#if u want. thats up to u :3

[thenothlng]

★ BEATRIZ VOIDCALLER ; reference image .

she has quite the wardrobe.............

[thedeadthree]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 ➸ irulanne . the rook .

𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 . 𝐄𝐋𝐅 . 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 .

-`. template by @kanos . coloring . icons .

✧ ― 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (ask to be added or removed or interact 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!!):

@pavus, @wlwaerith, @shadowsofrose, @grapecaseschoices, @nokstella

@queennymeria, @risingsh0t, @carrionsflower, @leviiackrman, @griffin-wood

@confidentandgood, @aceghosts, @tommyarashikage, @shadowglens, @yharnams

@anoras, @theelderhazelnut, @florbelles, @celticwoman, @pinkfey

@kyberinfinitygems, @cloudofbutterflies92, @carlosoliveiraa, @shellibisshe, @adelaidedrubman

@lavampira, @capelizabeth, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @statichvm, @unholymilf

@aezyrraeshh, @imogenkol, @aceghosts, @full---ofstarlight, @ellierenae

[carpathiians]

dug up my oldddd tiny wacom i used to draw with as a kid </3

[doodleodds]

Happy Valentines, Akira. Happy Valentines, Asshole.

If you can’t read what Akechi’s secondary inner-dialogue says cause I obscured it too much behind his regular dialogue, here’s a transcription in panel order: Hello, you fucking- Ah- Hello, Akira! Fuck off, why should I tell you- Just a soda- there’s a new flavor.

I don’t want your shitty gift. Oh- haha! You’re so sweet.

I hope I choke. They’re lovely, thank you.

Like hell. Likewise. There’s no way it’s just a coincidence. Still though, it’s a funny coincidence.

[mayxo-hxh]

I personally think that Kikyo would absolutely be thrilled that Illumi found himself a man he wants to marry as strong, handsome and fit to be Zoldyck as Hisoka.

Hisoka is strong enough to be considered an equal to a zoldyck, which means strength is no problem for him. And I don't know about you but the way he assassinated that terradin man that was threatening to reveal illumis identity at the end of the election arc? CHEFS. KISS. THATS A WHOLE ZOLDYCK WIFE RIGHT THERE. And Hisoka is a certain type of fucked up enough to be a Zoldyck, even if he is... mmm.. self aware. Even if he himself thinks zoldycks are a special kind of fucked up. He'd fit.

I always see people make silva and kikyo disagree with illumi marrying hisoka but i soooo heavily disagree. Like what is there NOT to be proud of in Illumi's marriage choice. There is not a single other character IN THE ENTIRE ANIME fit to be Zoldyck than Hisoka Morow and I will fight people on that.

Something a lot of people also don't realize is that the Zoldycks are not a family that discriminates in the slightest (this is a whole discussion on its own but examples are how Kikyo is from meteor city, the butlers are taken from anywhere as long as they have the skill to work and one of the people who attacked kukuroo mountain to hunt the zoldycks now works for them instead. The zoldycks didnt hesitate to hire that mf they fr dont gaf lmfao)

there are soooooooo many misconceptions about the zoldycks in general and i think thats what aids the whole "the zoldycks would HATE hisoka" thing but like. nah. they wouldnt.

I also think about how Kikyo found Silva at such a young age. I bet she was constantly nagging Illumi and asking when he'd get a partner himself. Now he's got it, Millukiiii ITS YOOOURRR TURRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!

[witchspeka]

I dont think Mob is naive as much as he's socially unaware, like the reason why he trusts Reigen so blindly is a bit more complex than just him being naive

Cause Mob reached out to Reigen because he was desperate to find someone like him, someone who understood his psychic specific issues, someone that could truly know what he's feeling and going through and give him guidance and support

Post incident Mob's thinking process was something along the lines of my powers hurt people -> my powers are bad -> my powers (my emotions, my instincts, myself) cannot be trusted

So he lost all confidence and trust in his own actions, resigning to being as passive as possible to avoid any further damage to anyone else, thus he started doubting his own perception of reality too

He's a kid already struggling with being ostracised for being socially inept, who just got traumatised and all of his insecurity increased by the tenfold, he doesn't know how to process what he's going through. He needs help.

