#like. tim in the clone basement. ''all i want is / and all i need is / to find somebody / i'll find somebody / like you'' .......

[mamawasatesttube]

i fear i need a timkon song

oh i have so many of those my timkon playlist is uhhh 108 songs long. oops. okay lets narrow it down to 3.

silly answer: "alien boyfriend" by gregory dillon

Feel my makeshift heartbeat Violet high beams in your eye Be my alien boyfriend Racing through the night Send me constellations Worn out duffle packin’ light Lost in deep translation Meet me in the sky

devastating answer: "lanterns lit" by son lux

If you had a single flaw You just could not last forever, could you? You just could not last for me

"wahh theyre in love" answer: "gravity" by vienna teng

Hey love I am a constant satellite Of your blazing sun My love I'll obey your law of gravity

[impyssadobsessions]

“Jazz says the vultures should keep him busy for a bit.” Tim said, after he finished relaying what had happened. “Man, I really wish I could have seen Vlad's face!” Danny groaned, knowing it must have been funny. “We'll wait on Danny and Jaybird to catch up then. Keep us posted.” Dick responded.

Jazz made her way over to the pods, to get a better look at them while Tim was talking. Her parents were suspended in a clear liquid that bubbled. She pressed her hand on the glass while depressing thoughts of the situation was seeping in. Tim walked over to the computers, glancing them over. It looked like Plasmius was collecting data. They knew he was going to try to clone their mother. But why would he need DNA from their father?

One thought came to mind, as it recalled the clone Dick, Danny, and Jason found. Tim shivered in disgust at how creepy that was. Tim shook it off while Damian stared at him questionably. He ignored Damian's stare and started working on opening the pods by shutting down the systems. “How comfortable are you handling the.. ca..bles...?” Tim trailed off his question as he noticed the look on Jazz's face. “I grew up in a lab-around a lab... They had one in the basement before I was born! ..Is.. what I'm getting at.” Jazz quickly clarified as she realized how bad that sounded. Tim nodded as he turned back to the machine. “Okay then, start with the large cables to the right of the pods, feeding into the display there. Wait for the display to shut down.” Jazz nodded as she glued her eyes to the screen. She didn't hesitate to unlatch the thick cables from the machinery when it turned black. The anxiety rising. They might be alive, but that didn't mean that they weren't injured. What if the pods were keeping them alive, what if. She bit her lip, shaking off the thoughts. She saw their vitals. They were fine. It was fine. Damian noticed Jazz was stumbling around and her body was shaking, despite her saying she was fine with handling the cables. She would end up shocking herself if she didn't get a handle of her emotions. Damian didn't understand how Jasmine could be so pathetic one moment, then... resourceful the next. Damian pushed off the wall he was leaned against, and went to help her with the wires. Not to help her specifically. He just didn't want to waste his time saving Jazz for her to needlessly shock herself. Jazz sent a soft smile towards Damian, calming down a bit as he went to help. Damian just clicked his tongue in response. They worked quickly, managing to get the machines ready to pop open. “The pods are draining. They should open up soon, so you might want to stand back.” Tim said, specifically was gesturing to Damian, who was standing in front of the pod with their father. He was pretty sure the demon might either get hurt if the man fell on him.. or worse try to stab Jack instead. Damian stood back with Jazz, as they waited for the pods to open. Jazz couldn't help placing her hands on Damian's shoulders, squeezing them lightly. It was a comforting gesture she normally gave to Danny, but it gave her just as much comfort. Damian froze and stiffened at the contact, but didn't fight it. He could tell by her eyes being glued towards the pods, it wasn't intentional. He would let it slid, this one time. Just as Tim predicted, the large man in orange fell out of the pod once it was open with a loud thud. Jazz and Tim flinched at the sound, and watched him cautiously. As the smoke cleared, the man pushed himself up with a groan. Hand on his head. “Ugh. That sneaky slimy spook! When I get my hands on that ectoplasmic scum-” “Dad?” Jazz called out, trying to get his attention. “Jazzirincess!” His eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet with a giant grin on his face. Jack scooped all three of them in his arms, giving them a bone crushing bear hug while nuzzling his cheek against them. “Too tight..” Jazz whined, even though she was more prepared for her Dad's hugs. They still squeezed the air out of her lungs. Tim thought he was going to pass out, as he was seeing spots in his vision. Damian was squirming, trying to fight out of the man's arms. He was was hitting his fist, against Jack's arms and was very tempted to gnaw his way out. “We were looking everywhere for you kids! We thought that-.........When did we have two Dannys?” Jack squinted looking down at the two dark hair children in his arms. “I don't believe either of them is Danny, dear.” Maddie stumbled out of the pod, hand on her head, but smiling amused at her husband. “They're not?” Jack questioning getting a good look at them. Damian was trying to gnaw on Jack's arm to free himself, but was finding out the man's arm was just thick solid muscle. Tim couldn't keep his head up as he counted the stars to keep from blacking out. Jazz was

squirming a little to find a more comfortable position to breath in. She very envious of Danny's abilities at the moment. “Dad.. can you.. put us.. down? Please?” Jazz squeezed out. Jack put them down with an 'oh', a smile still on his face as he scratched his head with his hand. Trying to figure out who the boys were if they weren't Danny. Tim almost fell over after being put down, as he gasped for air. Damian immediately ran once free, jumpingg behind the computers to block him from the Fentons. Peaking around it, he glared at them. Jazz let out a sigh of relief, hand over her abdomen. Maddie walked over to her daughter, gently placing her hands under Jazz's jaws. Maddie was trying to get a good look over of her daughter to make sure she was alright, before placing a kiss on Jazz's cheek. She pulled Jazz into an embrace that was snug, but not restricting at all. “My baby girl, I was so worried!” She rocked Jazz in her arms, making Jazz blush. “Moooomm.. I'm 18.” She was embarrassed, but melted into the hug. “Doesn't matter if your 8, 18, or 92 you will always be my baby.” Maddie petting Jazz's hair. “And you will always be my little princess!” Jack chimed, “So who are these two kids?” “And where's Danny?” Maddie asked pulling away, concern in her voice. “Oh, these are vigilantes from Gotham. Danny's with the others.” Jazz pointed out. “That's Red Robin and he's Robin.” Tim shook off his dizziness and helped explained, “Nightwing and Orphan are waiting on Danny and Red Hood to catch up. They're going to meet us here.” “But you can't be much older than Dannorino! Are your parents okay with you running around in Halloween costumes?” Jack asked confused. Tim and Damian frowning deeply. Damian was disliking this man, more and more. “Dad, you eat, sleep, and bath in a hazmat suit.” Jazz said with a frown. “That's different Jazzy pants! Ghosts can get you whenever your most vulnerable, plus its comfy.” Jack exclaimed with a proud grin. “Now Jack, I'm certain their costumes are made from specialized fibers.. or I at least hope so. Its already irresponsible of an adult to allow their children to fight criminals without supervision.” Maddie walking over noticing the mark on Tim's cheek. “Especially against ghosts!” “Our guardian is here.” Damian muttered with clenched teeth, "Not that we need one. Well, not that I need one." “Hmm, that's a nasty hit to the cheek. Looks like an ectoplasmic charged punch. Does it still hurt?” Maddie recoiling her hand back as Tim leaned away. She put hand on her chin, in thought. “Not any worse than a regular slug to the face.” Tim feeling awkward. Maddie frowned, pursing her lips. “Well, I sure hope that doesn't happen often. Now where did I put that ecto-salve.” “Your stuff is over there. Plasmius-Wisconsin Ghost stripped you.” Jazz pointing towards the weaponry and stash of items that Damian had opened prior. “Ah! Let's see then.” Maddie rummaged through the items, listing stuff off in a hum. Damian getting odd sensations of deja vu. “Here, now let's put it on the wound before it can cause an ecto-fection.” Maddie returning to Tim. “Ecto... fection?” Tim blinked confused and deeply concerned. He side glance to Jazz as if she could help clear up if it was something to be worried about or not. Jazz just shrugged in response. Not helpful at all. “Its a thing... kind of?” Danny stated over the comms. “Don't worry about it.” “Yes, like an infection but ectofied!” Jack loudly explained. “Don't worry, dear. It'll feel just like aloe vera gel. Cool to the touch though it might tingle.” Maddie applying it on her finger before reaching to rub it gently into Tim's cheek. Tim just flinched at the cold touch, deciding it be best to let them take care of it. Though he wasn't sure which was more awkward.. the fact he learned ecto-infection was a possibility, that these two were concerned about Bruce's parenting, or that Maddie was showing him motherly affection. Damian snickering was not helping. “There! That should do it, sweetie.” Maddie chimed. Tim had to admit, the

salve did help with the pain considerably. He wonder if that would work on Jason's shoulder. It should work on Cass, but all this ecto stuff seem to act differently to Jason. “Thanks. Um, does that work on ecto-blasts too?” “Sure does! We use the heck out of it! Don't know how we use it up so fast. Guess those spooks hit us more than I thought.” Tim and Damian glanced at Jazz, who was turned away from them whistling. “Did you get hit anywhere else? What about you, dear?” Maddie asked concerned, looking over at Damian. Damian kept the computer between them, hissing out. “I'm fine.” “Mom, Dad, we probably should get going. Plasmius is still flying around.” Jazz interrupted to get her parents attention off of Damian, before they would force their help. Plus, it was true. The quicker they all got out of there safely, the better off they be. “Oh, you're right!” Maddie put the salve into Tim's hand, patting his hand gently. Then she turned towards the weaponry, tossing items to Jack as she equipped herself. “We got some ectoplasmic scum to erase from existence!” Jack happily patting the large blaster. “No, we need to get out of here! He's after you-” “Exactly why we need to rip that ghost apart molecule by molecule!” “Jazz, I know your worried about your father and I.” Maddie assembling a large gun, that resemble the bazooka Jason had. “But this is our profession. We have to make sure this ghost doesn't harm anyone else.” “Besides, he made this personal! No spook messes with the Fentons and gets away with it!” Jack handing the Fenton peeler to Jazz. “Here, Jazzy. You kids evacuate while me and your mom handle this.” Jazz frowned as she took the device. Stress forming lines in her forehead. “Jack, I got signal.” “Great Mads! Let's go get that spook!” Jack ran out the door, after giving Jazz a pat on the head. “Wait Jack! The ghost is-” Maddie reached out towards her husband despite him being far out of reach. “Having a family reunion, are we?!” Plasmius floated from the ground, growling as he charged his fist. His clothes were tattered and his hair was ruffled. “Feel the heat of charged ectoplasmic blasts, you interdimensional scum!” Maddie aimed her giant gun at Plasmius who looked at her un-amused. “Normally I gush over how beautiful you look even when angry, however.. I found out love is a fickle thing, and just like my patience. It has died.” Plasmius dodged the blast without much effort sending one straight back at Maddie. “Mom!” --owob-- “They're being ambushed.” Dick stated as Jason and Danny caught up to them. Danny knelt over panting, trying to regain his strength as quick as he could. He still was far from well, but he couldn't let it stop him. His family was in danger. He pushed back onto his feet, giving a nod to them that he's ready to keep running. They ran towards the others, Dick and Cass far ahead of Jason and Danny. Jason was sticking behind Danny to make sure the boy didn't kill over or disappear again. A tight grip latched around Danny's ankle. “Woah-”

“Not on my watch!” Jason reached out grabbing onto Danny's shirt as they both fell through the floor.

