful hear hear and then sipped their drinks.

" Dad! " (Y/N) yelled, running towards him. Bruce got prepared to pick him up as he had done this before. Bruce picked (Y/N) up, propping him up on his lap.

" Yes? "

" I want to marry Dylan! " (Y/N) said with a smile on his little face.

Bruce raised his glass again, nodding to Theodore and James before downing his scotch.

Kids do put you in your grave and give you gray hairs.

" Where are my brothers? " (Y/N) asked all of a sudden. Bruce might have gave them money to go shopping for the day so they leave the manor and not scare the poor boy.

" They have some plans, but they'll be back soon. "

Thank God scotch has managed soften the blow the wedding revelation.

Thank God that Dick isn't around to hear it.

[littleacebee]

I finally did it! So here is my silly little contribution to Fiction Podcast Zine Event!

ID in alt texts and under the cut (I did try my best with them)

[ID: Photo of the front page of a zine. On the top of the page there is text in big pink letters: „What to do while listening to a podcast”. Below is smaller text in purple and black: „LittleAceBee’s helpful fun guide”. Below is there is doodle of a bee wearing purple headphones. Next to it, in blue spicy cloud, there is a text: „with illustrations”.

Page 3. In the middle of the page there is big colourful text: „Make art & craft”. Above it, on the left there is drawing of cross stich project with „Podcast tim” written on it and there is text reading „cross stitching!” below it. Next to it, on the right is drawing of thread spool and needles. There is text above it reading „sewing!”. The furthest on the right there is a drawing of a painting on an easel with text „painting!” below it. Below the big text, on the left there is a drawing of hand drawing a drawing of two stick figures, one is signed „podcast blorbo”, the other one „me”. There is text saying „drawing!” above it. On the right of it there is a drawing of half knitted scarf and ball of yarn. Above it is text saying „knitting!”.

Page 2. On the top of the page is big dark blue text: „Clean”. Below it are to drawing of two girls wearing purple headphones. One on the left is holding feather duster and dusting a drawer. One on the right is mopping the floor.On bottom part of the page is bus window with a word „commute” written on it in cloudy font. On the right of the text is standing a girl in purple headphones.

Page 4. On the top half of the page there is drawing of a path in woods and girl with purple headphones walking on it. Below it there is green text: „Take a walk”. On the bottom half of the page there is drawing of a pink computer. On its screen there are three text posts: „Emotional liveblogging”, „hxkboayzmjkl” and „oh my god…”.

Page 5. On the top of the page, on the left there is a drawing of a person with short hair and there is a cloud with big word „talk” written in it. On the right there is a girl knitting a scarf with unimpressed expression on her face. Next to her lays a phone. Below is similar scene but instead of person with short hair there is a skeleton in their place and from girls eyes there are two lasers pointing at the skeleton. Further below there is word “talk” crossed out. On the bottom part of the page there is drawing of chopping board with knife rested on its corner. On the board there are pieces of vegetables spelling “cook”. Next to the board there is a phone and its screen there’s logo with big P and text “podcast”.

Page 6. On the top half of the page there is a drawing of a girl eating. Above her is big green text: „eat”. Next to her on a table there is phone with P on its screen. From the phone there is speech bubble and inside there is text: „choose episode carefully or you might hear the grossest thing ever”. On the bottom half of the page there is vertical written word „play”. Overlapping with its „a” there is „game” written. On the left of the text there are scattered ten colourful puzzle pieces. On the top right there are cards laid down for solitaire. Below there is computer with little house on its screen.

Page 7. On the top half of the page there is drawing of face of girl in purple headphones. She has horrified expression and tears streaming down her face. The background is dark. Above her is simple text: „stare into the void and cry*”. Below her is another text: „remember to cry quietly to still be able to hear the podcast”. On the bottom half of the page there is a drawing of a girl in purple headphones. She is watering flowers spelling a word “gardening”. Above there is flying bee.

Page 8. On the top of a page there is purple text saying: “I hope my helpful fun guide was helpful.”. Below in big pink letters there is a text saying: “thank for reading!”. On the bottom of the page there is small text saying: “#fiction podcast zine event”]

[leth-writes]

Cryptid AU!

Cryptid batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne

I know people traditionally peg Bruce as a vampire, but I see him more as a mothman type. I mean, think about it! The cape as wings, the attraction to a giant light in the sky, the quiet disposition… I think it fits perfectly

As a friend or partner, Moth! Bruce is more possessive. He likes wrapping you within his big, fluffy wings, and he can be easily distracted with shiny baubles. Be careful! When it’s cold, he’s gonna spend days cuddling.

Dick Grayson

I actually could see Dick being a satyr, which I know sounds unconventional, but I think it fits really well. I particularly chose a satyr because of their boisterous personalities and penchant for dancing, which I see fitting Dick quite well. They’re also known for having many successful relationships, which I see fitting Dick quite well.

In a relationship, whether platonic or romantic, I can imagine Dick being loud and cheerful, successfully getting close to you and disarming any anxiety you may have through his kind and excitable personality.

Jason Todd

Phoenix, for the obvious connections of rebirth and coming back from the dead. I especially think this fits because Jason is often associated with themes of being reborn through the fires of trauma, and I associate him quite heavily with fire due to his loud, brash personality. Yet, there’s a softness present, a thread that connects his new and old selves. For this reason, I associate him with the beautiful phoenix.

In any relationship, Jason is both protective and sensitive. He’s able to effectively navigate emotional situations and definitely teaches you to defend yourself, just in case.

Tim Drake

Changeling. I see this associated with Tim a lot, and I honestly really agree. He;s got an otherworldly energy about him, and is often seen as less emotional and more calculating than the other batfamily members, who tend to be quite emotional. I also see a lot about him creating a place for himself in the family, rather than being picked up by Bruce like the others. Not in a malicious way, but like a changeling; they find their way into a family through no fault of their own, but by methods that may appear harsh to others.