And here comes Reigen, seemingly reliable, a responsible adult in a child's eyes, someone who claims he can understand him

Even tho Reigen doesnt. But it doesn't matter, because Mob finds comfort in his words and takes them to heart

Even if Reigen doesn't fully get it, even if he doesn't see the bigger picture, even if his advice isn't always the best

Eventually, Mob grows up, realises Reigen isn't as honest as he seemed through his 11 year old perspective, but like most things, he refuses to acknowledge it on a deeper level

Mob knows, but never tells Reigen, never thinks about what all those lies mean to him (ofc until he forces himself to face those doubts regarding Reigen, to properly acknowledge both of their flaws and accept them as they are, I should scream into the void about Confession Arc more God)

Due to his lack of trust in himself, Mob has relied on Reigen for years now to shape his moral compass, his thoughts, his decisions

Because well, Reigen lies, sure, but he isnt a bad person. When he hurts Mob, it isn't intentional or with ill intent, he still wants the best for him, what's the issue?

Except that it stunts Mob's growth. He doesn't develop as a person, doesn't have goals or wishes or ambitions, can't make choices on his own, he doesn't even let himself acknowledge his own emotions, he refuses to let himself exist

But Mob realises in time that he wants more than that, he wants to become better and be independent and feel again

Still, he puts the acknowledgement of the lies on hold for as long as he can, unwilling to question the way things are

This can make him feel a little naive, he constantly relies on Reigen and trusts his decisions and raises questions rarely until separation arc when he finally puts his foot down

And I do think that moment is the most resounding proof we have that Mob knows and allows himself to be used by Reigen, not wanting to shake the status quo, until he gets fed up

I mentioned the social ineptitude at the beggining but idk if I should even elaborate on that, you've watched the show, you know what I mean

He's blunt and can't read social cues or tonality that well and can't speak in front of crowds and is overall pretty awkward and I do think some people conflate that with naivety

Mob is still a child, he doesnt fully understand how the world works at the ripe age of 14 years old, but some folks take that as him being inherently naive/innocent/whatever which I don't find true

[suntails]

gift for a friend!!

[lemongogo]

my tavs :3c

[wexhappyxfew]

And then “Look at you! You're spilling coffee.” For Brady and Annie >:)

HI POET!!!!!!! thank you so much for sending in a prompt + incredibly sorry it is so SO late for a response!! my summer has been so incredibly busy and i've only just gotten to this now, so i truly hope you enjoy!!! <3 annie and brady are an absolute joy to write and i always love getting to play around in the areas of time we get to see them in - so this is in the early days of getting to know each other and - you guessed it - it involves coffee haha! THANK YOU AGAIN!!! (also hi and hello i am back after an absolutely chaotic af week)!!!!!! <3333

porcelain, silk and starch

(a/n): ANNIE X BRADY GIRLIES THIS IS FOR YOUUUU!!!! getting back into some 'early days' sorta stuff for these two that i felt were needed for their connection. just those early moments of first meetings and interactions that i wanted to work with a bit! and ofc a cameo from co-pilot francis who is my fav of favs fr! a queen in true form!!! i hope you all (and poet most of all - this was a great prompt THANK YOU) enjoy!!! :D

“Silver Bullets should’ve been put into mass production the day she made the run over Caen,” Francis said, pulling her cigarette from her lip and patting the edge of the wing, the early dawn rays of the sun tickling the edges of the metal, “flies like a fucking angel, I tell ya, Bradshaw.”

Annie looked up at the large berth of wingspan for the B-17 and smiled a bit; it was evident how much Francis cared about the plane, like it was this thing they were caring for day by day, somehow watching it grow. It seemed Francis was coming around - they were actually on a name-to-name basis rather than incredibly formal 'Lieutenant Bradshaw' and 'Lieutenant Montez' callings. It was actually kind of nice. Annie knew Francis still held her bearings about everything, but she was more receptive and open-minded than she had been a few days back.