[bigskydreaming]

Hi, I was reading your post about Jason punching Dick in the face when Dick revealed he fake his death was bullshit ( which it was) and it reminded me of an issue/question that has bothered me for sometime.

Why did people believe Dick was actually dead?

I’m not the most avid comic reader so maybe I missed something but it was always weird to me that everyone just accepted this especially given how Bruce was acting or should I say wasn’t acting.

This is a man when his child died another child had to come along and told him sir you are being too violent and emotional you need supervision. When his other child died he went all over the universe to bring him back to life because he knew it was possible ( which was happening at the same time), so why didn’t anyone think it was weird he wasn’t doing that for Dick. Can you imagine Dick really dying that soon after Damian it would be injustice Batman Version. You are telling me that Tim, Jason or Barbara didn’t think it was weird that Bruce didn’t also bring Dick’s corpse to the bring Damian back to life mission or mention it to themselves. Like what more likely Dick dead and Bruce is handling it well or that he fake his death to do something stupid and Dangerous after his partner/brother/ little bit my son the feelings are complicated died after he was knocked out and woke up to his corpse.

Oh man, this is like, the entire nature of my beef?

(Slight derail just to emphasize the fact real quick that Dick DID actually die, he was just revived quickly, but like, the trauma of his death was very real and its not like anyone was clued into Luthor having a resurrection backdoor built into his literal murder of Dick in the actual moment of it happening. So Dick’s death wasn’t fake, and additionally, he didn’t have anything to do with like, telling people about it, because he was literally comatose in the cave and recovering while Bruce was telling people....by the time Dick woke up in the cave, we already know that Alfred at least had already been convinced by Bruce that Dick was dead, so I have a kneejerk need to pushback against the Dick faked his death narrative by reminding people wherever possible that Dick had no agency in the spreading of that narrative. 

It happened without him being involved, and the only actual contribution he ever made to it was just not revealing he was alive before Grayson #12, after Bruce like.....emotionally, mentally and physically badgered him into accepting that doing so would be directly harmful to his family and he didn’t want to be the reason more people died when like, people had just died because he ‘let’ himself be captured and interrogated by Power Woman’s Lasso of Submission, did he?

SORRY TO BE PEDANTIC, just wanted to start this off on a clarification, even though I know the aim of your ask was very much in tune with the rest of my response. A lot of people don’t read the actual comics, so like, I’m never gonna skip over an opportunity to emphasize that the shorthand people use to refer to Dick’s death and the year he was with Spyral, is like, literally just shorthand for describing it. Its not actually an accurate description of how all that went down and who had the most hand in it).

BUT ANYWAY. BACK TO THE MEAT OF THE BEEF.

Okay so like, not only was the entire family and Bruce himself giving Dick shit for his death and Spyral, like, PAINFULLY egregious because it was literal victim blaming in every possible sense of the word....

None of it made a LICK of sense with ANY of their characterizations, and they ONLY all accepted it on face value because the Plot Demanded It, and when you're like, no, as a reader I say The Plot Demanded It is not a good enough reason for me to be like well sure, that makes sense......looking at the characters ACTUAL actions at face value pretty much just makes them all look like assholes?

Like, Tim has never gracefully accepted anyone's death. Ever. This is core characterization for him. He will go to the ends of the earth for his loved ones and to bring them back, prove they're not dead, refuse to let death be the final verdict for them. He was tempted to use the Lazarus Pit to bring his parents back to life. He refused to accept Bruce was dead long before he had any proof whatsoever of that theory. He tried to clone his BFF/future-husband Kon in his fucking basement like, dude was two whole inches away from going Full Dark Side in his quest to bring back a lost loved one no matter WHAT the cost.....and then you've got Dick unmasked onscreen, killed offscreen, and Bruce then reporting to the rest of them with zero inflection 'oh Dick's dead now. Its very sad' and Tim's just like, sure. Sounds legit.

I mean?!?!

And you're SO RIGHT ABOUT THE DAMIAN THING! Bruce LITERALLY LITERALLY LITERALLY went BEYOND the ends of the Earth, like, he full on chartered a fucking space ship to fly his whole family out to APOKOLIPS to bring Damian back from the dead by going to EXTREME lengths.....WHILE everyone else thought Dick was dead....

And not a single person looked at Bruce and was like, okay, not that we're not down to do this for Damian because we miss Stabby Smurf something fierce ourselves, but.....what the fuck is UP with you dude? Why aren't you displaying ANY hint of this same kind of energy in regards to your eldest son that you said you watched die right in front of you?

Like....I don't know that we were actually ever told that Dick's coffin was empty or had a fake in it, but like....this family of detectives who refuse to accept death, defy death, COME BACK FROM THE DEAD....not a single one of them said like, okay, if I'm gonna like, ACCEPT accept that Dick is dead and gone for good, I need to at least just see him one last time? That's literally all it would have taken for someone to realize hey something's a little wonky here. Where's the dead body, Pops?

Since when has Jason ever missed an opportunity to prove Bruce is a) full of shit, b) acting like an emotionless robot and all his kids deserve better especially when they've just like....died, c) just factually incorrect and wrong and jumped to a conclusion before it was conclusively proved, d) lying like a liar or e) all of the above?

Nobody even ASKED if Dick's body could be put in a Lazarus Pit? Yeah, Jason wouldn't necessarily recommend it himself, given what it put him through, but actually fuck that, I take that back, because I'm NOT actually of the opinion that Jason full on hates his life and actively spends every second of every day wishing he hadn't been resurrected, even if it had come with a huge buffet of additional trauma and pain.

And that's kinda what's implied when people just take it for granted that he would never be on board with any scenario involving using a Lazarus Pit to bring Dick back, because it suggests that based even just on his own experiences and feelings, he honestly believes Dick would prefer being dead and not have ANY further opportunities to be with his loved ones, his friends, help save the damn world again at some future point.....that Jason, projecting based just off himself, legit feels Dick would rather be dead than have another shot at life even WITH the downsides of Lazarus Pit usage? Nope. Sorry, I don't buy it.

Speaking of not buying it.....you know what was missing from all those soliloquies the others monologued at Dick about how they felt and were hurt and just devastated by his death, to such a point they can't seem to muster a single shred of happiness that he's NOT dead still -

(seriously, Damian was the ONLY person in ALL THE LANDS OF EMOTION-HAVING who expressed ANY kind of positive reaction to having Dick back. We were so fucking cheated of like.....ANY opportunity to have the characters show just how much they valued him by just being fucking HAPPY he was alive, no matter what else was involved....and then most of fandom compounded that by for years being like mmmm, no, Dick didn't get yelled at enough by his family for what HE put THEM through. Needs more yelling. More punching too. Bad Dick. Bad. This is the only way you'll learn not to die and get shipped off on a mission that you don't want but at least is to protect your family after being beaten into it by your dad whilst victim blaming you for dying in the first place. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN TO THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR FEELINGS FOR A CHANGE, DICK?!?)

- But like, BUT I DIGRESS aside....you know what was missing from all those monologues about how hard DICK'S death and ensuing year of basically exile from his loved ones was for EVERYONE BUT HIM?

We never got a single line of explanation as to what everyone else officially thinks even happened to him in the first place?

Like, did Bruce straight up just say oh bad news kids, your brother umm. Expired. Spontaneously. There's no one to blame, he just keeled over, its all very sad.

Is that how that went down?

You're telling me that the explanation of Dick's death didn't come with a single pointed finger at someone for this family of blame-happy vigilantes to like, BLAME for the loss of this brother they all mourned oh so much, they just couldn't help but blame him for all the hurt it caused them?

The family that in every other fic is like OBSESSED with avenging and being avenged and all things vengeful and even tangentially vengeance-y....like didn't ask for a single detail on whomst the fuck deprived us of our brother-having?

Where were the attempts on Luthor's life by Jason (who I mean, yeah I know it was in a previous continuity, but erasing that timeline doesn't erase my awareness of the time Dick killed Jason's murderer so like.....mmm, just saying, woulda been nice)....where was the rage directed at the Crime Syndicate and references to how seriously and personally the Batfam took making sure that they were PUNISHED for all this and would never be free to wreak havoc on their world or their family again? What did they tell Damian when he came back to life, and how are you going to tell me that this fraternal little ball of fury didn't aim himself like a cannonball at whomever the fuck had DARED take HIS Batman from him when Damian wasn't around to have his back?

Not only does everyone else's desire to be avenged start falling really flat the second you factor in hey maybe Dick feels "mmm what about MY avenging" sometimes, and why doesn't anyone ever care about doing that for him.....but also, y'know what REALLY sucks about the ONLY person we actually SEE being blamed for Dick's death and ensuing absence being like....Dick himself?

Not only were his family all super keen on making all of this HIS fault and HIM the bad guy because of how it made them all feeeeeeel (and meanwhile fuck his feelings, am I right Batfam hfaklshfklahfkla).....

They somehow found a way to justify prioritizing this OVER ever even getting around to blaming some villain for his death in the FIRST place, in the entire year or so they thought he was still dead!

Like, you couldn't come up with a single target in all that time, but Dick's back two seconds, and you don't even give him a chance to EXPLAIN before you're punching him, shutting him down with 'I expected better from you' and turning away with 'I don't want to hear it, why am I surprised Dick Grayson disappointed me again'?

afshklfhalfhalfhla

Make it make sense!

And like, it won't, cuz it doesn't, and it never will, and like I said at the top, the ONLY reason it all played out this way is because DC doesn't give a fuck about character development and deemed it necessary to go down this way for the sake of the plot (which was totes worth it, I mean, glad we sacrificed characters for this A+ plot which was clearly the greatest plot of all time and definitely justified every story choice made or not made around it loooool).

BUT.

BUT BUT BUT.