In a relationship, you have to spend a lot of time reassuring Tim of your feelings toward him, whether platonic or romantic. Tim is a really anxious person, mainly due to feelings of inferiority and a massive case of imposter syndrome. You’ll need to constantly remind him you see him as the ‘real’ Tim!

Damian Al-Ghul

I had never actually heard of this before, but when googling I found out about Aqrabuamelu, who are half-scorpion men known for guarding sacred places. They’re generally known as quite protective, while being potentially dangerous to those who cross what they’ve sworn to protect.

Damian really fits this; he’s quite protective and very formal, which I usually associate with guardian characters, and while he tries to relate and be kind to his family, he has no trouble defending those he’s sworn himself to protect, including the citizens of Gotham

Cassandra Cain

I actually see Cassandra as a Selkie, primarily for her quiet and contemplative nature. She grew up alienated from her humanity, which I think is nicely represented by the mythology of selkies being forced to return to the sea for years on end before taking their human form again.

In any relationship, once it’s deep enough, I see Cass giving you her pelt to keep a hold of (not necessarily a sign of marriage in this iteration). I think this would be her best way of communicating her care to you, even when she struggles to communicate through words.

[sister-lucifer]

A COLLAB WITH @cryptidcircuswrites ! PLEASE CHECK OUT HIS VERSION HERE! 

Genre: Gore smut 

Summary: A mission goes awry and Toby is shot straight through the skull. Tim decides to take the new hole for a spin, and Toby is more than happy to let him have it. 

Content/warnings: OHHH MY GOOOOD DONT FUCKING READ THIS IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, Toby literally gets his brain fucked, bullet hole wound fucking, explicit gore, I cannot emphasize this enough STRAIGHT UP PENIS IN BRAIN SEX, brain creampie, guns/shooting/etc, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, fake out death, Toby vomits a little at the end, cum leaking out of face holes it should never be in, mirror sex, rough dom top Tim, Tim bullies Toby for his trauma regarding his physically abusive father, use of homophobic language/slurs, degradation, just general nastiness, very mean spirited. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS AS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AS IT GETS.

A/N: if you skipped the warnings on this one or didn’t read them all the way, go back and fucking look at all of them, otherwise don’t read. 

Breaking and entering. 

It’s a routine for Tim and Toby at this point. 

Tim can brute force open any door, Toby can pick any lock, and both of them have long since shaken off any qualms about taking a life. They’re skilled at it now, neither of them ever leaving the cabin without their weapon of choice. In a line of work like this one, after all, you can never be too prepared. 

This was supposed to be easy. 

Three people in the house, a couple and their third wheel squatting in an abandoned vacation home. Bare bones interior, probably no weapons. 

Probably.

A lot of good ‘probably’ had done them. 

Toby had gone in while Tim stood watch in the doorway, just in case one of their targets tried to run out. His revolver fit into his palm like a glove, his grip confident and ready. He’s done this a million times before. 

Tim can only hear the altercation going on in the back rooms of the house, but he has a good idea of what’s happening. 

The sound of a hatchet coming down onto a throat. 

One down. 

A woman screams. Something knocks over, a shelf or a table. A splatter. Silence.

Two down.

A man cries out. Something hits the wall. Rogers swears. There’s a struggle. A gunshot rings out. 

…A gunshot. 

A gunshot?! 

Footsteps.

Fast, frantic footsteps coming down the hallway. 

Tim readies himself, aiming towards the dark hall with a hand that is far too steady. He’s holding his breath. The steps are getting closer. 

In a split second’s time the last target emerges from the shadows, Tim’s gaze zeroes in on the whites of his eyes and the trigger of his revolver is pulled by a swift finger one, two, then three times. 

The shots ring in his ears as the body falls limply to the floor, devoid of life in an instant. 

Three down. 

But still one bullet unaccounted for. 

“Rogers?” Tim calls into the hallway, stepping over the body without looking down. 

No answer.

“Rogers!” He says again, with more authority this time. 

Nothing. 

That little fucker runs his mouth like an engine at all hours of the day, but now he’s quiet? 

A stabbing pain of fear twists in Tim’s gut. 

Their ‘boss’ won’t let them die, he knows that. The pseudo immortality they’ve been given keeps their bodies functioning and regenerating even after some of the worst injuries one could imagine; he knows that, he’s felt it, and yet… 

This silence is sickening. 

He can’t stop himself from rushing into the makeshift bedroom, heavy boots on the creaky wood floor announcing his presence before he calls for his partner again. 

“Answer me, dammit, Rogers!” 

He looks around the room, scanning the blood splattered walls. Two bodies are slumped against them, opposite to each other, one with its neck severed and the head hanging on by a thread of viscera, and the other with half of its innards thrown to the floor. Neither are Toby, he knows that in an instant. 

Then his gaze trails to the center of the floor. 

The cold washes over him so suddenly he feels faint. He can feel the color draining from his face as he lays eyes on his partner, face down on the ground, a thick splatter of blood painting a moonlit halo around his head. 

Or what’s left of it, anyways.

A hastily fired bullet has carved a path through the boy’s skull and out the other side. 

Clean through. 

Tim’s body seizes with shock, disgust, grief, and everything in between, tensing so suddenly and so harshly he nearly passes out. A hand clamps over his mouth as it opens in a silent scream, a gasp that can’t escape because he can’t breathe. He rushes to the body before he can stop himself. 

“Rogers?! Rogers, get up!” He demands, but the way his voice cracks and trembles shows his true fear. He shakes his partner’s still body harshly, desperate to jar him into consciousness.

There’s no movement. 

Not a sound. 

Tim’s eyes start to wet behind his mask. He shakes harder, even bringing a fist down on his shoulder blade. 

Nothing. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Toby!” Tim screams, landing a few more punches on his back, “I’ve seen you take worse than this, get up!” 