“So, how’d you get wrapped up in all this?” Francis said turning to Annie, a slightly darkened look in her eyes, “Some stupid bet, couldn’t handle a joke from a sick fucko back home? I’ll do you one better, an old boyfriend who thinks he’s God’s greatest gift-“

"Joined the WAC," Annie said, rather unceremoniously - not like her mother had been pleased, so Annie was just used to the lackluster of it all because of that fact (no one had been excited for such a thing, for someone like her, from where she was from), "started ferrying planes - fuel reloads, supply drops. Seems they liked me in the higher ups. Now I'm here." Francis watched her for a moment, smoke lingering up from the butt of her cigarette. With their uniforms on, they both actually looked half-decent - no pilot gear and uniform looking mangled from a mission, no sweat, burnt pieces of hair, frozen eyebrows and bloodied cheeks. Just like normal people for once.

“You know, I like that for you,” Francis said, “I had some guy tell me I could never pilot a plane. Showed him up.” Annie smirked from behind her aviators at Francis - quite the character, she could hold her own and had no problem telling it how it was. Yeah, Annie was already sold, even if Francis wasn't sold on her.

“So. The WAC. Do tell.” Francis said, pointing at her.

“Well, I did translating for a good period of time before I was wrapped up in flying. Gotta say if the opportunity had been presented, I would've stuck with it.”

“Whatcha translating?”

“German, French…tried to get a handle on Russian. Still trying my best with that.”

“Damn, Bradshaw,” Francis said before pointing a finger at her, “what the hell did that have to do with flying?”

“They said we couldn’t do it.” Annie offered back, crossing her arms and shrugging, "That sorta stuff you listen to, even if you don't want to. And then you do, even if they think you can't."

"Birdie really would've loved you." Francis said, the first real genuine smile growing on her face as she crossed her arms, "Wanna see inside?"

Climbing up into the belly of the plane, the lingering silence hit her like bricks, the feeling inside the fort. What had happened here. What they all knew had happened her; what the women of Silver Bullets had experienced. What had Montez said to let them know their pilot was dead? That she had to take control of the plane and the body was in the front seat? What mind-fuck had they gone through to wrap their minds around that fact?

"Pretty isn't it?" Francis said from behind her, briefly patting the edge of one of the seats as they both moved towards the cockpit.

"She's beautiful." Annie said, adjusting herself in the left side of the cockpit, running her hands along the buttons and the wheel and the edges of the window, "Really, it's a beautiful plane."

Glancing back at Francis, she noticed the woman far-off it seemed, eyes glazed, staring somewhere out to the hazy horizon. Annie slowly brought her focus forward again - Birdie had died here. Right where Annie was sat. It was a wonder Francis could even walk up here again - Annie gave her a lot of credit.

"Well," Francis started, blowing breath from her lips, a quick smile darting onto her lips, "we'll have plenty of time to admire this bucket of bolts in the coming days, for now…we oughta get ourselves to the dining hall. Breakfast. Ain't they say it's the most important meal of the day?"

Francis' voiced trailed off somewhere between her talking about breakfast and saying how she thought the most important meal of the day was actually dessert. Annie stood there for a moment, in the middle of the plane, lingering in the stillness, the plane that had launched that crew up into the sky and came back down without a pilot. Who still stood tall and strong, right here, right now.

Annie tried to clear her mind. She hopped out of the plane, landing beside Francis, rather gracefully, and looked up at the co-pilot in the morning sun, who was grinning like a goose at her.

"How many missions you been on?" Annie asked Francis, genuinely curious. She was trying to connect the dots from the incident to now. Had they been up in the plane after what had happened? With a new replacement that hadn't made the cut? How many had Birdie been on?

"Only two." Francis said with a slightly constrained look, before seeming to shrug it off as they made way towards the dining hall, "They wouldn't allow us to go with any of the replacements until we did a practice run or two. As you can see, those didn't go too well." Annie glanced at Francis and evidently saw the stress running rampage through her. It was evident in her face, in the way she spoke - she wanted something to work, she wanted to get in the sky again, she needed something to go right for the first time.

"If I get the position. Officially, that is," Annie started, looking up at Francis, "I intend to keep Silver Bullets as one of the best B-17s in the air. With the crew we've got, the co-pilot," Francis smiled, "I don't doubt that. Birdie had the crew for a reason." Francis watched her, a bit of sentimental air wafting through them as Francis reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"You're a good one, Bradshaw," Francis said and Annie quirked out a smile, "c'mon."