The problem isn't JUST that DC is stupid, even though that is an eternal mood and quite the problem.

Its that the SECOND large parts of fandom decided to play along with DC and just accept the story at face value, only add to it and play into it exactly as it happened in canon with no significant deviations, and like, heaping on the LITERAL abuse from Dick's siblings while ignoring the LITERAL abuse from his father....

THAT....is when all of this becomes relevant.

Because the second people decided TO engage with the reasoning DC gave for what Bruce did and how and what Dick did and how and just not mess with any of that and have it all play out exactly like that...

The second people are like, okay we're FINE with not just dismissing this story as OOC writing that doesn't make any sense, and actually VALIDATING it to various degrees by engaging with it as is....

That's when 'OOC writing' stops being an excuse or explanation for alllll of the above gaps in character logic and actions.

Because its like, when you had abundant chance to REJECT this story and say nope, this was bullshit from start to finish and I'm not here for it, when you were just as capable of transforming literally ANY aspect of this story you didn't like into something that made more sense to you....

And you chose not to.

That's.....accepting it as valid writing. You were like, okay, I'm game to just treat this as a thing that happened, just like they said that happened.

For the chance to give Dick shit for it, see. For the angst, see.

And that's when I'm like okay cool, so when engaging with this story as is and accepting it on face value and just delving into the characters as they were SHOWN interacting with and around these events......for the angst or whatever....

You guys just all decided en masse to just hop, skip and jump over allllllllll the opportunities for angst inherent in examining even ANY SINGLE ONE of the above lapses in judgment or hypocrisy on the parts of the characters (who don't get to be excused by OOC writing if you're not going to call the story an example of OOC writing, whoops).

And its just like, uh, what's up with that?

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I Die Without You (ch. 1)

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Conner stands in front of him now, putting Tim at eye-level with his chin. When Tim doesn’t look up from his notes, Conner blocks the data sheet with a translucent hand. “You’re being a dumbass. You need to start taking care of yourself again.”

Tim turns away. “Yeah, well, I need my best friend back more. You should be all for that, so would it kill you to shut up and let me work?” Fuck. He needs a pill. He takes one from the handful he keeps in his utility belt and swallows it dry, ignoring Conner’s damning stare.

Conner Kent has been dead for three months, two weeks, and six days. “Initiate cloning attempt number twenty-one.” Tim can feel eyes on his back, burning through the skin and searing his spine. If he didn’t already know that ghosts can’t use heat vision, he might be concerned. “I can feel you judging me.” “Good. My face is sore from scowling.” Conner is leaning against one of the room’s glass pods, his arms crossed over the torn S-symbol on his chest. His normally carefree atmosphere has been replaced with an air of judgement—a mile leap from the Conner Kent who was all brass and thunder, jokes and lifting contests with Cassie. It makes Tim feel like even more of a creep than he already does, skulking around in the basement of Titans Tower with Conner’s eyes on him the entire time. The shame of his actions has weight now, getting heavier with every advancement he makes. He resents Conner’s presence as much as he needs it. Craves it. “You need to stop this,” Conner says, not for the first time. Tim doesn’t look at him. He prints out the latest data report in a foot-long sheet. There must be some component to the cloning process that he’s missing. Some bonding agent he hasn’t considered. “Then drag me out of the room.” “I’m serious, Tim. You passed the point of crazy, like, two weeks ago.” “Since when is saving a life considered crazy?” “Since there’s no life left to save. I’m dead, Tim. And yeah, it sucks, but there’s nothing we can do about it. You can’t keep working like this.” “Watch me.”

“You’re killing yourself. You realize that, right?” If Tim could walk away knowing that Conner wouldn’t just follow him like a worm on a string, he would. “When’s the last time you ate? The last time you slept? Do you even know what day it is?” “January.” “This is irresponsible. It’s stupid. If Bruce knew how far gone you were, he’d take you off active duty for a week. Probably longer.” “Which is why he’ll never find out.” “That’s not the point, Tim!” Conner makes no audible footsteps, but Tim can sense when he comes nearer, like a tugging sensation in his stomach. Tim has his own gravitational pull, it seems; any ghosts in the area are drawn towards him like magnets. He can always feel Kon, no matter how far away he is. Conner stands in front of him now, putting Tim at eye-level with his chin. When Tim doesn’t look up from his notes, Conner blocks the data sheet with a translucent hand. “You’re being a dumbass. You need to start taking care of yourself again.” Tim turns away. “Yeah, well, I need my best friend back more. You should be all for that, so would it kill you to shut up and let me work?” Fuck. He needs a pill. He takes one from the handful he keeps in his utility belt and swallows it dry, ignoring Conner’s damning stare. He’s been needing more, lately. He hadn’t noticed until Conner brought it up a few days ago, but Tim has upped the dosage to six, seven pills a day. He tries not to think about what’s changed. Even if he is using drugs to cope with the circumstances the universe has thrown his way, it’s not like he would be completely clean, otherwise. Feeling like his grief is miles away with every dose is just a happy side effect. It’s manageable. Conner shakes his head. “I can’t believe you.” “What am I doing that’s so wrong?” “The fact that you shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. I’ve accepted what happened. Why can’t you?” “Maybe I don’t want to accept it.” “Do you really think that bringing me back to life is going to help anything?” “Don’t you want to be alive? To see Clark again, Cassie, Martha, everyone who loved you? Don’t you want that?” “Of course I do.” Tim throws his hands in the air. “Then why are you fighting me on this? How can you stand there and tell me that I’m not doing the right thing when I’m trying to accomplish something that’ll make everyone happy?” “Because it won’t work.” Conner materializes in Tim’s path again, forcing Tim to look at him. It’s painful to see the open wounds on once impenetrable skin, the smoldering edges of his t-shirt. Instead, he focuses on Conner’s face. Unblemished. Untarnished. Just as it was in life. “Tim, even if you find a way to make this cloning stuff work, I won’t be there. You have to understand that. You’re too smart not to. It’ll just be another cheap copy of the original, like Match and Bizarro. But me—the real me? I’m staying right here, dead as hell. You can’t change that.” Tim waves a hand. “That’s just a minor setback. Once I get the cloning process perfected, all I have to do is call up Constantine or Zatanna and convince them to help me figure out how to restore your soul. You’ll be back in a brand new body, and everything will be back to normal.” “Do you hear yourself, man? You sound like a crazy person. You sound like Lex.” “I don’t care.” “You should!” Conner explodes, his eyes glowing with radiation he can’t unleash. “You should fucking care! What, do you think I’m going to come back to life and pretend that the cost of it wasn’t you destroying all the good parts of yourself? Do you think I’ll just forgive myself for that?” Tim shrugs. He should be feeling more, but the meds have kicked in by now. A pleasant hum runs through his blood. “That’s exactly what I expect. It’s what happened with Jason, remember?” Tim goes back to the computer to upload the latest attempt report. “You don’t remember being dead, just blinking out and blinking back in. Everything that you experienced while you were gone, it all gets erased. You won’t even remember this conversation.” Conner shakes his head. Tim would be lying if he said the disappointment on his face didn’t make his stomach twist. “This isn’t right. I care about you too much to sit back and watch you lose yourself like this.” “Do you think I want you here, watching me fall apart? I know how crazy this looks. I know I must be breaching every ethical code in the book. And I would give anything to make you go away long enough so I can work in peace, but I can’t control that. The ghosts stay, whether I like it or not. So if you can find a way to check out on your own, then be my guest.” Tim turns back to the computer, his eyes stinging. He takes another pill. Conner sighs. Tim can feel him hovering behind his shoulder, a mop of messy black hair in the corner of his eye. Tim shivers when Conner touches his shoulder. “I miss you, Tim. I’m sorry my death broke you.” “Yeah. Me too.”

READ THE REST ON AO3 BECAUSE IT’S A LONG ONE.

[loisinherlane]

4, 15, 18!

rimi ily <3 <3 <3 <3

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

Sometimes! Sometimes I don’t use an outline at all, and sometimes I outline while I write. If it’s a shorter fic, I probably won’t use an outline unless I get pretty far into it and need to stop. And then I usually scribble down which scenes I plan to write. I definitely need an outline for longer fics, but I sometimes start writing first so I have a better sense of what the fic is going to feel like. How far I stray really depends on when I outline. If I outline first, I may stray for pacing or plot purposes. If I outlined in the middle, I might stray a little when I realize I want more scenes.

15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics. Which fic would you want it to be? 

Ohhhh, that’s so hard. Maybe Past Tensions? I wrote it as kind of a commentary on superhero stuff, so I feel like it would translate relatively well. On the other hand, I would absolutely love to see the Single Dad Clark AU adapted. Yes, it’s not “one” fic, but it’s kind of still. one fic.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

:3c This question excites me so much. I had to skim through a few fics to decide just one, but I did it... even if it’s a long scene, so it’s under a cut. (Scene from Infinity and Apple Pie, very spoilery!)

When Brainiac took Metropolis, Kon had been in Hawaii. He couldn’t enjoy the sunshine or the waves, but he could sit there and remember how they’d felt. Some days, that was enough.

I really wanted to drive home how being a ghost feels, especially since I hadn’t addressed it much in the fic. Kon hadn’t really thought about the problems before because it hadn’t really sunk in what being dead entailed. And by this point, he’s really starting to miss being alive, seeing how little he actually gets by hanging around. But he’s still doing.

He didn’t hear a thing about Metropolis until one of the families started a ruckus.

“Mom! Mama! Metropolis is gone!” The kid on their phone yelled until their moms came rushing over. Kon could hear the video from his spot on the sand.

Gay, gay, homosexual, gay.

  “—aerial view reveals that Metropolis, home of Superman, has vanished without a trace. A clear line marks the area, through bridges and—”

Kon shot up.

  “It’s as of yet unknown whether Superman was in Metropolis at the time—”

Even if he wasn’t, Lois and Jon Samuel probably were. Kon flew to Metropolis first—or rather, where Metropolis was supposed to be. Just as the news reports had said, it was gone, leaving nothing but a sunken patch of dirt and dozens of crumbling bridges. Other heroes from neighboring cities had already sprung into action.

“Let them save everyone,” Kon hoped and turned for Smallville instead.

I’m not very good at writing action scenes, so I was hoping for a minimalist effect in describing the damage.

Kon remembered the first time he’d been in Smallville during tornado season. Ma and Pa had settled in the living room, peeking outside every so often to look at the clouds. The meteorologist had warned everyone to settle in a room without windows, a basement preferably. But they insisted.

“We’ll know when it’s time to go underground. We can’t keep an eye on it down there,” Pa had scoffed.

