#mine: tim key

[pandaroboto]

The Horne Section TV Show - S01E06

[panelshowsource]

Happy birthday, Tim Key! Born on this day, the 2nd of September, 1976 ♡

[thelastlegs]

so i’ve been binging nmj eps and i think i know whos becoming my favourite dot dot dot

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

and in part 2 of my delirium audio journey - i've finished my first song for her! being a singer/songwriter is a pretty big part of my offline life, and i've been wanting for a while to turn those skills in a more fandom direction, so here's the first of what might hopefully be a full sandman fan album! (at the very least i have too many ideas to fit into a single song, so others are in the works - this one is inspired by the first page of comic lore we get about her; that her real tragedy is being one of the oldest beings in the universe and yet never seen as more than the baby of the family)

lyrics under the cut:

A long long time ago, there was a girl, who was a child, who thought the world would keep on turning every day at the same time

She was joy and she was bright, she was a beacon in the night, and everywhere she went she left the people merry

But time is broken, don't you know? It broke that long long time ago, and so did she, that girl of cheer and youth and fancy

And so they built a shield

So she'd not see

The world she left in misery

And never asked what she was now

Or if she'd become new somehow

I am every thought in you that says to lose yourself or break instead, so why do you think I need protecting?

And from what, it’s all me, but when you look at me you see a helpless little girl

I'm not your little girl

And so that girl went on and on, her pieces came together wrong, she grew in spirals and the world began to fear her

A foolish child lost and alone with nothing there to guide her home, and all she touched, they said, turned broken with no purpose

But see I don't think that's true, ‘cause Brother, I know more than you

I've seen our truth, I've seen our pain, I've seen our future

And so what happens now

I've found the cracks

We’re all a slave to what we lack

Each choice you make, you come undone

And still you laugh as if you've won

I am every storm cloud in the sky, I’m every fish that’s floating by, older than stars, older than skies, a child of Night, a child of Time

But all I’ve learned’s never worth anything at all

They just see little girl

Their endless little girl

Brother think he's scared of me

Sister always busy

Brother talks and talks but rarely sees

Brother never coming back

Sibling thinks it's all an act

Sister sitting, feeling lonely, think she’s fine, no think she’s only waiting for the day it all caves in

And I don’t know where I fit in

And then I break

And then I fall

And I know nothing

Nothing at all

Scared and defenseless 

Maybe they’re right

I’m just a little girl

But I’m the one who put the pieces back

The one who sealed up all the cracks

I’m not as sane

I’m not the same

But then I never needed that

And though I’ve changed I’m all I’ve ever been and more

Come see your little girl

No longer brittle girl

Became a bigger girl

Endlessly

[probably-jam]

My thoughts on the argument thing Martin and Tim had in episode 79 except I'm extremely biased towards Tim /hj

Tim's feelings are 100% valid, he feels lonely he deserves some validation and comfort for it in the way he needs

Martin is just biased because he's in love with Jon. Fight me.

[horneboy]

BIRTHDAY EDIT FOR @maladaptvs <333

[desperatecheesecubes]

Listen I’m all for more trans and otherwise gender divergent characters in dc comics but Kon didn’t want people to call him Superboy because he viewed himself as SuperMAN. He wanted agency and control over his own life through the means of emancipation from the authorities attempting to control him and his growth was learning to both allow himself to be a kid and to mature mentally.

[maladaptvs]

i fucking cried

[thekeytomypie]

decided this needed to be posted in isolation

[benedictconsultingbatch]

.

[flwrkid14]

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

[pandaroboto]

[beardysuits]

Closer to Dad

Tim, a scrawny and pathetic idea of a son wants to get closer to his dad. However, with nothing in common, he finds it will be a lot easier to just take over his uncle to be able to spend some time with his old man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can’t remember the first time I felt like I just didn’t match the expectations set out for me. Honestly it’s been for as long as I can remember. My dad had always wanted for me to be this strong football player who could throw a punch, catch a ball, knock a guy to the ground with ease. But, I couldn’t even finish a season of T ball, delved into fantasy books, and well, ever since I was at least 6, knew that I was gay. 