Entering the dining hall - Annie realized quickly it was only for officers and high-ranking officials when she saw the likes of Major Cleven and Major Egan at a table together, huddled over some coffee alongside Kidd, Crank and DeMarco.

"Here we go." Francis said, leading Annie towards the center strip of table, covered in a white tablecloth, filled with all sorts of baskets of goods, utensils, coffee and mugs, "Usually, you can just get it served to you. But. Figured you'd want to see the spread, huh?" Annie's eyes widened at the assortment of things as Francis gently gave her shoulder a tap.

"I'll get us a table, get your fill, I'll get the food." Francis said before walking off, giving a wave to a few, fellow officers down a few rows of tables, bee-lining towards the food line.

Annie stood quietly for a moment, her eyes running over the length of the table in slight amusement and wonder. Growing up, she never had the sort of luxury as much as simple things like sugar or cream - even in coffee. Coffee was usually black, and a little watered down (it saved them from having to buy so many coffee grounds, you know?), and usually it was bitter. But you washed it down because it was what you had.

Now - there was sugar, cream, honey, biscuits for dipping, actual cloth napkins, a little spoon just for stirring! Gently, she touched the white tablecloth, the soft texture something so delicate and foreign to her in ways someone shouldn't have to think of.

Tablecloths were rough, scratchy and torn where she came from.

Here - they were soft, cream and stitched.

Annie retracted her hand and instead focused on the coffee.

Coffee.

Sometimes all she wanted day in and day out was coffee.

Reaching forward, she picked up a mug and cradled it in her hands - it was still warm, like it had just been freshly cleaned, straight from the hot water.

Annie had remembered feeling out of place before - plenty of times had she done things in her life where being the odd one out was normal for her. But now - even with just beautiful tablecloths and hot coffee mugs - she felt like being the odd one out was something she had to address. Right now.

Glancing around, officers and officials at the tables weren't looking at her (of course, they wouldn't be, why would they, this is normal for them), but for her, being in a place like this? With things like this? Annie set the mug down and then looked at the pot of steaming coffee. She debated. Did she need the cup of coffee?

"Hey," a voice said from somewhere to her left, causing her to turn away from the coffee pot and towards the voice, finding Lieutenant John Brady there, a smile on his face, as he slowly removed his crusher cap, "Bradshaw, right? New pilot for Silver Bullets?" A smile popped onto Annie's face as she suddenly took in that it was that pilot - from a day or two back - John Brady.

A part of her had been wondering when she'd see him again or even just around. He'd been nice, hospitable, and had a funny sense of humor she could get behind. People like that you wanted in your back pocket. Even if all she knew was his name and that he had a nice face.

"Yes. Annie Bradshaw." she said, unable to help her ever-present mannerisms and held out her hand (as if they hadn't met a few days ago and they'd all but tag-teamed Major Egan), "….uh, Brady?" He grinned - she knew it was him too, she couldn't forget a face like that, but she wanted to test the waters. Give a bit of it back.

"Brady. John Brady." he said, reaching forward to shake her hand, smile growing on his own face, "How's it been going? Hopefully Egan wasn't bearing too hard after your introduction a few days ago." Annie laughed - almost a bit nervously and awkwardly - trying to make impressions was something she was never great with, but things usually weighed in her favor at the end of the day.

"No, no, it was fine, really," Annie said, as she slowly dropped his hand, a slight tinge of warmth pooled in her stomach at the thought of his hand again - and the fact that was the second time she had even touched his hand, "Major Egan is definitely quite the character."

"That he is." Brady said with a laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding to her aviators in her front pocket, "Busy day?"

"Francis' showed me Silver Bullets," Annie said with a nod and a smile, "she's a beautiful plane." Brady smiled at her and then glanced over Annie's shoulder at Francis, before readjusting his eyes on her.

"That crew's really glad you're here," Brady said, face falling slightly, "after what happened…." Annie nodded to fill in the gapping hole of words.

"I'm giving them my all. After everything." Annie said quietly and Brady nodded, watching her, something in his lingering gaze a comfort in a way she would never make out, "Well, don't let me be in your way-"

"No, no not at all," Brady said quickly with a nod, "coffee drinker?"