Tornado Alley rights! Bitches love watching tornados!

It wasn’t surprising to find them on the porch for this, the sky less green clouds of a thunderstorm and more a pink-gray haze. Unnatural but just as fascinating.

“Our boy will save the day,” Pa promised now, clutching Ma to his chest. Kon found himself filled with the urge to fly back to Gotham, find Tim, just in case—

But Kon didn’t go anywhere. He stared at the sky and waited. After all, Superman would save the day.

When the clouds receded, Pa turned to Ma and grinned. “Everything’s going to be alright now,” he promised. Then he froze. He lifted his right hand to clutch at his left arm.

“Jonathan,” Ma said. She looked up at the sky. “Clark!”

Tim had made everyone on Young Justice take first aid. Kon recognized the signs too easily. He couldn’t do a thing to change it.

So, this was where I really wanted Lara’s warning to come into effect. Like, yes, she had been warning about everything else Kon had watched. Yes, he’d had to watch his girlfriend join a cult. Yes, he’d had to see Tim try to clone him. Yes, Bart died. But I think there’s something really scary about seeing a family member in pain like this. And the difference between the Kents and the superhero world is how mundane this is. Pa has a heart attack. In canon, he dies because Clark can’t get there in time. Here, Kon has to watch, and it’s so different.

“Do you want to watch this?” Lara asked. She sat on the Kents’ porch swing, a real picture in her Kryptonian garb, all finery against cracked wood.

“Pa’s having a heart attack! I can’t just leave!” Kon snapped. “I have to be able to do something! Clark can’t hear him. He’d be here by now if—”

“Clark!” Ma wailed, a little louder.

“Kon-El. There is nothing you can do,” Lara said firmly. “Please, stop torturing yourself.”

Ma couldn’t hold Pa up by herself. They’d both slumped on the ground. Pa’s head lolled to the side. He stared at the porch, eyes squinted. “C— Conner…”

Kon’s face went white. “He—”

I know someone asked me about this, but yes, Pa sees Kon because he’s dying. :) This would be very effective in an actual comic, I think.

“You don’t have to watch,” Lara said.

“No!” Kon shouted. “I’m not letting go. Pa can’t die. I’m still here for a reason!”

“Because you refuse to—”

“That’s right. I refuse.”  Kon stood a little straighter before taking flight down the road into Smallville proper.

There was only one hospital in Smallville, and the EMTs sat outside the ambulance bay to watch the storm. Kon sunk to his knees in front of the first.

“Help me,” he begged. “Please, please hear me. We need help. At the Kent farm. Jonathan Kent had a heart attack. Please.”

“What a storm,” the first said.

“Prob’ly one of those alien attacks again. You saw that report on Metropolis, right?” The second lifted her phone and started scrolling.

“Listen to me! Please, you have to help! At the Kent farm. Please!”

The third leaned to look. “It’s back now?”

“Weird,” said the first.

“Please,” Kon said. “Please. My grandpa is dying!” He slumped forward.

“Did you hear that?”

Kon lifted his head. The second EMT had narrowed her eyes, skimming the area.

“Please,” he said more frantically, “my grandpa is dying! He’s had a heart attack. At the Kent farm! Hurry!”

“We… we have to go to the Kent farm,” the second EMT said, standing up. “Now.”

“What?” the third asked. “We haven’t gotten a call—”

“We have to go,” she said firmly.

I considered having Kon track an ambulance down on the road, but I was like, wait, how would I make it clear he’s not taking an ambulance from someone else who needed one? How would he even find an ambulance? Would Smallville have more than one? This seemed neater.

Kon let out a breath of relief and rode in the back of the ambulance all the way back to the farm. When the sirens reached the front of the house, Ma looked up and sobbed in relief.

“Help! My husband—” she yelled.

The EMTs started their work without hesitation, and Kon’s eyes watered.

“I did it,” he said.

“Did you?” Lara asked. She hummed. “Your medicine is so primitive. I hope it’s effective.”

“Don’t start that right now,” Kon snapped.

Lara tilted her head. “I’m… not. I hope you can save your grandfather’s life.”

Kon stared at her, twenty-five and never growing older, a woman with so much potential who had lost everything save the opportunity to see her son. “You never moved on,” he said.

Lara smiled. “No. I must admit that I… find enough gratification in seeing my family,” she said. “And Jonathan Kent cared for my son when I could not. I will never have enough gratitude to the people who loved him as much as I do.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do with Lara at first. The longer I built up the “afterlife” in this world, the more I realized I didn’t have a good excuse for her to be there. After all, Bart and Kon weren’t staying dead when they moved on. They were coming back to life at the right time. I didn’t really want to answer any actual afterlife questions either, so I didn’t want to say Lara was coming back and forth just to visit Kon and help him.

Then I wrote this scene, and it hit me. Lara is watching over Clark. It’s interesting to build her character because she’s so often neglected for Jor-El. I wanted her to be a slightly awkward, clinical mind. And I really wanted to drive home her loss in comparison to the Kents. If Pa died, it would be sad, but he’s also not a young man. Anyway, this fic kind of works if you consider any Mr. Oz stories as a possibility because Jor-El isn’t even really mentioned. Lara is dead for sure. But Jor... Who knows?

Clark arrived just as the EMTs had loaded Pa into the back of the ambulance, an old flannel and jeans thrown on. “Ma, is Pa okay?”

In canon, he arrives as Superman, but he couldn’t do that here.

“They’re taking him to the hospital. But he’s— he’s—” Ma sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, I don’t even know how they knew to be here. Praise the Lord.”

The second EMT ushered them both into the back of the ambulance. “It’s funny that you say that,” she said. “I… I could have sworn I heard a boy yelling. ‘My grandpa had a heart attack. On the Kent farm. Please help!’ Something like that.”

Clark and Ma exchanged looks.

“Jon Samuel is—”

“In Metropolis, with Lois,” Clark said. “No, he’s not— He couldn’t have—”

The best/worst part of writing is trying to use as few words to say something as possible. Clark and Ma know something is up, but they don’t know how to address it. They know it’s not Jon. But also, how could it be anyone else? Especially considering the complicated familial relationships Kon has, it was fun to try to put together the right words.

Lara held out her hand for Kon. This time, he took it.

[frickfracksnatchisback]

( deep breath) STEAMPUNK MOONJUMPER HEAD CANNONS IF YOU PLEASE! acutulay, any headcannons on steampunk au is good enough for me! - Silver ( also, super sorry I vanished on you. Me and my fam decided to watch the new jurrasuc park movie) ( But yeah, PLEASE ADD MORE KNTO THIS AU! PECK, I WILL PERSONALY DRAW THINGS FOR YOU IF YOU MAKE THIS AU A THING!!!!!)

YEAH!!! MORE STEAMPUNK AU HEADCANNONS!!! (Also no worries! I’m sorry for disappearing too, I was getting some much needed rest. But I might want to adopt this AU if nobody has already-)

(HCs are under the cut, because this might be pretty long ^^’)

So I’m thinking that the SteamPunk world is in a post-apocalyptic state? Basically, living standards could be a whole lot better for everyone on the planet. There’s probably pollution, steam-powered machines are taking over jobs, and basically you have to be an inventor to get by in life.

Decided to give Hat Kid a name for this AU! Her name is Hattie, and she’s hoping to become an inventor just like her father! Although her inventions tend to include a bit of magic, with her looking into time travel as well! (I’d like to think that the SteamPunk world dabbles with magic, making the robots more human-like)

Speaking of Hattie’s dad, I’m thinking Thor could be her father! Only this Thor is more overworked and less joyful (Aka- the complete opposite of AGIT Thor), due to the current state of the planet. And Tim can be like Hattie’s uncle/grandfather! Though Tim and Thor aren’t related, they’re still only friends.

So yeah, Thor made Moonjumper to try and help the struggling people on the planet. (And possibly get money for his idea so he can support his daughter) But perhaps Thor did a goof and accidentally used magic robot parts to bring Moonjumper to life? That also might be Tim’s fault, since Thor usually looks to him for help with parts.

Speaking of Moonjumper, I’d like to think he’s a bit more soft? By that I mean he’s way less evil than AGIT Moon, as far as his backstory goes. And he’s pretty much justified for his actions, considering that Thor tried to hide him away and Moon really doesn’t know how human morals work. But Hattie tries to help him with that! Before he nearly tries to turn her…

Moonjumper and Thor have a bit of a…rivalry, after Hattie frees Moon from the basement. And that’s putting it lightly. Thor doesn’t like Moon because he believes Moon is a faulty machine that will hurt his daughter, but keeps him around because he doesn’t want to make Hattie upset. And Moon hates Thor for obvious reasons, and wants to adopt Hattie for himself.

Snatcher also plays a part in this AU, as Hattie’s own invention! (She’s surprisingly good with mechanics for her age) And Snatcher is still very much acts and looks like himself. When Hattie gathered parts for him, she found an old magical robot piece, called a “Core”, and decided to use it. (Possibly using a magical ritual to bring Snatcher to life and give him his personality???) And I’d also like to think Hattie had an imaginary friend, and based most of Snatcher’s design off of that.

Snatcher kind of helped to “make himself”, by giving Hattie ideas with the design of his body. But this was in the earlier stages, when he didn’t even have a full body yet. (I’d like to think Snatcher was just a body-less core at the start, then just a head, until he fully was completed) This fact freaks people out, because they don’t expect a machine to have emotions or thought.

Thor, unfortunately, works for one of the three giant corporations on the planet, which is the Mafia. Only they don’t advertise that they’re a mafia, keeping it on the down low with Mafia Boss playing as the “honest businessman”. (Though rumor spreads fast, and basically everyone calls them the Mafia behind closed doors) I’d like to think the Mafia corporation is part of the reason that the planet is like it is, with Mafia Boss controlling the will of the people.

Another corporation, the one that Tim regrettably works for, is the Subcon Corp. And guess who it’s run by? You guessed it, the one and only Vanessa! Only this is human Vanessa, with her being an adult but still crazy and controlling. Vanessa experiments with the magical properties of making robots, but in all the wrong ways. For instance, one of the mistakes she made was trying to make a robotic clone of herself. She ends up making monster Vanessa, but she uses this to her advantage…

She also might have made Princebot? She found Princebot faulty and scrapped his parts once she deemed him useless. And then later Hattie finds one of Prince’s “Cores”, and uses it to make Snatcher! But if we’re going with the whole “magical ritual thing”, Snatcher might have amnesia and only have slight memories. But he finds out his past eventually…

As for the other “Core”? Remember when I said that Moon being the way he is might be Tim’s fault? Yeah, since Tim works for the Subcon Corp. he sometimes steals parts from there for Thor to try and use. Tim was the one that found the other “Core” many years later, and gave it to Thor when he asked for one. This leads to Moonjumper and Snatcher having some sort of weird “connection” with each other, which helps with Snatcher finding out more about his past.