My dad however, wasn’t too keen on how I had turned out. It wasn’t outright homophobia, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes when I would quit another team sport, or couldn’t do a pull up. I tried to relate to him as best as I could, trying to share my own interests, but I could see his eyes glaze over at every attempt. It seemed like he would find every excuse he could to join my Uncle Rob to go fishing, see a game, etc. Rob lived just down the street, so he would frequently come by to see my dad and watch a game in my dad’s man cave. I joined them a few times, but got bored very quickly every time, and honestly, dad seemed more annoyed to even have me there.

It was after years of trying to just talk to and relate to my dad, and seeing him only want to do that to his brother that I grew to become pretty jealous. I just wanted the relationship that Rob had with him. That was when I started to see how I could possibly achieve that. I always loved fantasy books, but by the time I hit my teenage years, it was magic specifically I wanted to really do research on. I thought I could transform myself into the dream jock son my dad wanted, or force him to like what I liked. But something that really caught my eye was the idea of body possession.

See, Rob was the kind of guy my dad liked to hang around, and the kind of guy I wanted to be. He was muscular, beefy, with a thick dark mustache that just oozed masculinity. My dad was in a similar camp, being a past athlete, but had let himself go a little bit in the past 20 something years. I thought, it would be even harder to make a connection with my dad, than it would be to just take over somebody who already did that for me. I had scoured all over the archive of books I had found in musty old shops until I found not a spell, but a potion which could help me. 

It required a lot of items which I wasn’t sure how to even find, but after months of scouring and plenty of determination, I had brewed it. Now, the only thing left to do was hope that it would work. It was early Sunday morning, before the sun had even risen when I decided to make my move. It was going to be another game day for my dad and Rob’s favorite team, so Rob was sure to come by later, and hopefully, it would be me along for the ride. Rob’s house was only a ten minute walk from ours, and I knew exactly where the hide-a-key was. 

After unlocking the door, I crept up the stairs to Rob’s bedroom, and lucky for me, the door was already wide open. I was stunned to see Rob laid out on the bed, full naked and exposed. I had seen most of Rob’s body before on lake trips or when he got too drunk with my dad. But this… this was amazing. He bushy armpits were on full display, and the treasure trail of hair stemming from his burly chest led to a mountain of fur which rested right above his girth cock. Even soft, it was thick and hung to the side, larger than mine probably could even hope to be. 

I could feel myself licking my lips as I crept in to the bedroom, my heart racing in fear of any noise awakening him. It was once I was standing at the foot of his bed, I let out a large sigh of anxiety and began to strip down. Unfortunately, the potion required for me to be completed naked so I could slither my way into Rob’s body. As I stood there naked, I looked down at myself and saw my lanky frame, practically showcasing each of my ribs, my arms holding barely any substance besides skin and bone. I took out the vial of potion I had brewed and uncorked. Slathering myself with it, I could see my skin becoming slicker and shine. The final bit was my head, as I coated myself in the slime. 

I cleared my eyes, hoping I could see more clearly as I shook the nerves off. Leaning on Rob’s bed, I crept up to his legs and used my finger to find his hole. I figured this would be the easiest form of entry, as the mouth would most likely wake him up too early. I couldn’t even hear Rob’s snoring anymore, only the pounding of my heart as I began to lube up his hole with my middle finger and softly press the tip inside. Rob snorted, freezing me in place. I looked up over his belly rising and falling, seeing his eyes still closed. 

I pushed further my finger sliding in almost effortlessly by the time my knuckle had gone in. Becoming more brave, I tried the same with my index finger, this one going in even easier. I introduced more and more of my fingers into Rob’s hole, stretching it out like it was a rubber band. Rob made no indication that he even noticed the penetration happening to him. Soon enough, my entire hand was inside, and I could feel the warmth of Rob’s body encompass it. I was becoming impatient, wanting to finally get all of myself in Rob. I took my other hand and hooked my fingers round the edge, stretching him out. 