Not even a twitch. 

The realization settles in like splinters under Tim’s skin. 

He backs away from the body, the room spinning around him. He grasps at his face under his mask, his lungs starting to expand and restrict so fast it’s painful. There’s a searing panic burning the back of his skull and threatening to engulf his entire body. He stumbles back and falls onto one of the now bloodied mattresses their targets had been sleeping on. 

This isn’t happening. 

This isn’t happening. 

He’s not really gone.

He’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone— 

A sudden noise makes Tim jump out of his skin, his eyes shooting up to find the source of the sound. 

Was that a…cough? 

He looks down at Toby’s body. 

It hasn’t moved. 

Maybe it was just air escaping, or some other weird thing bodies do after death. If he didn’t get up already, then he must be…

Tim nearly screams when Toby suddenly splutters and hacks, his body jerking as he fights for air. Tim is frozen in place as he watches the partner he thought was dead slowly struggle to get up, managing to get on his hands and knees. He coughs again, spitting onto the ground and groaning at the unpleasant but not unfamiliar sight of blood. 

“Yeugh…god, it’s in m-my nose,” Toby mumbles with a sniffle, wiping his face with his sleeve. He doesn’t notice Tim as he sits up on his knees, inspecting himself in a way that is far too casual.

…He has no idea what just happened. 

Tim can feel his eye twitching as he stands up slowly, his frenzied gaze trained on the younger man as he approaches. Toby looks up at the sound of the footsteps, and Tim has to stop himself from reacting to the sight. His body trembles as he forces himself to stay still. 

Toby’s right eye is completely gone. There’s not even a shred of the eyeball left, only a pulsing, bloody cavity he instantly recognizes as the entry hole of a bullet. 

Toby blinks up at Tim with his remaining eye. 

“S-Shit, I must’ve passed out when—bitch!—when h-he hit me, heh. What, you-you thought I was—grrrk!—d-dead for real?” Toby asks with a head tilt and an amused giggle. Tim’s eyes narrow. 

Slowly Tim turns his head, following the imaginary trail the bullet would have made based on where Toby fell. 

Right there, lodged into the decrepit wall right next to the doorway. 

The first bullet. 

Clean through, and out the back. 

Toby follows his gaze, squinting in the dark to see whatever it is his senior partner is seeing. 

“…O-Oh shit,” He mutters, “Talk about a-a close—don’t listen!—a close call—c-call—call me!—hehe…”

Tim stares back at him with a look in his eyes that says ‘You have no fucking idea.’

“…W-Why are you looking at me— a-at me like that?”

Tim looks around. For some reason, he’s not sure how to answer that. 

That is, until he lays eyes on a conspicuously mirror shaped object draped in a sheet and pushed into the corner.

Yeah, it’s easier to just show him.

Tim shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks over to the mirror, trying not to rush. He’s annoyed with Toby for scaring him like that and nearly bringing him to tears, even if it’s not really his fault. Maybe startling him a bit will take the edge off that embarrassment. 

Toby’s eye follows him closely as he walks, then watches as his hand slowly raises to grasp the sheet obscuring the mirror. His brow raises, curiosity piqued. 

The sheet is pulled away in an instant. The cloud of dust that results makes Toby cough, trying to wave it away from his face. He squints through the grimy mist, struggling to make out his own reflection in the mirror.

“L-Look, Tim, I don’t know what it-it is that you n-need me to—suck it! fuck you!—see, but I-I don’t— Oh my fucking God?!”

There it is. 

Toby crawls closer to the mirror, his remaining eye wider than Tim had ever seen it and the hole where the matching one would’ve been stretching gruesomely. 

Tim winces. Toby can’t feel it, even if he could feel pain normally all that nerve damage would make it numb, but Tim can’t stop imagining what it would feel like. 

“…Jesus Christ…” Is all Toby can manage as he looks at what remains of his face. He feels around the wound, getting far too close to touching the exposed insides for Tim’s comfort. Toby stares at himself for a long few moments. Tim can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

Then Toby turns to his partner, and to Tim’s surprise, he’s sporting the widest, most lopsided grin he’s ever seen, his crooked teeth stained with blood on one side where it runs down his cheek from the wound. Tim holds back a shudder. 

“The fuck you cheesin’ for?” Tim growls, walking around behind Toby to see him in the mirror, “You nearly got half your damn face blown off!” 

“Relax, o-old man!” Toby replies without missing a beat, “In a-a few days there won’t e-even be a— b-be a mark…”

Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask. That’s true, yes. An injury this extensive will take a bit to regenerate, but it’ll grow back like nothing happened. Still, Toby doesn’t even seem mildly disturbed. He practically saw himself die, and here he is giggling to himself and moving his face in odd ways just to see the horrid wound contort in the mirror. The quiet squelching noises it makes nearly bring Tim to vomit. 

“…You’re not even a little put off by the fact that…you know. You’re missing half your fuckin’ face?!” 

Toby lets out a sharp laugh at Tim’s outburst, amused by his clear discomfort. 

“Don’t be s-such a—bitch! bastard!— baby, I-I think it’s—asshole!—I think it’s k-kinda cool. Besides…”

He turns to look up at Tim, yellow teeth glowing in the moonlight that leaks in through the busted windows. 

“…I-I got a brand new hole f-for you to try out.” 

Tim gasps in disgust. Before he can think a hand comes up to smack Toby upside the head, though he immediately regrets it when a splatter of blood is thrown to the floor as Toby rocks forward. 

“Don’t say shit like that, you dirty fuckin’ pervert!” 

Toby nearly breaks out into hysterics at that, grabbing his sides as he laughs like a maniac. His tics increase tenfold at the sudden rush of energy, his fingers flexing unnaturally and tearing at his sweatshirt.

“H-How can I not?! You m-make it so f-fucking—fuck! funny!— fun, haha!” Toby replies, his voice cracking as his head jerks involuntarily in all directions.