"Yeah," she said, reaching up to run her hand along her hot collar a bit - almost like she couldn't get her mind in gear properly, "never did have much of any of these sorts of fixings back home, so….to say the least, I'm pretty stoked to try it out." She looked back to Brady who was watching her with a quiet look on his face, a soft grin riding his cheeks as he reached forward and took his own mug.

"You said you were from Mankato? Minnesota?" he asked her as she reached forward and picked up the pot of coffee and began pouring.

"Yeah," she said, turning to look at him as she poured, "didn't have a whole lot, but…it was home." There was a twinge of pain to that word. Home. Her mind blanked for a moment, before she was hearing a voice in her ear and her hand was burning.

"Look at you! You're spilling coffee. Here, here-" Annie blinked and turned her eyes and found Brady slowly removing the coffee pot from her grasp, the mug overflowing with hot coffee there on the starch table clothes, stained with dark puddles of drying liquid, her heart pounding. She watched frozen as Brady grabbed some napkins to dab at it, before looking to her gaze again.

"You okay there?" he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Didn't mean to batter you with questions, I swear my folks just raised me like that, questions and all-

""No." Annie said quickly, shaking her head and looking at her hand stained with hot coffee and gave a nervous smile, cheeks turning a bit pink, "I got….distracted. About home and this place. It's…it's all good. Sorry. About the coffee. And now the damn table cloths." Brady chuckled and took his hand off her shoulder and grabbed the empty mug and poured the coffee to a reasonable amount before handing it to her.

"Don't you worry, Little Birdie," he said with a smile, "it's a big place here. Lots to look at, get distracted by. Being so far from home anyway, that is. I'll let the cooks know-"

"Little Birdie?" she said, interrupting his train of thought. Brady grinned.

"You're a lot like Birdie. Captain Faulkner. You remind me of her, ya know? So - Little Birdie." he said with a smile, "Much better than Egan calling you No Name, too." Annie let out a laugh and nodded.

"Yeah, way better." she said and Brady smiled. For a moment, they stared at each other before Annie cleared her throat and looked at the coffee cup and back up at him.

"I'll be-"

"Your hand okay-" The two looked at each other before letting out a few nervous laughs.

"You first." Annie said, "Rank does its duties."

"We're both Lieutenants, Bradshaw."

"You're 1st. I'm 2nd." she said with a smile, "So?" Brady smirked, before the corner of his eyes and lips softened.

"Your hand okay? The coffee was pretty hot." he said softly and she nodded.

"Fine." she said, "Had cuts and bruises worse than this. Climbed trees as a kid." Brady watched her, brow peaked in interest. She smirked. "Also fell out of a lot of trees, too, so….all good." Brady let out a chuckle at her words, watching expectantly as she cleared her throat.

"And yes…..I was just going to be going. Don't want to hold you up." she said and then looked up at him. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, of course," Brady said, "probably flying club, right?" Annie raised a brow.

"Flying club?" She really was quite clueless on more than she thought.

"Drinks, dancing, music - get the tension out of your shoulders sorta thing." he said, another grin growing, "So, I'll probably see ya tonight?"

"Right." Annie said with a smile, holding the mug close to her, forgetting about cream or sugar, "Sounds good to me. I'll see you around. Thanks. Sorry again." And with that, she was turning away, slightly mortified at her clear inability to pour coffee efficiently. She hurried towards Francis at a table with their food, slamming her body and the mug of coffee down, meeting Francis' slightly annoyed gaze at the rough presence announced.

"You okay?" Francis asked her, eyeing the coffee and Annie's face again, "You look a little flustered. Hey, you drink black coffee?" Annie looked between the coffee and Francis and then sighed again.

"I meant to grab…." Annie looked over her shoulder and watched as Brady poured some cream into his own coffee cup - the one she had previously overflowed, to her own mortifying realization - and was now wandering away with, sipping it ever so gently, settling into a spot beside DeMarco. A pair of fingers snapped in front of her face and she turned quickly to look at Francis.

"Grab what? The LT's attention or a donut?" Francis said, before chuckling at Annie's slightly flustered expression and chuckled, "I'm just kidding you, c'mon, let's eat up. I think we're doing a practice run, just us girls - maybe with Just-A-Snappin', too." Francis bit into a piece of toast, "Harding wants to see us in the air. 'Longside another crew."