I could see inside of Rob, like he was nothing more inside but a dark, damp cavern for me plunge myself into, and I was ready to dive. This was the part I was most nervous about. I hyped myself up, taking a few short breaths, before shoving the crown of my head in. I held my breath, not sure if I would even be able to breathe until the process was over. Soon enough, my whole head was inside, and I had to find a way to maneuver my hands to slide them in alongside. After a bit of wriggling, my arms up to my shoulders were inside, leaving behind the imagery of my body from the chest down hanging outside of Rob’s hole. 

It was pitch black, and felt just as humid and wet as I had anticipated. I found that with difficulty, I could still breathe somewhat, but clawed myself forward, making sure to not hurt Rob in the process. Without the help of my hands, Rob’s hole had tightened once more and I struggled to pull more of myself inside. Surprisingly, what I found to the hardest part, no pun intended, was getting my own cock inside of him. I had become rock hard at this point, and given how slippery I was, and with little grip to go off of, I had to force it down to slip inside.

Once it had, I had almost cum just from the rush of sensation as Rob’s warmth overtook my dick. The rest of my body should be easy at this point, as I shimmied myself upward until the only draft I could feel left was on the soles of my feet. I had balled myself up trying to make sure all of myself could fit, but once Rob’s hole had clenched once more, I found myself encapsulated by him. It as almost cozy, and I could feel Rob’s heartbeat surrounding myself, still blissfully asleep. I could only assume that the potion had numbed him as well, making him entirely unaware of his nephew lodged deep inside of him. 

I had to work quickly though, as I had no idea how long he would stay asleep. That, and I wanted so desperately to feel his hands become mine, his powerful legs, and his massive cock to slide over mine. I adjusted my feet, squirming them down Rob’s like they were a pair of leggings. Despite how much weight he had on me, it was a tight squeeze getting each toe into place. I could almost feel them lock into place as the individual digits took hold. I did the same for the other leg, and despite not being able to see anything, knew they had taken hold. 

My arms were next, reaching out as best as I could to place each of my scrawny, withering fingers into Rob’s thick ones. Despite being almost half a foot shorter than him, it was like my body had elongated to fit into his perfectly. Thankfully with Rob’s arms raised in relaxation, all I had to stretch up like I was reaching for a pull up bar. My chest locked into place shortly after and all that was left was my head. I said goodbye to my old self, not sure how long I would be staying inside of Rob, and pushed my head upwards, feeling a tightness as his neck squeezed around me. 

I felt my scalp reach his, but it was like a barrier blocked my face when I tried to push it forward. After maneuvering around a bit, I found what felt like the inside of Rob’s nose, and pushed mine into it. It was easy to find the spots at which his eyes were, but my mouth struggled. I could feel something thick in front of my mouth and I used my tongue to feel it out, as no other part of my body could be used anymore. It was then I realized it was Rob’s tongue stopping me. I tried to position it the same way I had with the other limbs and found it was almost like a glove. I slipped my tongue inside of it, like my own was using Rob’s as a sock. 

The moment the tip of my tongue reached his, it was like my body wasn’t mine anymore. Rather, Rob’s was. My first instinct was to open my eyes, and upon doing so, I was looking up at his bedroom ceiling. (NSFW Version Here)

I looked around without moving a muscle and took in the view. There was no way this was real, right? I mean, I literally slathered myself into Rob….? I moved my arms, finding them almost falling in a rush with the added weight I wasn’t used to. I forced them up, feeling my chest and tracing my fingers through the dense forrest of hair Rob had proudly shown off so many times before. 

“Whoa…” I uttered, before slapping one of my hands over my new mouth. I sounded just like Rob! I cleared my throat and tried again.

“Testing, testing,” I spoke, the familiar baritone of Rob’s voice rumbling in my throat. 

“Holy shiiiiitttt….” I hissed, loving the sound, manipulating Rob to say whatever I wanted. It was so fucking hot, forcing him to my will. I could feel my dick pulsing in my… stomach? I glanced down and practically jumped off the bed when I saw that Rob’s cock was still limp to the side, while the imprint of a throbbing cock was pushed against my stomach. 