Tim crosses his arms, huffing in annoyance but not sure what to say. He can feel his cheeks getting warm under his mask. He hates when Toby laughs at him. It pisses him off like nothing else. 

He stares daggers into Toby’s restless reflection as he leans into the mirror to inspect his wound again, mumbling to himself endlessly and doing his best to stay still. 

Toby’s rambling starts to fade out as Tim glares at his mirror image. He can feel something dark bubbling up inside of him, its vines sprawling out and over his body as he marinates in his thoughts. 

He thought he was gone. 

For a second there, he really thought he’d lost Toby for good.

And now here he is, without a care in the world, looking at his own fucking gunshot wound like it’s a new tattoo. 

Someone oughta teach this kid a lesson. 

Tim’s not sure what comes over him, but something, a nagging little thought has settled into his brain and taken root there. It thumps in the back of his skull like a heartbeat under the floorboards. He pulls one of his hands from its glove, looking down at his bare palm. 

“…You think this is all some joke, don’t you?” Tim mutters, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Toby doesn’t even turn to look at him. 

“W-Why are so damn u-uptight, old man? It’s not—grrrk!—it’s not like I d-died. Psuedo-immortality, r-remember?”

“But you could’ve. You know at the end of the day you can’t really trust anything that monster gives you. It would kill you in an instant if it felt threatened or betrayed.” 

“T-The fuck is your— i-is your problem?!”

Suddenly Toby isn’t all smiles anymore. His head jerks to the side violently, pulling a sickening pop from his neck. Tim is used to these mood swings, but that doesn’t stop the heavy tension that settles over the room. 

“Y-You’re always on my back about something, a-aren’t you old man?!” Toby hisses. Tim’s ungloved hand squeezes and flexes at his side. 

“You a-always got something to say about m-me, or what I—fucker! shit!—what I-I think, you can never j-just let me—“ 

Toby is cut off as a high pitched cry is violently forced from his throat, making his body spasm as it dissolves into an animalistic moan like neither of them have ever heard. It feels like every nerve in his body is seizing, splitting apart and contorting under his skin. He almost screams at the feeling, but he can’t manage it. He’s choking on nothing.

There’s a sickening squelch as something is ripped from the back of his skull, and he falls forward onto his hands, dizzy and struggling to breathe. 

“W-What…what the f-fuck…was…”

He can’t even finish the sentence between his inability to process the unnatural sensation that just overtook him and the indescribable feeling still rippling through his body. 

Slowly he cranes his neck to look back up into the mirror. Instantly his eye is locked onto Tim’s, but he isn’t looking back. He’s staring at something else. 

He follows Tim’s gaze down slowly, swallowing thickly with a sudden nervousness. His eye widens as it falls on the thing that has captivated Tim‘s gaze: 

His ungloved hand, the middle and ring fingers now dripping with blood and viscera not his own. 

No. Fucking. Way.

“Did…d-did you just…”

Tim doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to. 

For the first time in a long time, Toby is still. His twitching and jerking ceases, his face halts its uncomfortable wrenching; He’s still, and soundless. 

There’s a beat of silence where they both just stare at Tim’s bloodied hand, neither of them moving an inch. It’s like time has stopped in this instant. Toby can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his brain. Something in his chest is twisting and turning with a burning emotion he can’t quite place yet. 

He doesn’t even have time to process the sudden movement before Tim has plunged his fingers into the wound once again. 

This time Toby is forced to watch his reflection in the mirror as Tim violates the gorey cavity, thick digits rooting around inside his head and shooting a new sensation through him with every touch. His entire body stiffens, his mouth falling open involuntarily as he loses control of it. He can feel his senses being reduced to mush as he groans, the endless sound falling from his lips in unintelligible waves. It’s mindless, desperate babbling, but he can’t do anything else. 

Toby watches the depraved scene in the mirror until his eye starts to roll back in his head, further than it should be able to. Tim watches the hazel iris recede until only white is left. Only then does he finally give some reprieve, yanking his hand back and shaking off the chunks that come with it.

Toby’s head bows towards the ground as he catches his breath, his entire body rocking as he heaves desperately for air. He’s too preoccupied to notice the way Tim is leering down at him, his breathing now hot and labored. 

“…How did that feel?” 

Toby sneers at the question, not looking up. 

“H-How did it feel?! You’re d-digging around—shhhh!— in m-my fucking brain, d-dipshit, how do you— d-do you think it f-feels?!”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I know it doesn’t hurt, so how does it feel?” 

For some reason, Toby doesn’t have an answer to that. He wants to snap back with something witty and biting, to tell him it feels like Hell and back and if he doesn’t stop he’ll scatter his brains next, but…

That wouldn’t be the total truth. 

“…It…I-It feels…” He stammers, unable to find the words. He sits back up on his knees, locking eyes with his partner in the mirror. Tim is silent. He’s anticipating the rest of that sentence. Toby thinks for a moment, a series of tongue clicks in an odd rhythm sounding as he pauses. 

“…It…I-It wasn’t bad, if that’s w-what you’re looking for.” 

Tim’s breath hitches. 

Only Toby could hear a sound so small, yet so telling. 

He has to push this further.

“A-Actually it was kind of…k-kind of good, y-you know? I-I don’t know—rrrngh!—how to explain it, but i-it just…it’s like n-nothing I’ve ever f-felt or imagined, I-I—“

Toby cuts himself off with a gasp as Tim grasps his hair tightly. His other hand moves to his belt. The sound of the metal buckle makes Toby shiver. 

Tim leans down a bit, speaking lowly to his partner. 

“Keep talking.” 

Toby’s stomach flips. 

Tim’s not giving him a choice.

“I-It’s like…fuck, it’s l-like every muscle in my— in my b-body is spasming like c-crazy,” Toby continues, watching with crazed eyes as Tim slides the belt from its loops. He grits his teeth as it clatters to the ground. 