"Alright." Annie said with a nod, "We can make that happen." Francis smiled.

"Good," Francis said, "now, eat up. Don't need my pilot going hungry in the cockpit. Might have to feed you some of Margie's crushed up peanuts she's always carrying around-"

"Oh God." Annie murmured, "Bessie warned me….briefly…"

"Yeah, they're a goddamn curse on that thing, but she swears on it. Superstitious that one is." Annie chuckled at Francis' words and they continued to eat and discuss their day. Annie couldn't help but think of it all though - porcelain, silk and starch.

Everything and all things.

When you came from nothing, things like that were practically gold.

[spidvrbatz]

Green Lantern Comfort Board - Gift

x - x - x

x - x - x

x - x - x

I'm so excited to gift this to you @nothaljordan !!! i have another one for u as well but that'll prolly be tmrw night!! I hope you like it T-T n that I characterized ur dad the right way

(as always, look in tags for hc's 🥳)

[harcove]

it's the way I see Gale characterized as a "creep' who can't take 'no' for an answer in fanfictions for Astarion x Tav (and likely others too); like more than once I have seen him used as like a guy who is in love with Tav, overbearing about it, creepy about it, and insistent that Astarion is a bad person for Tav.

Like... Did we meet the SAME Gale? Y'all make me sick-

[thedeadthree]

🌞 CYTHIA -`. the witcher • ♟️KAROLINA -`. btaj

🕯️ NYNEVE -`. vtm • 🐦‍⬛ IRINA (pre embrace) -`. vtm

🪩 ANAIS -`. vtm: night road • 🪞ILEANA -`. vtmb

🧚 ALKYONE -`. coral island • 🌪️ VAERMINA -`. bg3

TAGGED BY @crownrots, @corvosattano, @risingsh0t, @cloudofbutterflies92, @kyber-infinitygems, and @carlosoliveiraa to make a few of the dearies using this dollmaker !!!!! tyty!!

TAGGING: @seluneite, @jendoe, @sunites, @rosenfey, @lavampira, @leviiackrman, @unholymilf, @gwynbleidd, @queennymeria, @aezyrraeshh, @marazhaiaezyrraesh, @full---ofstarlight, @nightbloodbix, @jackiesarch, @florbelles, @marivenah, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @yharnams, @shadowglens, @anoras, @celticwoman, @pinkfey, @shellibisshe, @faerune, @alltoowelltv, @adelaidedrubman, @grapecaseschoices, @sussoro, @griffin-wood, @bloodofvalyria, @dickytwister, @loriane-elmuerto, @timdownie, @theviridianbunny, @riikugan, @vvanessaives, @raphaelsboudoir, @ryomenscurse, and you!!

[obsob]

do you make enough money from selling prints in etsy to sustain your life? how are you able to afford this beautiful house and time to crochet and go on walks and all of that? i’m not asking for nosiness but because i’m trying to figure out what i would need to do in order to make my life financially sustainable… is art an option… etc

short answer i mooch off my bf <333333333333333

[cutemeat]

shouldn't the Johnny thing have clued dennis into the fact that mac likes it MORE when guys treat him like shit?...like why the fuck did he set mac up with a "nice guy" for his date if he wanted it to actually go somewhere LMAO

[misspickman]

tim and helena for 29?

"Do you know how to use a first aid kit?"

A string of colorful swears falls from Tim's mouth as he combs through the thick black hair with his fingers, looking for a wound or a bump. Helena has so much hair. It's absurd. It's not making any of this easier. It has always been on his mind; why don't they tie it back? Stephanie, Helena, Cassie, he's gotta ask them. Later. 

Amongst the sticky strands of hair there's blood coming off of the back of her head, which is bad. 

“Ow,” she croaks and Tim's shoulders slump. He was afraid she'd passed out. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah, it's not great.” She groans. Tim silently agrees. “You're bleeding.” 

Helena groans again around a swear. Tim can't tell if the crease between her eyebrows is caused by pain or plain frustration at their whole situation. He holds her head steady. 

“Kid,” she squints at him, and Tim tries not to bristle at it, “did they take anyone else?” 

No, and that is the single good part, isn't it? Everything else can go to hell. “No.” 