“What the fuck!” I yelled out, my hand shaking as I reached down and poked at it. The moment my finger touched the imprint, I felt a shiver of pleasure mix with the panic as it coursed through me. That was definitely my dick still not joined with Rob’s. Fuck me! What do I even do about that. I took a few deep breaths, trying not to let the panic overtake me. I took a trembling hand, and grabbed my cock, seeing if I could move it. Sure enough, it still slide around, like it was inside of me just below the skin. 

Cautiously, I pushed it downwards, grabbing Rob’s dick with my other hand. Okay, I had practiced putting on condoms before when bored, how much different could this be? I pushed my own dick downward and guided it through to the base of Rob’s. After poking around it, I found what felt like an opening and pushing it forward. My own bulge pushed through Rob’s, forcing it to harden and grow. It felt fucking amazing, like I was…. I don’t know, fucking myself? 

After pushing my dick as far as I could, Rob’s cock was at full mast, and instinctively I knew they had assimilated. It was a rush of ecstasy as I I could see Rob’s dick at full mast, even thicker and longer than I could have ever dreamed. I was gripping it with his, I mean, my name hands. It was beat red, and what I assumed was my precut dribbling down the shaft. I pumped my hand up and down, moaning to myself, getting loader with each stroke. 

Holy shit I was jerking off as Rob! I sat up to get a better look at myself and noticed the wall mirror across the bed from me. I had a front row view of Rob as he looked himself in the eye and pumped his fully erect dick. In the reflection, I could see a glistening around his hole. Some of the potion must have still been left behind. I used my other hand to grab a small glob of it and lathered up my dick. It was so fucking slick and my hands glided over it. I felt phenomenal, stroking my dick, pinching at my new nipples, and panting at myself. I stuck my tongue out and begged with my eyes, asking to please let myself cum. 

I reached the end, and felt a blast of cum rush out from my new balls and sprayed myself in a thick coating which must have been a combination of Rob’s and mine. It was like I was lathered up all over again as I let my hand drop to my side and admired the view of my once strong armed and militant uncle lay there drenched in his own cum. I rested my head back and sighed in relief, loving the feeling of the new me. I hoped that I could stay like this forever. 

The possession must have taken longer than I realized though, as the sunrise was almost complete, the beams of sunlight making me shine even more. I stood up, almost falling over with my new weight. It was going to take some getting used to. Rob had left a towel by the side of his bed, and I wiped myself off, not bothering to shower. I was going to have plenty of time with this body for that later. I walked over to the pile of clothes I had ditched when I got here and the satchel I left behind. In it was a bright pink jockstrap with a silky finish in the pouch. 

When I knew I was going to possess Rob, I made sure to buy this for myself in what I hoped was the right size. I stepped in, almost falling over once again, and slid the pouch over my knew balls. It fit perfectly, a the silky finish of the fabric was like a second, or rather third, skin. I stood in front of the mirror once more and admired my body, flexing for myself, sniffing my new armpits, and jangling my bulge. I had to leave for my dad’s place here in a bit, so I found a pair of jeans Rob probably never washes, and a jersey of his and my dad’s favorite team. After I had dressed myself, I did one more look over in the mirror. 

“Hey Jim, how’s my lil bro doing?” I asked, trying to imitate Rob to the best of my ability. That part was going to be rather difficult, but I think I’d manage. With one final wink, I picked up Rob’s keys and laughed my way out the door. 

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— obscured vision —

Warnings: angst, stalking, gun violence, blood, mentions of a fight, illusions of death

Summary: Jason can’t see anything but you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.4k

A/N: I wanted it out, so here you are! Enjoy ;)

Jason’s breath turned into vapor in the winter air, his boots slushing and crunching through the wet snow. He barely suppressed a groan as he took another step up, his stitched abdomen protesting with each jarring movement on the stairs.

Taking the fire escape had been a stupid idea, but he’d forgotten his keys and knew the window would be cracked open. His face was hidden beneath his hoodie, his red helmet stuffed in his backpack. A bruised face unhidden by makeup and a hoodie over his head would have to do tonight.

As he tugged the window upward, its stubborn wheels jammed halfway, as usual. He let out a frustrated growl, resting his forehead against the cold glass as his breath fogged it, despite his usual distaste for condensation. His breaths came shallow, each one catching on his aching side, while the city buzzed below him.