He doesn’t want this to stop. 

He has to keep going. 

“I-It’s like f-fire under my skin, b-but I can’t feel t-the burn…” 

Tim’s hand moves to the fly of his jeans. 

“…I-I lose all control of m-my body, I can’t—fuck off!—I-I can’t even think, i-it just all turns i-into gibberish…”

Tim tugs down his zipper, and Toby can see his twitching bulge straining against his boxers. 

“…It’s l-like I can feel myself l-losing my mind, and I c-can’t do anything— d-do anything about it, I c-can’t even p-put—put it back! put it back!—put together a sentence…”

Tim hooks a thumb under the waistband of his boxers. He starts to push them down. 

“…F-Fuck, Tim, I-I wanna feel it again.” 

Toby clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the moan that threatens to break free as he watches Tim’s erection spring free from the confines of his clothes. He’s thick and uncut, throbbing with rabid need. Toby shudders as his partner lets out a relieved groan, breathing hard under his mask. 

“S-Shit, Tim…y-your—your cock! your cock!—n-no! I mean you’re—your cock! your cock! fat cock!—dammit! I-I didn’t mean to s-say that—!”

“I’m taking you up on your offer, Rogers…” Tim growls, cutting off Toby’s attempt to explain himself. He grabs Toby’s head with both hands, fingers digging into the front of his wound on one side and the gash in his cheek on the other. This time Toby doesn’t bother to stop the moan that crawls up his throat as he feels Tim’s cock rut against the back of his head.

“…I wanna give this new hole of yours a proper fucking. What do you say?”

Toby can’t see Tim’s mouth, but he can tell he’s smiling from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners behind his mask. Toby groans at the thought. He can’t stop the crooked grin that spreads across his pale face like butter on a hot pan.

“P…P-Please, Tim,” He whispers, and he knows he’s hit a nerve when he feels Tim‘s grip tighten for a moment.

“…Please what, Rogers?” 

He figured he wouldn’t get it that easy. 

“Please, Tim,” Toby continues, sucking in  a breath and swallowing his pride, “I-I want you t-to fuck me, please—“ 

Tim ruts against the back of his head again, barely brushing his wound. He wants more.

“P-Please, fuck, I-I’m—need! give it!—I’m begging you! I need it, I-I need you to fuck m-my brains out, please!” 

Tim shifts his hips. He’s lining up at the opening. 

It’s working. 

“Please, please, p-please, Tim, I-I want you to f-fuck my brain! I n-need to—fffuck! fuck! fuck!—I need t-to feel it! Please, dammit, j-just fucking—!”

Toby doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. 

Tim shoves himself inside the bloody cavity without warning, forcing Toby’s brain out of the way as his cock enters. The scream that rocks Toby’s body is as lustful as it is carnal and gruesome. He reaches up on instinct and grabs Tim’s wrists, not trying to pull his hands away but holding on for dear life before he loses the ability to move at all. 

“You broke so easy,” Tim sneers as he bottoms out, talking over Toby’s uncontrollable moaning, “What would the others think if they saw you begging for dick like a whore on the street? Huh?!”

He punctuates his sentence with a sudden rut of his hips, making Toby yelp and his body jerk. His nails dig into Tim’s arms, and the pain is delicious. 

Tim studies the scene before him in the mirror. 

It’s disgusting. It’s horrid. He can see the tip of his leaking cock resting inside his partner’s skull. 

He doesn’t want this to end. 

He’s going to relish this opportunity, every sickening moment of it. 

“What would they think…”

Tim starts to pull back, breath trembling at the slick noises from the movement.

“…If they knew I had you whining for me like a dirty fuckin’ sissy?!”

He pushes back in with even more force than before. Blood is forced out the front of the wound, dripping down Toby’s face and onto the floor, leaving a red trail on his skin. His meaningless babbling is music to Tim’s ears.

Again Tim pulls back, faster this time, and pushes in again. He watches Toby’s face in the mirror as he finds his rhythm, completely enamored as it contorts with overwhelming sensations that no human should ever experience. His mouth is hanging completely open, his tongue limp and lying against his chin as he pants and wails desperately like a dog in heat. He’s starting to drool from the lack of muscle control.

There’s something about watching Toby quite literally lose his mind at his hand that makes Tim feel like God. 

“You know, I like you a lot better when you can’t run your mouth,” Tim says with a chuckle. He digs his fingers into the front of the wound, groping around in the cavity and feeling the pulsing meat shift under the pads of his fingertips.

“You’re lucky I’m not gonna tell anyone about this, not gonna tell the others you’re a nasty fuckin’ faggot who’s so desperate for dick you’d take it in your brain…at least someone’s finally making use of the lump of meat in your head, eh?!”

He pulls Toby’s skull back on his cock hard and fast, fucking into the hole with more fervor than he thought possible. His arms are bleeding now from where Toby’s nails are digging in, his knuckles locked up as his motor function is ripped to shreds. 

Tim’s eyes trail down the reflection as he thrusts, down to Toby’s body and stopping at the tent in his pants. There’s a painfully obvious stain on his groin now where his erection is straining against the denim of his jeans with wretched need. His precum is leaking through the material in viscous waves, a constant stream of shameful arousal. It looks like it hurts, like his zipper is about to burst, but Tim has no interest in granting him even that small mercy of freeing his hard-on. 

“Damn,” He mumbles to himself, watching the liquid pool where the tip of his partner’s cock pushes against his pants, “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just tolerating it to see how far I’ll go, you’re getting off on this shit! You’re a dirty fuckin’ boy slut!” 

He’s getting mean, meaner than he really needs to be, but he doesn’t care. Toby might not even be able to hear him, and even if he can, Tim’s not going to waste this chance while his partner can’t snap back. 