Mu is also in this AU! Only not as a human, but as a robot! She was created by the Mafia as a “top secret” thief robot, so the Mafia could get away with heists from their rivaling companies. But Mafia Boss was stupid and decided that adding a “Core” would make Mu stronger. And it did…but it also gave her a personality. Once Mu saw that working for the Mafia was wrong she turned against them.

Mu tries to rebel by meddling with the Mafia business. She tries to destroy their factories, steal “Cores” (which are kind of like the Time Pieces of this world), and attempts to “free” all the robots working for the Mafia. This makes her a wanted enemy of the Mafia, with news reports and posters advertising her arrest. Hattie is the one who finds Mu and give her shelter from all the people trying to collect her reward. This leads to many arguments from Thor, until he decides to adopt Mu.

The last robot corporation would be the Nyakuza. And the Cruise is more of a joint factory that helps the corporations with the shipment of parts from the Cruise’s factories. Although the Captain mostly lends help to the Nyakuza Corp., due to Empress’ way of…persuasion. But he still helps the other corporations, because money is tough to get.

CC came from the Nyakuza Corp., working as the “secretary” for Empress. But CC gained a new dream and wanted to help the poor humans of the world by cooking for the poor. But when Empress said that was “ridiculous” and wouldn’t allow her because she worked “at the top”, CC made a plan to escape. CC changed her name and design frame afterwards, and ended up living with Hattie!

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy--Chapter 4: What They Don’t Know Will Kill Them

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Miranda gathers information from her contacts about Oriana's disappearance. Each step she takes brings her closer to her past, and closer to danger.

-------

With her liaison with Artemis out of the way, Miranda hopes she can focus more on the task at hand. She’s already dallied too long, and Oriana may already be out of her reach. But she must keep looking.

Her first contact meets her in a public restroom, tucked away from security cameras and C-Sec’s purview. Not everyone wants their whereabouts noticed by law enforcement. Miranda closes the bathroom stall behind her, locks it, and knocks on the wall three times. The person on the other side knocks twice in reply. Good. An imposter would imitate the number of knocks exactly.

Neither of them speaks, in case the room has been bugged. And they turn their omni-tools off in turn. Sometimes the best way to avoid an enemy interception to exchange their information on paper. An expensive act with so many of the galaxy’s forests protected by Council Law, but no one can hack paper.

Miranda has never been fond of contamination, though her immune system will fight off nearly anything without a single symptom--likely her father’s work. She just can’t stand the thought of sullying her tailored uniform, let alone her skin. The thought of sitting on a toilet makes her want to vomit, so Miranda squats instead, and reaches under the door for the slip of paper.

Synthetic gloves brush against hers, and Miranda reads a slip the size of a cookie fortune. The front has a date--the date Oriana was taken. The back has a name--her father’s. Before Miranda can ask why or where--her contact slams the door open and walks out of the restroom without washing their hands.

-----

That night Miranda dreams of her father’s estate. The postmodern mansion nestled in Bellevue Hill had spaces most humans only dreamed off. Three floors, tennis courts, climbing walls, a heated mosaic swimming pool and alfresco patio just outside the home theater and library. Views of Sydney Harbour on the outside and crisp, clean black, white, and gold interiors within. Henry Lawson’s first floor served as yet another entertainment space with a grand open floor plan, carport, formal and informal living spaces with plush cushions and well-lit interiors. His second floor had a master suite, and three additional bedrooms. Miranda would have preferred to keep her bedroom as far from possible from her father, but he insisted she sleep in the room closest to the guest bathroom. So he could show her off to his guests, most likely. Her father always did enjoy parading her around like some sort of trophy.

That was what their guests saw. Henry never offered to show them where the car-sized elevator descended after they left. They assumed Henry Lawson had a private collection of luxury cars and didn’t care to reveal them to would-be gossipers and thieves. Or perhaps he stored proprietary information and projects down there. Surely all would come to light at the right time. Growing up, even Miranda wasn’t to take the vehicle elevator. The first time she tried--her father locked her in his walk-in closet for three days. The second time--when she had successfully moved from the ground floor to the basement only to be caught before she could open the doors--he forced her hand upon the stovetop burners until her skin had burned black. Much to his satisfaction, her skin healed within a week. It was then she started wearing black gloves to cover the bandages.

Miranda knows immediately where she has ended up in this nightmare. It’s the storage room--the room she finally breached on her third attempt. Goosebumps race down her skin and won’t go away no matter how much she tries to rub them off. Her legs carry her on auto pilot, and Miranda feels like a prisoner in her own skin. Glass vats lined the concrete, windowless walls, carrying humanoid shapes in various stages of development--from embryos to newborn. One vat, in the corner, has a form that matches her baby pictures. Ice shoots down Miranda’s spine.

She reads through his journal entries and listens to his audio logs. Miranda is Sample 37--Henry Lawson’s most successful attempt at creating a daughter. He had always told her mother had died in childbirth. Here she learns she has no mother--only cloned tissue with altered chromosomes. Some of Henry’s earlier attempts included sons--but he quickly decided girls were easier to influence and mold into his image. But what happened to her brothers and sisters?

The Illusive Man always welcomes additional specimens. He most highly prizes those with biotic abilities--paying double for those with the genetic markers. Perhaps he wants to fashion and train his own biotic army.

Henry must have loved the idea--an entire army of biotic soldiers who resemble his best features. It made Miranda want to throw up.

Miranda shows so much promise, but she asks too many questions. I will not be repeating the incident with Sample 25. As soon as Sample 38 is ready I will give the Illusive Man a call. I think I will call her Ariel.

“Miri? What are you doing down here?”

Jerking around, Miranda closes the Haptic Adaptive Interface behind her. Nicket looks at her wide-eyed, his face quickly turning green at the site of all the vats around him. “I need your help.”

------

Miranda wakes up in a cold sweat, still hearing the hum of her father’s machines in her ears as she takes a shower. Even the water can’t wash off the slimy feeling of the fluid behind the glass. It’s as if she’s still trapped in one of those vats herself. I won’t let you him hurt you, Ori. I promise.

Her next contact agrees to meet with Miranda during an upcoming Hanar Enkindlers Rally. It seems an odd time to be hosting a religious event, but then again, perhaps not. With the Reapers destroying the known universe, perhaps some of Hanar are looking for answers in their ancestral religions. Miranda never considered herself particularly spiritual. The only religion her father raised in her is one of wealth and influence--like prosperity gospel and eugenics had an incestuous child.

And then there’s the surprise arrival of a real-live Prothean to the Citadel. Of course, Artemis is involved, why wouldn’t she be? Her Asari archeologist friend, Liara T’soni, must be over the moon.

Mixing in with the crowd, Miranda makes a move to activate the biolumincent translators in her ears, but she really activates a private communication channel instead. The Hanar light up in a gorgeous cascade of colors as the rally begins, and her contact steps up beside her, keeping her eyes forward to the stage. A once infamous Hanar preacher takes the stage as Miranda’s contact pings her coms.

He’s really moved up in the world, hasn’t he? Her contact’s mouth never opens. Instead, she ‘speaks’ by typing out a message on her thighs. Instantaneously cybernetic pads in her fingers relay the message to both their comms.

Miranda eyes the stage--a ceiling high banner displays what must be a photograph of the recently awakened Prothean. Though she’s never studied the facial expressions of that ancient race, she can’t help but think he looks unimpressed with the photographer. He sure has. The fearful masses must be funding this Hanar preacher’s rally--where else would he have secured the funds? How is my father? Is he well?

They don’t dare speak plainly. Hanar bioluminescence, when propagated in high numbers, does produce a sort of digital interference against most prying eyes and ears--especially those over long distances. But there’s still a chance someone else in the crowd will be trying to listen in.

More than well, I hear he landed a new project with his old friend Tim.

Alarms ring in Miranda’s mind so loudly she swears the Hanar surrounding them can hear. I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? Her father disavowed Cerberus after The Illusive Man took her in and refused to give her up. He was one of Cerberus’s largest supporters, and took some time (and a few assassinations) for the Illusive Man to replenish his resources.

Your father is working for Tim.

Before Miranda can argue, her contact has disappeared through the waves glowing tentacles. Miranda is about to go looking for them when the Hanar next to her suddenly goes dark. Their levitation pack still functions, and so the Hanar goes on floating, but its pink color quickly fades to gray. It happens so suddenly Miranda forgets to turn her translator back on. Instead of screams, she sees each of the surrounding members of the crowd flash red and black as they flee from the corpse.

Assassin.

Miranda heard no shot fired, nor impact of a bullet or laser. The dead hangar didn’t move, as if hit by a blast.

Stab wound?

No. No strangulation marks either.

She recalls the warning signs on the beaches back home. MARINE STINGERS ARE PRESENT IN THESE WATERS DURING SUMMER MONTHS. The first aid stations providing vinegar. Miranda scans the body and finds stingers lodged in the Hanar’s skin.

A rare Hanar assassin and Miranda is surrounded by suspects.

She can’t stay on the Citadel, not anymore. Running to the elevator she scans security feeds of her apartment to confirm what she already knows--someone has turned it upside down looking for her. Too bad for them--she never leaves anything behind.

It’s only later Miranda remembers that back on Earth--jellyfish never sting their own species. She hacks into the database of the nearest morgue and finds what she already suspects--the venom came from a Terran jellyfish, delivered with stingers made of steel, not flesh. A chill runs down her spine when she spots the scientific name: chironex fleckeri. It couldn’t be any sort of jellyfish venom, no. Whoever the assassin was--they chose the species from the shores of Sydney. Someone is trying to send her a message.

Too bad for them--I’m not listening. Not to Cerberus. Not to her father. Not to anyone.

-------

Just after Miranda lands on Illium, all of Miranda’s contacts on the Citadel go dark. Reapers? No. Their access to the galaxy’s political center was cut off when Shepard battled Saren. That left Miranda only one possibility. Only one party who would have the interest and the resources to take over the Citadel to quickly and easily, with no warning.

Cerberus.

Which meant Ori wasn’t there when it happened. Their father would never allow Ori that close to danger. Would he?

And Shepard was still on Tuchanka. Miranda had been following Artemis’s exploits on that barren, irradiated planet. On a lark, she looks up for Alliance News updates, and her heart plummets to her stomach.

Genophage Cured. Normandy Departs Arlak System and Krogan DMZ.