His shoulders sagged as he turned, slipping off his backpack and tossing it through the narrow gap with a careless flick. Leaning back against the now wet glass, he closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds drift around him: a distant siren, a muted shout, the rustle of wind down the alley.

He slid down onto the gritty metal of the fire escape, the rough brick behind him biting into his jacket. He didn’t care. Bruce had been slipping too much cash into his account each month anyway; he could replace any jacket. His mind idly wondered what the others used theirs for.

Between Dick, Tim, and Damian, he was certain he was the only one who knew what it was like to have empty pockets and a cold room as a kid.

He opened his eyes. The alley below was cloaked in shadows, save for the occasional beam of a passing headlight catching on the dumpster. He kept his eyes trained there, letting his head sink back against the sill, neck aching with the effort. He let his gaze drift up at last, tracing the clouds rolling thickly over Gotham’s sky.

He exhaled, and the dampness in the air clung to his face.

It had rained all evening. The snow that everyone had eagerly enjoyed yesterday had turned into slush as it always did. He had lived in Gotham for his whole life—not including the five years he was dead or training with the League of Assassins.

This was how winter had always started. He had never enjoyed the transition from fall to winter, but the lovely winter was worth it. 

He shivered as the first icy droplet hit his cheek, reminding him he needed to get inside before he was soaked. Gripping the edge of the window, he braced himself, shoving the glass upward with a strained grunt.

The chill of the window stung his hands as he scrambled through, landing hard on his couch. The throbbing in his side flared, and he bit back a curse, ignoring the muddy tracks he’d left across the carpet.

“Todd,” a familiar voice called from his kitchen. 

Jason groaned, head turning just enough to gaze into the dark kitchen. He could make out the faint outline of his youngest brother, Damian, from the small light of the numbers on the stove. “Demon,” he replied smoothly, keeping his tone measured. Every bit of him wanted to tell Damian to leave his place, but there was no fight in him left tonight. “What do you want?”

“Father’s having one of those… nights,” Damian explained with his arms still crossed. Jason noted the kid’s barely visible flinch. If Jason squinted, he could make out the shape of a backpack on Damian’s back. “I needed a place to stay.”

“And you chose mine over Dick’s?” Jason asked with one of his eyebrows raised. It was rare for Tim or Damian to crash at his apartment rather than Dick’s for when Bruce was having one of those bad nights where he kept snapping at them and Alfred.

The last time Tim had crashed at his, it was because Dick was off-planet. 

Damian managed a shrug as he walked closer. “I needed someone quiet.” Damian muttered, barely audible. But Jason heard it, even over the hum of his refrigerator. Damian’s hand reached out and he flicked the living room light on swiftly, watching with an amused smirk as Jason squinted against the sudden harsh lighting. 

“Turn that off, brat,” Jason grumbled out, voice rumbling through the somewhat area. Damian, in his usual fashion, ignored Jason. He looked around the apartment, nose wrinkling as he took in the mess; laundry piles, books, take out bags, anything to everything was lying around. 

“You’re getting tardy, Todd.” Damian’s nose wrinkled a bit more as his eyes snagged on the muddy footprints Jason had just tracked in. He kicked over a pile of laundry mercilessly. Damian’s eyes darted to Jason’s bedroom door and then back to Jason. “Where’s Y/N?” 

Jason’s chest tightened, the room seeming colder than before. He averted his gaze, shoulders slumping as he leaned back into the couch cushions. Just hearing your name reopened the wound he’d been trying to bury. Only a week since the fight, yet it felt like months. Every day was a hollow routine, made worse by your absence.

“She’s not here right now,” Jason muttered out, the words like bile on his tongue. He didn’t meet Damian’s gaze as he spoke. He knew what Damian would say if he knew why you weren’t here. 

Damian crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “What did you do, Todd?” 

Jason could feel the judgement radiating from the younger teen. His own mind was spewing a bunch of nonsense about how he didn’t deserve you and it’d be better if he had let you go for good. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see your clothes in his closet. Maybe then the second toothbrush in the bathroom wouldn’t be so glaringly vibrant. Maybe then he could ignore the judgement on Damian’s face. 