He ruts his hips more intentionally, trying to hit every spot he can. He’s catching on to patterns, that certain touches here or there make Toby twitch or jerk or yelp involuntarily. His eye has rolled back in his head almost completely. It looks agonizing, and it only makes Tim thrust faster. 

“Then again, in that messed up little mind of yours I bet this is nothing. You’re so used to gettin’ beat on this practically soft to you, ain’t it?! Or did your old man slam your head into the concrete too many times for you to know the damn difference?!” 

Tim’s practically screaming at him now, drool running down his chin and neck as he loses himself to the pleasure. It’s unbearably hot under his mask, but he can’t bring himself to release his death grip on Toby’s head to take it off. 

“I should’ve put you in your place a long time ago, lord knows you’ve needed it for who knows how long!” 

Tim angles his hips upward a bit, brushing against a certain spot that makes Toby tense and cry out suddenly. The thing Tim notices most, though, is the way Toby’s cock twitches in his pants. It spurts just a bit, not climaxing yet but getting dangerously close. The stain on the front of his pants is only growing with each passing second that Tim violates his brain.

“Oh, you really are disgusting,” Tim huffs, “You’re really about to cum in your pants, and I haven’t even touched your cock? That’s pathetic, Rogers.”

Tim angles his hips up again just to watch the precum gush from his partner’s tip, his stomach flipping in his gut at the thought that Toby is so, so damn close, but he can’t beg for more or touch himself or even move at all. 

“Nngh…Like hell I’m gonna let a little bitch boy like you cum first, though.” 

He takes a moment to adjust his grip. He’s preparing for the last stretch. 

The speed of his thrusting increases tenfold, completely losing all sense of rhythm. He can feel the pleasure taking him over, melting his resolve and screaming at him to go, go, go, just keeping going, go until you can’t anymore, and that’s exactly what he intends to do. 

“You better take all of my cum, Rogers,” Tim growls through gritted teeth, “Though I ain’t exactly giving you a choice, am I? You’ll take it whether you like it or not…” 

He hasn’t looked away from Toby’s face in the mirror. The sight of it twitching and frozen in a state of screaming ecstasy is like a horrific work of art. Tim’s never going to forget it. He won’t forget any of this. Every second is burned into his brain, and he’s more than happy to keep it that way.

The gory cavity is carved into the shape of Tim’s cock by now, each thrust only feeding the growing puddle of blood and viscera on the ground below Toby. That stain will stay there forever, Tim thinks. A permanent reminder of the debauchery the two of them are so gleefully partaking in. The idea of someone else finding this old house scattered with bodies, walking around and not even knowing the half of what these walls have been subjected to…

God, that’s good. 

The knot in Tim’s stomach starts to tighten. 

He can’t hold on for much longer. Neither can Toby. 

Tim angles his hips in that special way again, hitting that sensitive spot over and over and over again with each frenzied thrust. Toby’s practically soaking himself now, so close to the edge but not quite close enough to fall off, though he runs the risk with each passing second. It’s barely a matter of time. 

Faster, faster, faster, that’s the only thing Tim can think. 

More, more, more, that’s all he can think about.

Faster, faster, faster, more, more, more, more, more more more moremoremore—

“Shit!” 

Suddenly Tim throws his head back with a wild noise, his cock releasing without warning into the bloody cavity he’s been so graciously desecrating. At the same time he brushes that spot again, and it’s finally enough to give Toby his release, too, only a second later. His cum soaks the front of his now completely ruined jeans, the shameful stain running down his groin and thighs. The scream he lets out as his climax rocks his body will haunt Tim’s dreams. 

Tim’s thrusting doesn’t slow to a stop until it feels like his balls are empty. Only then does he finally go still, allowing himself to breathe. He looks up at the ceiling as he pants, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as his orgasm gradually washes away.

Finally Tim allows his fingers to unfurl, releasing Toby as he pulls his cock from his ruined skull. It comes back soaked in blood and sticky with viscera, taking a few chunks with it. He tries to step back, but Toby’s still gripping his wrists.

He manages to shake him off, only for Toby’s body to go completely limp and fall forward, face first onto the dusty wood floor and into the puddle of mixed bodily fluids. He twitches a bit, but doesn’t move or show any signs of life beyond that. Anyone else would think he’s dead. 

“I’m not falling for that again,” Tim mumbles with an eye roll, using his discarded glove to wipe off his now flaccid cock before tucking it back into his boxers and zipping up his pants. 

He crouches over Toby, grabbing his hair and forcing him up from the floor back onto his knees. All Toby can manage is a pathetic groan. Tim studies his partner’s fucked-out face in the mirror for a moment, watching as the blood and seed lazily roll down his cheek and chin. He can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“…Anything to say for yourself?” Tim asks teasingly, shaking him a bit.

The only response he gets is the sound of gagging as Toby retches. Tim barely moves back in time to watch him cough up a horrible concoction of blood, cum, and God knows what else without being in the splash zone. 

“Goddammit, watch it!” Tim scolds cruelly, “If you hurl on my new boots I’m leaving you like this.” 

He at least has the decency to let Toby finish before scooping up his limp, helpless body. He carries him under his arm like a log, not taking any care to be gentle.

“I’ll get you back home to Eyeless,” Tim mutters, “He doesn’t ask too many questions, and he’ll patch you up good ‘til you’re all healed…” 

Tim tries not to think too hard as he carries his partner out of the house, away from the crime scene and into the endless wooded darkness. 

All is quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Tim’s heavy steps on the dry leaves. That is, until what Tim thinks is a muffled giggle sounds from his partner. He stops and looks back, but there’s no more noise. 

Dammit, he thinks. 

Neither of us are going to be forgetting this. 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

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[tobicup]

Idea.

Jason actually kills tim in titans tower. It's not on purpose. He was so angry and his vision swirled green. He couldn't see or think straight. Everything was just hate and anger and bright green haze.

He cuts too deep. Deeper then he meant, it was just supposed to be a warning but his mind is gone in a whirlwind of negative emotions.