She tries to nod. Tim snaps at her to not move. Maybe he's being too grumpy for a helpless civilian in danger, but that too is what he is so grumpy about. 

The tricky thing about being a vigilante with a secret identity is holding one intact in situations where some more-luck-than-sense assholes get a drop on you in civilian mode. There is, Tim has discovered during his years in the business, a whole new type of frustration you unlock at times like these. 

“What do you remember?” he asks, forgetting himself and taking on the role of the defender instead of the other way around. It's a hard habit to crack. Especially now, when his brain can't help but blur the lines between Helena and Huntress, and his own identities. Aren't they the same? He knows the answer is no. Doesn't make it feel any less like there's a thin membrane about to pop between them. 

Helena gives him a curt recount of events, slurred and painful to listen to in a way that makes him wary. She needs to get to a hospital. He should get her to Leslie. He so does not have a handle on this situation. 

“This is so damn stupid,” Helena says, voice airy and thin. Tim silently agrees. He tries to think of a way to persuade Helena to take off her mask so he could check her pupils. By the way, hi, I know who you are already, so it's chill. It's me, Red Robin. Your Robin, remember? Of course she would. That's exactly what would be the problem. 

“What about the boy?” she asks. 

Of course Helena would still find a way to think of someone else's wellbeing before her own even when she's bleeding on the floor with a definite head injury. It's what makes her a good vigilante; Tim would call it admirable, if it weren't making his job at the moment more difficult. Admirable, yet so frustrating. 

“He'll be fine—stop moving. I managed to call the ambulance before they got to me.” 

“Oh,” Helena exhales, with something like a surprise in her voice. Tim is offended for a moment before he catches himself, though he doesn't find calling for help the most demanding or heroic of acts, even for a civilian. He could have done more. He must have—he should have felt it when the panic started overflowing and everything went off the rails, and done something. A million excuses swarm his brain and he stomps them out. Not the time. 

At least Helena got to punch some to-be robbers. Tim tries not to be bitter about it. He shouldn't be, considering how it's ended. But really, it had not even been night proper yet. How quickly can a teacher run out of school and be ready to punch criminals? 

He checks the bleeding, making sure it's nothing more than a surface wound. Mask or not, her left eye is visibly swollen shut. He can still tell that she's staring up at him as well as she can, probably woozy but still trying to keep focused. He doesn't like it, her watching his unmasked face this up close. For a moment he's almost thankful for the concussion. 

He resists the urge to list her the sustained injuries that he can see like they would in costume. It nags at him, sits underneath his tongue, as he tries to avoid making eye contact through the mask. It's really annoying being on the other side of this. 

“Hey, kid,” Helena grits out, voice faint, “Do you know how to use a first aid kit?” 

Does he—of course he does. Tim opens his mouth to snipe back and remembers, right. She doesn't know. To Helena right now, as bruised and concussed as she is, he is just a random student with a serious bedhead from his recent library nap, and a hostage. He knows what she must be feeling; the frustration and shame at being rendered helpless when others' lives depend on you. 

Luckily for her, Tim knows what he's doing. But she can't know that.  Better play it cool. 

“Uh. More or less.” 

Out of her belt, Helena pulls out a small, impromptu first aid kit. Tim nearly hisses at her not to move, again, as she flinches in pain. “Good enough. Can you—please.” 

The fact that she pleads is proof enough that she doesn't recognize him. Tim wants to be proud, but the whole situation would be ten times easier if she just knew.  

He does a quick job of wrapping gauze around the wound, all very practiced and swift in a way that would probably be a tell if Helena wasn't so out of it. There's a strong urge in him to put her head in his lap—it would be more comfortable than the cold, dirty floor of the back of the van, but that'd be just stupid. He holds her head instead, gently, to minimize any movement. 

Just as he puts away her kit, she stirs. 

“Hey,” it falls from his mouth a bit too loudly. He's not nervous. Being cool, calm and collected at times like this is a must-have skill, once he's had more than enough practice at. They've been in way worse situations than this, too, so why does he feel so shaky? “Don't do that.”

Helena mutters, like she's just remembered something, “I'm going to throw up.” 

“Try not to?” 