“Nothing,” Jason grumbled, his eyes cast on the mud tracks. “I didn’t—”

“Bullshit, Todd.” Damian’s voice was just as harsh as Jason thought it would be. “She couldn’t have just up and left you.” That was the harder truth to swallow for him. The fact that if he hadn’t messed up, you would have been here. You probably would have already fed and tucked Damian into the spare bedroom before waiting out here for him. 

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Demon—”

“As much as we all hate to admit it, she loves you for a reason I don’t understand.”

“Damian,” Jason cut in harshly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone, okay?”

Damian’s face turned harder, frown deepening. “But—”

“I said, shut up.” Jason’s words were sharp as glass, each syllable flaring the ache in his side. He inhaled deeply, willing himself not to think about you, about your absence that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment.

He’d even used your shampoo this morning, clinging to the fading scent. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay grounded. He inhaled deeply, trying not to think about you or the fact that you weren’t here, sleeping in his bed, in his room. 

Damian glared back, silence filling the air between them. Finally, with a curt nod, he muttered, “Goodnight, Todd.”

Jason offered a brief nod in return, his throat tight. Damian disappeared into the guest room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Alone again, Jason let his head fall back against the couch, eyes stinging under the bright lights. He didn’t bother turning them off, didn’t bother kicking off his boots.

Without you there, urging him to get up or scolding him for the mess, he sank deeper into the quiet, heavy ache of the night, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he told himself the sting was only from the light.

The faint buzz from his pocket tugged him back to the present, cutting through the haze of his thoughts like a blade. He sighed, a soft curse slipping past his lips as he fumbled for the phone. If it was Tim asking for a place to crash again, he might just let it ring out.

But as his eyes flicked to the screen, the air shifted in his lungs. Your face—peeking over a book in the picture he’d taken months ago—stared back at him. His hand stilled, heart lurching in a way that made his ribs ache. His thumb moved on instinct, swiping to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice betraying him with a crack. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” The way the question splintered in his throat made him wince. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and the ache of your absence pressed heavier than the bruises littering his body.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself steady, to not let the desperation seep through. But all he could think about now was how good it would feel to hear you say his name again, soft and familiar. 

“Jason,” you breathed. The sound of your voice over the line sent a wave of relief and something sharper through him. There was strain beneath it, though—like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. His shoulders stiffened, the dull burn of his battered muscles forgotten as he sat straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” The question came low and urgent, his tone dipping into something darker. His hand tightened on the phone as he heard the hesitation in your next breath. 

“I think… someone’s following me,” you whispered. The tremor in your voice tightened his chest, his pulse thudding harder. In the background, the sharp crackle of a passing vehicle echoed through the phone, every sound amplified in his ears. 

Jason stood, ignoring the protest of his battered body. His stitches pulled, a faint sting blooming at his side, but he didn’t care. He crouched to grab his backpack, the weight of his helmet inside grounding him as the panic in your voice lingered in his ears. 

“Where are you?” His words came quick, the edges rougher than he intended. His heartbeat roared, drowning out everything else. Screw logistics. Screw the rest he’d planned tonight or the fact that Damian would have to hunt him down if he woke up. None of that mattered. Not when you were out there alone, afraid. 

You rattled off a street intersection near your campus he knew very well. He could practically smell the sweet scent of sugar and the bitter taste of coffee from the cafe near where you were. He had picked you up so many times before for this one class.

He cursed himself mentally as he tried to shake the guilt of not being there right now, regardless of the fact that you two had fought. You were his girl. 

He strode to the window, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the glass as if sheer will could bridge the distance between you. “Stay on the phone with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone softer but no less intense. “I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” came your soft reply, fear embedded into the one word. He let out a deep breath as he pushed open the window, ignoring the burning sensation that made his teeth clench. The cool night air hit Jason like a slap as he swung himself onto the fire escape, his movements swift despite the dull fire in his muscles. The phone stayed pressed to his ear, your breathing on the other end the only thing grounding him. 