He comes to with red on his hands, to tims shallow burbling breaths. Wet and gasping and agonized. And no. No. He didn't mean to. He tries to stem the bleeding but it's too late. Tims teary eyes looking up at him, and theyre not filled with anger (like his were) or hate (how could he hate a child so much) or even fear. He just looks sad as they meet his. He tries to speak but he cant, he should already be dead, instead he mouths slowly, carefully *go home*.

Lips bloody, unable to speak or breathe and probably hurting so badly... hes telling his murderer to go back to his family. And regret fills him so deeply because this could have been his brother. This loving, self-sacrificial idiot child couldve been someone he loved. Maybe already loves a little. He never wanted to end him, just robin. He didnt want Tim to die. He didnt.

Now he has to go home. He'll honor the kids last wishes even if it means getting thrown right into arkham next to the clown. He deserves as much. Hes just as bad. Killed a little bird too young. Before he could even truly fly. Relished in his pain.

A hand tugging his pants weakly, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. tims eyes pleading and exhausted. Holding onto life by a thread, "... okay kid. You win. Ill go home... im so- " voice breaking as grief wells up "-im so goddamn sorry. You didnt deserve this"

Tim just smiles, hand gripping his pants letting go to oat his knee as if to say he forgives jason he can never be forgiven for this and then his hand goes limp. His goal of saving the bat family finally fulfilled. The accomplishment bittersweet.

.

Jason picking up tim body, blood on his hands, on his knees where he had kneeled next to tim. On his chest where tim is pressed against it. And he carries him to the nearest zeta. Carries him home. Hes scared. He wants his dad but he doesnt think he'll have one ever again after this.

.

Bruce silent when he sees them. Grim and broken and grief stricken. Trying to push all the emotions down. Another dead robin..another child son. In the arms of the one he lost before..he cant feel anything right now. It all hurts so much. Jasons apologizing even as hes saying he knows he cant be forgiven. He sounds so young and scared. Hes sorry. He didnt mean to.

Bruce doesnt know what to say. He wants more then anything to be happy his son is home but- but his son has killed a child. Killed tim. The only light left in bruces life since jays death.

Dick screaming when he enters the cave. Ignoring Jason entirely. Sobbing over tims tiny broken body. Hed been to late. Again. Hadnt even known his baby brother was in trouble. Hadnt known he was needed.

He hadnt known for jason either. Hadnt even been able to see his body. Just gone.

He doesnt know which is worse.

.

.

.

Tim.

Tim is... was robin and robin was...? Is? Magic. He knows this. Somehow he thinks hes heard it before. A bright laugh, cheeky grin. The words distorted like a broken record but still there. Imprinting into his fading mind. Imprinting on his soul.

Robin is magic.

Hes somewhere cold but familiar. Comforting. But also not here at all. Theres crying. Voices wet. He should find them. Those voices should never be so sad. Thay was his job. To make sure those people were not sad, or angry, or suicidal.

His purpose.

He is Robin.

(Ghost tim following the batfam as they grieve him. And jason trying to reintegrate. He follows jason the most. His shame and guilt. The others treat him coldly. His self hatred tearing him down which is not allowed. Jason should be happy. He is family)

.

Tim one of very few ghosts in gotham. The only *positive* ghost in gotham. Following the bats and trying to bring joy to them any ways he can he cant do much

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne I am BEGGING for “This is real. I’m real. Look at me.” with Dick 🥺🤍

SEXY! love this prompt, thank u for requesting 🥰

"this is real. i'm real. look at me." — dick grayson x gn!reader | tw: fear toxin, hallucinations, panicked reader | 500 words

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

"How long?"

"I don't know—"

"Well, how much did they inhale?"

"I don't know, Bruce!"

Everything is cloudy, warped. If you turn your head too fast, shadows loom over you. You cover your eyes and whimper, trying to shut out the monsters.

The Joker laughs, distantly, and you cry, thrashing. Someone holds down your shoulders and you cry louder. Your hand connects with skin. Someone grunts.

"Shit. Dick, come here!"

Cool hands rest on your face and pull at your hands. You scream and try to fight. The Joker laughs get closer.

"Don't let him get me," you beg. "Don't—he's here, don't... don't let him..."

"Baby, baby, I'm right here."

Your hands are pried off your face. You catch flashes of red, black, and blue. A familiar blue.

But then you meet milky white eyes, and in the haze of the toxin, the eyes turn sinister. You fight, pushing at the eyes, and another pair of hands holds down your legs.

"Let go, let go!" you scream. "Let go!"

"Tim, is it ready or not?"

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

The milky eyes suddenly disappear, replaced by blue.

"Honey, I'm right here," the blue eyes say, and you feel a hand on your cheek. "You're safe. It's me, it's Dick. Can you hear me?"

"Dick," you say, thrashing again. "Dick, he's here. You have to run, he's gonna—"

"No one's here, baby. You're in the Cave. You're safe, okay? I'm not gonna let anybody get you."

Your eyes scrunch up with tears, and the blue eyes blur. There's a pinch in your arm. You flinch and launch forward.

"I'm scared! I'm scared, don't hurt me—"

"Baby, hey. This is real. I'm real. Look at me."

Fingers brush away the tears under your lashes. The blue eyes come back into focus. They connect to a face.

"He's gonna get you," you say, chest aching with how shallow your breaths are.

Dick cups the back of your head. Behind him, you see Scarecrow himself. You start to wriggle, but Dick holds you tighter.

"I've got you. No one's there, baby. Close your eyes for me, okay, sweetheart? Listen to my voice."

"He-he'll kill you—"

"No one's gonna hurt me or you. I need you to slow your breathing. Come on, honey, slow breaths. Breathe with me."

You bury your face in a warm neck. He breathes and you breathe with him as best as you can, clinging to his suit. You close your eyes and cling hard. Dick rubs your back in circles.