She rolls to her side and throws up. Tim tries to gather her hair up and hold it away from her face as she retches, and also avoid getting thrown up on. When he's sure she's done, he helps her lie back down away from it and wipes away the edges of her mouth. 

“I think…” Helena grumbles, and groans. “I think I have a concussion.” 

Tim sighs. “You think?” 

Maybe that was too harsh. It's just hard to keep himself in check and be a good, scared citizen when it's Helena he's patching up. He tries to muster an apology but Helena snorts, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. His intentions aside, Tim feels his shoulders drop in relief. 

He can see her squinting at him with her good eye. It feels much like being scanned, even with the state she's in. 

“You're…” she trails off, again, and that's a bad sign. At least she's still mostly aware of her surroundings. “You're very relaxed. About all this.” 

“Well, you're here to keep us safe, aren't you?” he mutters. Flattery, a shot in the dark. Keep her busy, or something. 

Helena scoffs. A gentle smile spreads across her lips. It's one that Tim is very familiar with—or used to be, back when they ran as Huntress and Robin more often. It would usually be followed either by a careful flick of his ear or a hand mussing his hair. He almost moves out of her reach instinctively, but the hand doesn't come. 

The van stops. They both stop breathing. 

Not thinking, Tim whispers. “We've stopped.” 

“No shit.” 

“This is perfect,” he continues, eyes glued on the back door and the footsteps nearing it, “or very bad.”

Helena groans. “They have guns.” 

And they have the element of surprise. Maybe. It's worth a shot. What else is he supposed to do? Keep sitting here helplessly? 

They only had one gun, and only two of them fit in the front of the van. Tim remembers watching most of them scatter when shit hit the fan, before he got thrown in here. He can totally beat a gun and two guys. 

“It's worth a shot,” he says. He can hear voices outside—two, he was right. They're arguing. Not much of a unified front, are they now?

“No plan B?” Helena asks. She doesn't sound happy about this, but she is also way less upset about it than Tim would assume, or than he would be if he was in her spot. 

He shakes his head. “We don't need it. Have some faith in me, would you?” 

Helena tries to push herself up. Tim glares at her. Instead she grabs at her belt again and hands him a throwing knife. It's a small thing, heavier than it looks, and fits between his fingers nicely. 

“I always do,” she says, and ignores Tim's frown. “That doesn't make this plan suck any less.” 

***

He visits her in Leslie's clinic afterwards. Stupid idea? Maybe. He bets on her still being passed out, and loses. It's Leslie's fault, too, for giving him no warning. 

He freezes at the door the moment Helena's tired brown eyes zero in on him, costume on, and he knows he's been caught. It makes him feel uncomfortably young. Like she's caught him cheating on an exam or something equally stupid and mundane. 

She smiles; Tim considers backing away. It wouldn't do him much good. 

“Doc tells me a very nice young man brought me here,” she says, in a mockingly light tone, as Tim sits beside her bed. He hands her a jello that she immediately puts aside, face scrunched up in disgust. “You know anything about that?” 

Tim makes a face, feigning ignorance, and watches her squint. “I guess you owe him a thanks.” 

“I suppose. Too bad I don't know who it was.” 

Rude. Tim bites his cheeks to keep his cool. “Can I eat that?” 

“Of course. Consider it a thanks.” She leans over a bit to knock their shoulders together, and Tim just barely resists the urge to tell her to stay still, please. But Leslie said she's fine, not much to worry about, so maybe he's being dramatic. 

He pulls down his cowl and shakes off his sweaty hair. There's a domino mask underneath, always, just in case, but it feels pointedly comical now. Sure enough, Helena snorts at it. 

“I don't know what you mean. I just got here.” 

The stark fondness on her face is annoying, really, because it reminds Tim how he messed up. It's embarrassing. He's a professional vigilante, and yet.

It also brings him at ease, because it's familiar, because it means she's okay and reminds him of her laughing at him calling her old as they rode on horseback. He would rather eat his own fist than admit that he misses the old times. That's usually the sort of Helena would be saying. 

She moves to flick his ear and Tim dodges, nearly knocking over an IV stand of the empty bed beside them. 

“I've known you, bird boy,” she says, smiling, “since you were but a hatchling.” 

“Ugh.”

“Eat your shitty jello.” 

[verm1c1de]

le snorks bring le babyes