Her heart thunders inside her ribcage. Please not the Citadel. Please. Miranda hacks into Alliance Space Traffic Control, and finds the Normandy docked at the Citadel.

Artemis. With every comm dark, Miranda can’t even log into C-Sec’s cameras. It’s worse than when Artemis was under house arrest.

After several agonizing hours, Miranda’s contacts check in, or at least, some do. Shepard is alive. Thane Krios is in critical condition. Councilor Udina is dead, as he should be. Bastard.

Miranda sends Shepard a message, telling her to meet her on the Citadel. But she has no intention of going in person. Instead she hacks into Alliance QEC. Surely Shepard will understand.

QEC’s are hard to come by, especially in war, so Miranda finds one in an Illium high rise, belonging to a board member who serves as a de facto politician. The board member should have gone home for the day, leaving her office, and her Quantum Entanglement Communicator available for use.

The QEC shimmers as Artemis materializes in its hologram. She hasn’t showered--still covered in soot, dirt, bruises, and cuts. But she’s standing. And she’s breathing. Miranda lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God you’re alright.”

Artemis glowers at her in blue. “I’m fine.” Her eyes are puffy and would probably be red from crying if the QEC didn’t blue tint everything coming through its feeds.

“Artemis--”

“Miranda. You told me you’d meet me here. You lied.”

“The Citadel isn’t safe.”

“I know that, Miri,” Artemis spits. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just fended off a fucking coup.”

Artemis never swears, except in cases of high emotion. Sometimes Miranda wonders if she does it on purpose so that her expletives carry more punch when she finally uses them. Miranda feels a jolt in her gut.

Before she can even open her mouth, Artemis continues. “You could have died, Miranda. And I wouldn’t know until I got here.”

“I want to be there, in person, but I can’t. Someone already tried to assassinate me.”

Artemis’s eyes widen, and her shoulders sag. “Kai Leng?”

“What?”

“He tried to take out Councilor Valern.”

Miranda recalls the flames she trapped him in. The stench of burning flesh. Leng’s scream loud, then gradually muffled as she flees the scene. “That slippery bastard’s still alive?”

Artemis nods, and Miranda swears under her breath. “That complicates things. I’ll be on my guard.”

Her love continues to soften, unwilling to part in anger. “Miri. Be careful.”

If only. They both know nothing cared for is safe in war. “I can’t promise that. Could you?”

Artemis closes her eyes, and it’s hard to tell through the flickering projection, but Miranda swears she sees a glimmer of a tear. She hasn’t seen her cry since Aratoht. “Artemis, we’ll get through this.”

Her gaze hardens as she snaps back. “You can’t promise that either.”

“I know.” I wish I could. They talk about Ori, and Miranda tells her what she knows, which isn’t much. Artemis bristles at the mention of Cerberus, especially at the mention of Miranda’s father, but she doesn’t insist on helping. Maybe she trusts Miranda to take care of herself. Or perhaps, she’s tired of playing cat and mouse.

“I love you,” Miranda says, and she hears footsteps outside.

“Huh? Who’s in there?” the guard calls out, flashing a light inside the dark office Miranda’s borrowing.

“I’ve got to go.” Miranda closes the QEC before Artemis can reply.

-------

Miranda knows when Oriana was taken, and who likely is involved, but where did they take her? Henry Lawson’s home stands only as a pile of rubble after the Reapers touched down. Where would that monster go after his original lair was destroyed? If he was working with the Illusive Man….

She wakes up several hours later, with her desk as her pillow, and her Haptic Adaptive Interface glowing into her eyeballs. Looking at the screen, Miranda searches for meaning in the jumble of letters across her screen, but the words might as well be written in Prothean. You’re no use to Oriana like this.

After showering, Miranda meanders through the stock exchange of Nos Astra, listening to everything and nothing while she tries to decide what to eat. One Asari is complaining about her boss, another is ranting about her partner, a volus insists on buying an attachment that clearly isn’t designed for their physiology. Miranda’s stomach growls. Do Asari make sushi? They are known for their seafood. Opening her omni tool, Miranda hears an advertisement blaring from a nearby terminal.

“If you’re not sure where to go, come to Sanctuary. We’ll keep you safe.” Maybe blaring is the wrong word. The words flow more like a soft whisper. Calming. Soothing. Beckoning. Just as the advertisement switches to the next slot, Miranda waves her omni-tool for more information, and a chill runs down her spine.

At first glance, Sanctuary seems innocuous enough, necessary even. A sort of refugee camp in the partially abandoned colony of Horizon. Miranda calls the information number and listens to the automated message.

Welcome to your new home, the voice over drips into her ears like honeyed wine. Sanctuary accepts one and all, providing safety and comfort to those who have lost their homes. We use state of the art technology to protect you and your loved ones. Let us be your Sanctuary.

It sounds less like a refugee camp, and more like a luxury resort.

As Miranda listens, she continues scrolling through Sanctuary’s Extranet site. She has no reason to suspect her father in this, and yet everything seems to have his fingerprints on it. The clean, crisp aesthetics, the terraced gardens, pristine, and entirely unnecessary water features. You couldn’t just build a refugee camp, could you, Father. You had to make it your mansion, too.

The touch-tone menu provides options for housing assistance, employment opportunities, directions and coordinates, and the resident directory. When Miranda selects the last option, she’s directed to an error message.

Due to the high volume of calls, the resident directory is unavailable at this time. Please check back later.

It’s not so much about what information line says, but what it doesn’t say. Even the news sources Miranda consults have little to say beyond the press releases provided. She has no proof, none, but her father must be involved. Or perhaps, it’s the sleep-deprivation talking.

All pomp and circumstance about his grand estate--until someone asks to go down the car elevator.

Miranda has no other leads. She could be completely off-base with this conspiracy theory, but what else can she do? She can’t give up on her sister. Opening her omni-tool, Miranda makes a few calls.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 6

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,791 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Dick is surprisingly racist towards clones.

Two birds on a wire One says "come on" and the other says "I'm tired" The sky is overcast and I'm sorry One more or one less Nobody's worried

-Regina Spektor, "Two Birds"

Then.

Once their guest had left, Tim turned to Dick with a wounded air.

“How about giving me some warning next time before someone shows up, huh?  A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Dick’s smile didn’t falter.

“What, did she catch you doing something embarrassing?”

Tim skewered him a look of disgust.

“Do you have to make everything sound dirty?”

“Sorry, sorry.  …I’m surprised you’re still doing ‘that’ after all these years though.”

Tim shrugged with a heavy sigh.  “Was just testing to see if I still could, I guess.  I messed up on the landing anyway.”

“You probably just need to work on your form some more.  It has been a while since I last saw you brush up on any techniques, they’re bound to get a bit rusty.  If you want, I can still coach you…”

Tim’s lips tightened.

“Forget it.  It’s not worth it.”

“Are you sure?  That girl seemed pretty impressed by it. She’s the one you were talking about earlier, right?”  Dick nodded in sage observation.  “She’s cute; nice face, decent rack- ow!”  He rubbed his arm as it was abruptly met with an annoyed punch.  “Hey, it was a compliment.”

“…Didn’t sound like one.”

“Would you prefer I said she has a mighty fine ass?”  He waggled his brows and grinned provocatively, despite wincing from the pain.  Kid could still hit pretty hard when he wanted to. “Not as fine as mine though.”

“Shut up before I shove a dumbbell up there.”

Dick clutched his behind in mock dread at the threat.

“Seriously though, she’s obviously into you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The way I see it, from where I’m standing, she’s more into you.”

“Oh ho, do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“No,” Tim denied hotly, though his cheeks told a different story.  “It’s just that you’re being super-gross about it.  You know you’re acting like Bruce by coming onto every giddy schoolgirl and her mom who walks in through the door.”

Dick’s smirk jerked slightly.

“Wow, okay dude, we’re really going there.”  It was his turn to be hurt by insensitivity.  “You didn’t need to go that far.  I’ll have you know this and that are completely different.”

“How so?”

“I approach these things from a sole marketing perspective.  Purely professional.  It’s called ‘show business’, bro.”

“Uh-huh.  This coming from the guy who just lied about his scars to make himself look good.  I suppose ‘that’s’ also part of your advertising strategy?”

“Hey, it’s not like it was a total lie.  That really did happen, you know – minus the ‘falling debris’ part.  …Besides, what else would you have me say?”

Tim shook his head, keeping his voice low.  “…I don’t know.”

Dick seized on the telling silence.  “You are attracted to her, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“It’s okay, I can see why. It’s all right to admit these things, you know.  You don’t have to hide it.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

The firm, yet flustered defiance only further confirmed Dick’s suspicion.

“Heh heh, little Timmy’s got a crush~”

He tousled Tim’s hair teasingly, to which the boy scowled.

“I do not.”  He pushed the invading hand away in indignation.  “Will you cut that out already?  I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dick lowered his limb in disappointment.

“Okay, okay.  Sorry.”  Despite insistence otherwise, it delighted Dick that Tim was finally exhibiting some of the youthful desire – if not exuberance – he’d missed out on through his teenage years.  “Trust me though, I have no interest in someone her age.  She’s all yours.”

“Look, will you just drop it?” Tim snapped bluntly.  “It’s none of your freakin’ business.”

Dick exhaled, clicking his tongue.  If only Tim could be more honest with his feelings, true to himself – though he was painfully aware of how excruciatingly difficult that must be, what with everything the boy had been through.  To be fair, he had his own troubles genuinely opening his heart to others, after all the times it had been broken and betrayed before.  …He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for Tim, to allow someone else – a complete and total stranger – to get close by entering into his currently (semi-)stable and secure – if supremely secluded life, experience that kind of risky emotion again. Breach the many walls and defensive barriers he had set up around himself, upset the plainly precarious balance that was still a struggle to barely maintain.  So as much as he wanted to continue coaxing and clowning – kidding around, he agreed to leave it alone for now, raising both palms in admitted defeat.

“Okay, I get it.  I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

The subject successfully dismissed, Tim attuned towards the boxes in the back.

“So did you want me to help with moving this stuff or what?”

“Yeah, I needed to clear out some old things to make space for new equipment.  Trying to tidy up the place more, getting rid of useless junk and whatnot.  …Although most of it’s probably going up to the storeroom in the attic anyway.  Sorry to bother you for this; I’d do all the lifting myself, but with my back…”

“Don’t mention it, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Tim knelt by one of the cartons as Dick set to work sifting and sorting, organizing according to some arbitrary system that ostensibly only made sense to him.