"That's it. Good job. I got you. I'm here. No one's gonna get you."

"It feels so real," you whisper.

"I know, baby, I know. I'm sorry." Dick sounds choked, and he clears his throat. "It'll go away soon."

"Don't leave," you say instantly, hugging him tighter. Your eyes are squeezed shut so hard it almost hurts.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here the whole time. You still breathing?"

That reminds you to feel his breath and follow them. You thread your fingers through his hair. He smells like home. The gas can create a lot of things, but it can't take away the jasmine detergent Alfred uses, or the spiced cologne Dick dabs behind his ears.

"I'm-I'm breathing," you say.

"Good, you're doing so good. You're safe."

Dick doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *31*

Dan… no, Bruce often thought back how his life had started. A young kid – not older than four years of age - had died in his sleep. His soul was leaving for the realms. And the Ancients had asked him if he was ready for redemption. Ready to live a new life, with all the happiness and pain it had to offer. He said yes, because nothing could be worse than rotting in the Thermos.

He had been wrong.

He had been shoved in the dying body of a little kid, his memory's of his past life simplified, so that his new brain could still grasp them without hurting him. He knew that he had been Dan once. Now he was little Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t allowed to ever take a life while he had his free will. He wasn’t allowed to ever tell anyone about his past live. He wasn’t allowed to use his powers, should he ever find the strength to reach his core again. The Ancients had made it clear that they would otherwise take everything from him. He remembered that his original, Phantom the Ancient of Balance had been against this, but he had been outvoted. If he should be able to heal his obsessions and never kill somebody, he and his family would share an afterlife together. His obsession unwrapped itself. Without being able to reach his core it was easier. His core was mending itself back together, his broken obsessions healing. From Danny's side he got the obsession to protect and belong in his fraid. From Vlad he got the obsession for control and family. And everything seemed to be perfect in the beginning. He had his Mother and Father. They were all safe. And he had as much control as a small child could have. He really was striving.

And then his parents died.

It broke him, not completely, but enough. And then he became the Batman. Being a hero, while also having something that was so vampire-esque was almost like a homage to whom he had been made of once. And even though he didn’t have a family anymore, except for Alfred, he at least could protect other people and gain some control back.

Than he got Dick, his first Robin. And everything was wonderful again, he healed again. Then he found Jason and he was brought into his little family and he loved it so much. All of this was worth it. Having his two sons and his father in all but name by his side was so much better then the Thermos.

He had been wrong again.

Bruce need for control and protect made him sometimes a bad parent, he knew this. But he never wanted to push his children away. He needed to find Jason and apologies.

And then he hold the broken body of his son.

This time the crack was bigger. Because he should have been able to protect his family. Because it was all his fault! He wanted to hunt down and kill the clown, he was holding onto a thread. He knew he would lose everyone if he let himself slip, but it was so hard.

And then Tim came into his life, holding him together, even though it shouldn’t be his job. But he healed, little by little. Until the Red Hood came. Until Jason came back and asked the impossible.

He couldn’t damn everyone and Jason to be erased. He couldn't lose his family, his son again.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

“Dick nodded, "I'll tell Bruce. I don't think he wants you on Patrol for any particular reason. You're probably just on stand by." With any luck, Dick thought, they'd never put you with Jason. That would be catastrophic. “

Why would it be catastrophic to put her and Jason on patrol together?

Your teeth were clenched so tightly that your jaws were starting to ache. If you tried to speak, you didn't think you'd be able to.

Thankfully, no one expected you to talk much. Not really. Dick, Tim, Jason, Steph, even Babs in her day... they were the talky ones. Quipy, or snarky. Clever.

That wasn't you. Early on, it was decided it was better if you didn't talk much. It was hard to talk and focus on control and investigate. Now though, it was just a habit. Part of the Changeling mystiqueue. You appeared. Things happened no one understood. You left. And sometimes you never said more than a few quiet words to the other bats. Or Gordon.

Tonight though, you didn't talk because you were working with Jason. And working with Jason was... well. He was a whirlwind of constant emotions. There was never a thread. Never an even keel. Up. Down. Around. Rage. Pain. Sadness. Joy. Spite. Anxiety. Rinse and repeat. And it was LOUD. So loud.

The way Bruce was loud when he was on a tear about something. Or Dick was loud when he had to be Batman. But it was CONSTANT. From the second he put the helmet was on.

And now you were in an Elevator. A piece of shit-

The metallic bang and the electric whine made your heart drop to your feet but nothing was as bad as hearing Jason say "Uh-oh"

I'm in a box. Boxes are cages. Oh god.

Panic rises up and you can feel it grip your throat like iron teeth. Vicious and unyielding.

"Y/N," Jason tried, shaking your shoulder, "hey,-" You don't respond. And he can see you starting to rock. Your pupils behind your mask blown wide with terror. "We have a situation," he said into his commlink.

"Report," Bruce grunted from his bed.

"I'm trapped in a broken elevator with Changeling. Something is blocking both exits-"

And if the look in your eyes didn't tell him there was a problem, the in unison "Shit" over the comms would have.

"Try and keep her calm," Bruce said. "Oracle-"

"Already sending people to their location," she reported.

Jason exhaled slowly and looked at you. Rocking and holding yourself in such tight control you looked like you'd break under the slightest pressure. "Hey," he said softly, taking his helmet off so he could look at you properly. Tilting your chin up, making you look at anything but the walls that were holding you in. "You're not by yourself, okay? Help is gonna come. We're gonna go home."

"Home?"

Your voice is so small. It sqeaks. So timid and pathetic. It makes his heart crack.

"Home," he confirms, keeping his tone soft. He didn't know what to do. How to reach you. All he knew was that he had to keep himself calm. And maybe- maybe if he could remind you you weren't alone. Make you feel something else aside from terror... maybe he could get you both out of this without you driving an entire city block into a frenzy.