“Christ, how much crap do you have here?  Seriously, what even is half this junk?  I knew you had all kinds of odd ends lying around, but I didn’t realize it amounted to this much.  Do you ever throw anything away?”

Dick shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a hoarder by nature.  Keeping keepsakes is my hobby.   …Well, more like a habit, I guess.  Why do you think we had a trophy room in the basement?  It wasn’t originally Bruce’s idea, I can tell you that.”

Tim remained quiet as he poked through a large collection of CDs, containing a few recognizable but mostly random titles by various indie bands and artists he’d never heard of.

“Man, you’ve got weird taste in music.”

“Hey, don’t knock the classics.  Those are precious goods, be careful with those.”

In spite of his scoffing, Tim picked up one of the discs that appealed to him, and was almost about to subconsciously slip the item under his oversized hoodie – an old, old habit of his own – before remembering he didn’t have to resort to sneaking or stealing when he could just ask.

“Can I borrow this?”

Dick didn’t even twist to look, implicitly trusting in his little brother’s judgment.  “Yeah sure, go ahead.”

Tim breathed out in relief as he pocketed the prize with permission.  That was a close call.  Borderline kleptomaniac compulsions hadn’t surfaced like that in a long time, but then, it was only another minor checkbox on the extensive, exhaustive list of psychotic symptoms he was suffering from today.

There was another entry that caught his eye, different from the others.  It had no hard case or album cover; just a plain, simple jacket labeled with marker:

For Babs.

Tim wondered if it was a mix tape – surely Dick wouldn’t have tried to record something himself? He couldn’t tell whether it was a gift Dick planned to give but never worked up the courage to – or something Barbara sent back after (one of numerous) breakup(s).

…Maybe Joker was right. Being in love with someone seemed like way more hassle than it was worth.  Hell, just watching those two go back and forth between affection and anger even back then was tiring.  Aggravating.

At any rate, he left burning curiosity alone, not wanting to intrude too much on Dick’s privacy (years ago he would’ve taunted his brother with the juicy bit of exposing bait himself, but that was then, when he was less mature and still found amusement in such things), and moved on to another container.  As soon as he saw the contents inside, he balked a bit, heartbeat spiking.  Aching.  It was a family photo album, full of fond memories from the Flying Graysons’ circus days. His hands trembled as he flipped tentatively through the pages, unable to tear away even though it made him uncomfortable for a number of reasons.  Paranoid of polaroids.  Anything involving camerawork tended to make him queasy, though he could typically tolerate homages to others at least.  These were different from the blown-up, polished posters on the wall though; the images portrayed within were more intimate, unscripted.  Candid, captured moments of a close-knit clan, happy as a clam – treasured remnants of childhood innocence and bliss combined with parental pampering.

“This must have been such a cool place to grow up.”

“…It was.”

Glancing back at the receptacle, buried at the bottom was another set of snapshots: a framed photograph of Dick and Barbara together (him smiling smugly straight at her in puppy-like adoration while she beamed brightly at the viewer instead), and a worn print of the former in graduation garb next to Bruce, who had his paw wrapped proudly on the other’s shoulder.  Scrawled on the top left-hand corner in Bruce’s surprisingly haphazard handwriting was a short congratulatory message:

Good luck at college, Dick.

Tim recalled how Dick told him the story of Bruce missing his graduation from Gotham State University, shortly before the two split up as Batman and Robin.  (…The old man never even bothered to come to his own high school ceremony – not that Tim was expecting him to – although Dick and Barbara both did attend at least, albeit sitting at opposite ends of the auditorium.)

“It was building for a long time.  I realize that now.  …It was never really right.  I mean, this isn’t exactly a normal childhood.”

He hadn’t really comprehended the notion then, but Tim understood now what those words meant – unfortunately all too well.

Tim sensed a shadow behind him, and for a brief instant, he half-envisioned it being Bruce from the way it loomed – but of course when he revolved around it was only Dick instead.

“Yo, you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  Tim looked down at the scrapbook in his lap, a wistful mist in his eyes.  “I was just… thinking I don’t really have any pictures of my folks.  At least none where we’re all together.”  Or that isn’t a mugshot, he thought sullenly to himself.  “I never saw my dad keep any mementos of Mom after she died.  To be honest, I’m not sure I even still remember what she looks like.”

Dick plopped down on the ground next to him, resting a hand on the boy’s sagged shoulder.

“Listen, I hope you know: No matter what, you can always think of the two of us as family at least. I know I haven’t exactly been that much of a great guardian myself, that I could never replace what you lost either… But you are still a brother to me. Hell, I consider you the closest thing to a real relative I’ve had since then.”

Tim simply nodded, swallowing a lump in his gorge.  Dick patted his back with a thump.

“Us guys, we gotta stick together, right?  Through thick and thin.”

“Yeah.”  Tim ducked his neck towards his collar, surreptitiously drying ducts on his sweatshirt.  “…Thanks, you know, for letting me stay here so long.  Roy and Conner too.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” A pause.  “…How’s Conner doing by the way?”

Tim snorted, the caution in the other’s tone not escaping his notice.  “What do you care?  You never liked him anyway.”

“That’s not true. It’s just… The whole idea of cloning someone kinda wigs me out, okay?  I dunno, imagining there being a duplicate copy of you running around is freaky enough, but one of Superman?  It still doesn’t sit well with me to leave him loose like that, after all the underhanded crap Cadmus has pulled.  Something about it just doesn’t seem right.  Who’s to say he doesn’t have some secret kill switch that’ll make him go rogue like Supergirl’s doppelganger?  Gotham may be full of crazies and creeps, but at least we never really had to deal with stuff of metahuman caliber aside from Ivy and Clayface, or Kirk when he took the serum.”  Dick intentionally didn’t include Killer Croc on the atypical rogues roster; guy was too dumb a criminal to count.  “We’re on the high end of the ‘weird’ scale, sure, but not even Batman’s equipped to take down a serious superpowered menace alone.”

Tim glared at him in disbelief.

“Is that you talking, or the old man?”

“…Maybe a bit of both,” Dick willingly conceded.  “Look, I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Yeah well, don’t be. I’ve got Mr. Kent on speed-dial, and Kon gave me his full consent to use the Kryptonite at my discretion as part of our ‘roommate agreement’.  If anything happens, he told me himself he wants me to hit him with it as hard as I can.” …Even if it meant killing him – although Tim knew he could never go through with that. Not again. “Besides, it’s not him you’re actually worried about, is it?”

“Tim…”

“No, you know what this is?” Tim clenched his fist, drawing away from contact again.  “You look at him with the same way you do me – like some ticking time bomb about to explode. I’m getting real sick and tired of it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t.  Look, for your information, Conner’s doing fine. Hell, he pretty much behaves just like you; he’s probably getting wasted and chasing after chicks at some mixer right now.  …That’s what you call a ‘normal college life’, isn’t it?”

Dick cleared his throat, aversely acknowledging hypocrisy.

“…What about you?  How is school going?  Do you like it there?”

Tim shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

“You know you didn’t have to just stick locally around here.  If you wanted to go someplace else I would’ve sponsored you.  I mean, I chose to stay close to Gotham because of that… ‘part-time job’ stuff, but you’re smart, you could’ve gone anywhere better.”

“I told you, I’m fine with this.”

“What about taking that girl’s suggestion at least?  Life doesn’t just have to be about books and studying for tests all the time either, you know.  Look at it this way: You’ve got the time and opportunity now to be a part of after-class club activities that I never had.  Why not take advantage of it, get out there and socialize.  Enjoy the excitement of your youth and all that.”

Tim stared, trying unsuccessfully to read the other’s expression.  He couldn’t deduce whether the dude was just being humorously sarcastic, or genuinely envious and attempting to live vicariously through him.  Either way, he wasn’t falling for it.

“I said forget it.”                                                          

Dick kept pressing despite disengagement, earnest in his endeavor to tempt Tim to pursue what used to fill the boy with fervent passion, desperately hoping to rekindle some kind of joyful spark.

“Come on, I’m sure it’ll be fun.  I bet I could even still teach you to do a quadruple somersault if you’re interested.”

“Why?  I suck at it.”

“You just need more practice.  …Besides, it’d be kind of a shame to let a legacy die out without passing it on to at least one person.”

Tim wavered at the sincere, if somewhat scheming statement.

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me, it’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Maybe for you.”  He bitterly bit his tongue under his breath.  “I’d like to see you try to concentrate on keeping your balance with the Joker as a peanut gallery.”

“What was that?”

“…Nothing.”

Dick held his gaze for a second.

“Tim, I didn’t want to bring this up, but… Conner called me the other day.  He told me, about the lab incident.  He says you haven’t been sleeping or eating much either.”

Tim grit his jaw, feeling like a dagger had just been thrust in his gut.  He couldn’t believe his best (perhaps only) bud in the world would betray him like that.

“Damnit, Kon.”

“Don’t blame him, he’s just worried about you too.  I told you: You don’t need to keep hiding things from us.  We’re here to help if you need anything.  Babs too.  If something’s troubling you, you can talk to us.”

“It’s fine, I’m handling it.”

Dick wouldn’t desist, determined to get the truth out of him.

“Tim, I heard you yelling earlier.  …He’s back again, isn’t he?”

The boy sighed in surrender, eyes slanting stage right.  “…To your left, making faces.”

His partner fixed him with stern concern.

“Are you off your meds again?”

“They don’t work.  Not as well as they used to.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just stop taking them.”

“For what?  So I can only experience the side effects?”

“So talk to Leslie.  Ask her to adjust the dosage.”

Tim made a hollow noise.  “I’m already on the highest strength that’s considered ‘safe’ for human consumption.”

Dick pulled out his phone anyway and began dialing her number.

“I’m contacting her.  There must be at least something else we can try.”

“Not Dr. Thompkins,” Tim whined, as if a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Look, either you call to make an appointment, or I will.”

Tim seethed, grinding his teeth.  “All right, fine.  Jeeze. God, you and Barbara still both treat me like a fucking child.”

“Yeah well, maybe if you stop acting like one.”

“Whatever.  Just hand me the phone.  I’ll talk to her.”

Dick extended the cell towards Tim, who took it with all the enthusiasm of accepting a dirty sock.

“It’s ringing.”

He listened closely in on the conversation to confirm a meeting time was set up, before Tim returned the receiver.

“Here.  She wants to talk to you.”

Dick lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hey, doc.”

“Hello, Richard.  It’s good to hear from you boys.  How’s the back treating you?”

“Fine.”  He didn’t want to dwell too much on his own health status, so he moved on to the matter at hand.  “Is there anything we can do to help Tim?”

“In such a rare and unusual case as this, it’s hard to say.  It’d be beneficial to start by identifying the root of his relapse.  Once we pinpoint that, it’ll be easier to formulate a treatment plan.   It’s possible it could just be due to the stress of moving to a new environment.  It’s good that you’ve been able to help support him through high school, but now that he’s becoming independent it may be triggering a stronger separation anxiety response in him.  Even if consciously he rejects it, the Joker ingrained himself as a parental figure in Tim’s mind.  Essentially, he equates that kind of attention with the nurturing love and protection he never properly received growing up.  It’s common for child victims of abuse to form a disorganized attachment to the caregiver, especially when the caregiver behaves in an inconsistent manner.  The conflict of the caregiver being both a source of comfort and distress can cause the child to display contradictory patterns when faced with a stressful situation; instinct tells him to simultaneously avoid and approach the one who is mistreating him.   In the absence of a familiar atmosphere he’s accustomed to, he’s likely seeking alternate methods of coping as a survival mechanism.  Has he been under any kind of particular pressure lately?”

Dick relayed the events leading up to the fainting spell, with little input from Tim beyond affirmative nods.

“I see.  It’s certainly a sign of progress that he’s trying to face his fears, but a heads-on approach might not be the best tactic.”

“I tried to tell him that.  He won’t listen.”

“I’ll have a chat with him about it when I see him, hopefully we can find a way for him to succeed in his studies without compromising his sense of safety.  One more question, this is important: Has he tried to harm himself?”

“I… don’t think so.  I’ll check, and let you know.”

“Please do.”

As Dick temporarily terminated the exchange, he rotated to see Tim had stood up and was headed towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out for a smoke – walk – whatever.  Just text me when you need me.”

“Hold it.”  The harsh bark arrested the boy before he was halfway to the exit.  “Wrists.”

Tim swiveled with a sour countenance.

“Seriously?  Do we really have to do this?”

“Show me.”

He hissed, but obediently rolled up his sleeves, revealing bare but apparently unmarked skin.

“Satisfied?”

Dick advanced and examined him all over anyway, before nodding.

“All right.  Now empty your pockets.”

Tim tsked, feeling as violated as when the staff at the detention center frisked him on admittance for any concealed contraband.  He dug through his possessions, retrieving objects one by one: phone, wallet, CD player, lighter, cigarettes, and finally – under Dick’s demanding eye – the hidden pocketblade.

“Give me the knife.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t make me wrestle it from you.”

Relinquishing, he slapped the weapon into Dick’s grip without a word.

“Thank you.  You can go, but try to keep near.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

Dick deliberately chose to ignore the sardonic retort, used to receiving attitude by now.  (For a fleeting moment, he mused if he ever gave Bruce this much frustration, although no doubt Alfred would certainly attest to it.)

After Tim left, Dick hit redial to reassuringly inform Leslie on the observed lack of self-inflicted damage to the patient’s physical condition at least – and preemptive confiscation of means just to be safe – before bidding goodbye with a final beep.  He sighed as he rubbed his neck, hoping his “tough love” hadn’t come off as too deterring. He really wasn’t good with this whole “parenting” thing, considering the primary role model he had for nearly half of his life after early adolescence.

As he picked up the memoir from the floor, he caressed his fingers feather-light over the cover, brushing off collected dust and disenchantment before delicately placing it on a shelf for easy viewing access.  The rest he unceremoniously dumped in the “to toss” pile, purposefully cramming as much trash as he could on top.  …After a few minutes though he fished them out again, rescuing from the base of the rubbish heap with ambivalent reluctance, restoring to the original package and sealing tightly with tape.  They could remain upstairs for now at least – like his ruined Nightwing costume – evidence of old wounds and shattered bonds shuttered behind closed panel; tucked away in the dark recesses of his conscience, lurking and lingering deep in the shadows off-screen.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Two birds of a feather Say that they're always gonna stay together But one's never going to let go of that wire He says that he will But he's just a liar

[mamawasatesttube]

Hi hello,

I was just listening to the timkon playlist, and 1st of all its absolutely amazing, bangers, 10/10,

But like. The emotional damage to go from happy go lucky to the 'rip kon' section was. Ouchy. Which. Fair, but somehow i wasn't prepared for how ouchy.

Anywho, thank you for sharing it with the world, i shall be listening to it way too much and I hope u have an amazing day!

HEHE!!!! yeah i'm very pleased with this transition in it.

"all i want" is specifically for tim in the clone basement btw. "all i want is / and all i need is / to find somebody / i'll find somebody / like you" haha hey hows that grief treating you tim. haha tim? hey tim? ...tim?

BUT YAYYY im happy you like it!!! :D :D i got a good grade in playlist. thank u and i hope YOU have an amazing day too!!!

[bigskydreaming]

Also friendly reminder that Dick never thought that Tim was crazy for refusing to believe Bruce was dead, he thought Tim was stressed and exhausted and not coping well and needed to take a fucking break, and this is all very understandable when you keep in mind that Dick ISN’T an asshole who never pays attention to anyone but himself. That in fact, its the exact opposite, and its BECAUSE Dick pays attention to Tim and worries about stuff like, oh, his mental health and wellbeing, that he was probably thinking about the fact that the LAST time Tim refused to accept a loved one’s death.....

HE TRIED TO CLONE HIS DEAD BFF IN HIS BASEMENT.

Tim, historically, DOES NOT COPE WELL, with loss. Dick, historically, IS VERY AWARE OF THIS.

Dick being concerned about Tim when Tim starts spouting off about how corpse or no corpse, Bruce isn’t really dead, just lost in the timestream (without offering up any evidence at the time of these confrontations).....

like....it is not the betrayal and abandonment of trust that fandom makes it out to be.

Its like, a grieving, stressed and overworked older brother simply being very fucking worried about his little brother and how he’s dealing or NOT dealing with all the things Dick himself is struggling with at the moment.

Also, really wish people would provide context for the ‘Dick suggested Tim go to ARKHAM and Dick locked Jason up in Arkham where he could’ve been right next to the Joker and Dick just walked away and didn’t even care’ shit.

No. That’s not remotely what happened. Arkham BLEW UP in Battle for the Cowl. And one of the first things Dick did as acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises was BUY the contract for the Arkham remodel, because due to being painfully aware of how bad and shitty and totally ineffective it was since he was like, eight....Dick wanted to try and use his new position and resources to make Arkham an ACTUAL working and effective mental health facility. Dick literally went ON SITE in multiple issues, to oversee the remodel in person? He had supervisory access? 

So when he suggested things IN THOSE SAME ISSUES like Tim going to Arkham to take a break, or PULLING STRINGS to make sure that when the GCPD arrested Jason, he was transferred to Arkham instead of Blackgate.....what Dick was ACTUALLY doing was looking out for his little brothers as best he could, DESPITE the fact that they both actively hated him at the moment, by trying to get them help/keep them safe in a location HE COULD ENSURE WAS ACTUALLY SAFE AT THE MOMENT. 

Sanctuary didn’t exist back then, there was no superhero facility for vigilantes who were dealing with enormous shit that would give ANYONE a breakdown, and it wasn’t like a public figure like Tim, well known in BOTH his superhero identity AND his civilian one, could just wander into any mental health facility and say hi, I need a place to have a total meltdown in peace and quiet, thanks. The only real option for that was like....the one mental health facility Dick was pouring his time and resources into MAKING USEFUL and had enough pull at to like....keep him off the books.

Same thing with Jason? Because of the whole...Arkham just BLEW UP last year, all the big name Gotham Rogues....weren’t at Arkham at the time. Joker was NOWHERE NEAR the place the entire time Jason was there, which Dick was very aware of since like....HE WAS THERE. Constantly. It was literally just Dick’s way of keeping Jason locked up where he wouldn’t KEEP TRYING TO KILL THEIR LITTLE BROTHERS, since asking him to stop (something Dick had literally tried multiple times lol) was not effective at all....while at the same time, it kept Jason out of prison population AND didn’t require keeping him in some kinda fucked up isolation cell in a prison just for safekeeping. In fact, after Bruce came back and took over from Dick again, and BRUCE went to visit Jason in Arkham...Jason’s biggest CANON complaint was that he was BORED. He wanted to be transferred to an actual prison because all he was doing here was being giving weekly psych evaluations that he passed in flying colors (again, no forcible drugging or treatment or electroshock therapy or any other Jason whump people have written and blamed Dick for). 

And when Bruce agreed, what did Jason do? He poisoned the prison cafeteria and killed like eighty people with no regard for their level of criminal behavior or whatever, which is shitty Jason writing, and was of course just part of Jason’s plan to escape, which he did with Scarlet’s help, AND Dick and Damian’s when Jason’s escape plans were hijacked by some other bad guys who then kidnapped him. And the second Jason prioritized running away with Scarlet over trying to kill Dick and Damian again, Dick held Damian back from going after them, because ALL HE HAD WANTED ALL ALONG was just a SIGN that Jason might eventually find other things more important than like...trying to kill their little brothers at every opportunity.

LOLOLOL so to recap: Bruce pays no attention to how Tim handles his grief, Tim tries to clone Kon in a basement. Dick worries about how Tim handles his grief and tries to convince him to take a break somewhere safe and private that Dick can make sure nobody knows about....OMG WHAT AN AWFUL HUMAN BEING.

Bruce literally cuts Jason’s throat with a batarang rather than let him kill the Joker, does absolutely nothing to search for Jason as Jason runs around for a couple years occasionally trying to kill his siblings. Dick locks Jason up in a safe and private facility where he can’t kill his siblings but also is safe from people with an axe to grind against the Red Hood, or like, corrupt police brutality.....OMG WHAT AN AWFUL HUMAN BEING.

Like....c’mon people.

(Oh another thing that REALLY bugs me about people not having any context for the Arkham stuff, is the last arc before Bruce’s death, Batman RIP - literally had DICK locked up in Arkham, in a straitjacket, drugged to the gills and foaming at the mouth while the group that kidnapped him to get to Bruce planned to lobotomize him. All those whump stories people write about all the terrible things that might have happened to Jason and/or Tim in Arkham because of Dick....and that were NEVER a possibility...BECAUSE of Dick....yeah, those actually more accurately describe.....what actually happened to Dick. Himself. Like, two months before all of this. I mean, how much do you have to hate Dick Grayson and be convinced he’s just an awful human being in order to believe that after going through that HIMSELF, one of his first acts as Batman would be to thoughtlessly inflict similar treatment on his own brothers, who....he’s literally shown prioritizing at every other turn, to the extent that he’s actively begging Jason to let him help him during Battle for the Cowl even WHILE Jason’s in the process of trying to kill him).