He cursed himself for every moment he’d wasted, every second he wasn’t already there.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice steadier now, though his body was alight with adrenaline. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a hitch in your breath, a telltale sign of you trying to hold it together. It broke something deep inside him. His chest ached again. 

“Good. Keep talking to me,” he said as he climbed down, his boots landing with a soft thud on the alley pavement. His bike wasn’t far. He broke into a jog, ignoring the way his body protested, his stitches pulling tight beneath his jacket. “What do you see? Anyone around?” 

“No, just... cars parked on the street. A few lights on in the apartments above the shops. It’s quiet,” you said, your voice trembling. He heard the little exhale you let out, evidently overwhelmed and scared. He could almost imagine you, shoulders curling in and phone pressed to your ear with that little pinch in your brows. 

Jason grit his teeth, his free hand curling into a fist. He hated this—the vulnerability in your tone, the fear lacing every word. You weren’t supposed to sound like this. Not his girl. Not because someone was too stupid to know who they were messing with. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer as he reached his bike. He stuffed his hoodie into the bag, the red bat symbol now on display. He yanked the red helmet free from his bag, tossing it on with practiced ease. “Just keep walking, sweetheart. I’m right behind you.”

The lie slipped out so easily he almost believed it himself. But you didn’t call him on it. Instead, you exhaled shakily again, the sound like static in his ear. 

“Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the distant hum of an engine passing you. He closed his eyes briefly at the slight comfort you saying his name brought him. 

“I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady and sure even as his heartbeat thundered. He started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there soon.” 

The streets of Gotham blurred past him as he sped through the city, the cold wind biting at his skin. Every turn brought him closer, but it wasn’t fast enough. He knew that intersection—the alleyways, the blind corners, the spots where someone could lurk unseen. He was thinking in a way he hadn’t done since Damian was kidnapped by his grandfather. All the ways he could protect you, hold you near him when he reached you. 

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone firmer now. “Do you have the gun I gave you?” His stomach lurched as he asked the question, the thought of you needing it pushing bile into his throat. He had given it to you, but he had also mentioned that you would never need to use it.

Now he was left contemplating his promise to you. The promises of protection, of caring, of loving you falling hollow. 

There was a beat of silence on the line, and Jason’s grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles whitening. The roar of the bike’s engine couldn’t drown out the pounding in his ears as he waited for your answer.

“Yes,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “It’s in my bag.” Relief warred with something darker in his chest. He was glad you had it, but the fact you might need it made his stomach churn. He hated this—hated that he couldn’t reach through the phone and pull you into his arms, hated the way his promises felt like empty echoes now. 

“Good,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even as he leaned into a sharp turn, the tires skidding slightly on the slick Gotham streets. “Keep it close, sweetheart, but don’t touch it unless you have to. Do you understand?” The rain started pouring down a bit faster. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word fragile and uncertain, but he clung to it like a lifeline. 

The city blurred past him—neon lights bleeding into shadows, the cold air slicing against his exposed skin. He weaved between cars, reckless but controlled, every second bringing him closer. But it still felt like miles too far. Too far from you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have called you. I just—I didn’t know who else—”

“Hey,” he cut you off sharply, the bike screeching to a halt for a moment as he waited for a light to change. When they didn’t change a second later, he ran the red lights. He didn’t care about the looks he got from passing drivers, the chaos of the city fading into the background. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for calling me. You did the right thing, okay? You call me every damn time, no matter what.” 

You didn’t respond, but he could hear the faint hitch in your breathing, the sound tightening something deep inside him. He softened his tone, the rough edges smoothing out.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I’m yours. You get that? Doesn’t matter what we’ve said or what’s happened. You call me, I come running. Every time. No questions. No hesitations.” 

A few moments passed in just laboured and shaky breaths. “I’m almost there,” he said, the words coming out like a promise. And this time, he’d keep it. 

The rain intensified, turning the streets into slick ribbons of black and gold. Jason’s tires kicked up sprays of water as he pushed the bike harder, weaving through the chaotic Gotham traffic like a man possessed. The world outside the phone call didn’t exist—only you, your shaky breaths and the distance he was tearing apart to get to you.

He didn’t care that he would most likely wake up with a dozen missed calls from Bruce to reprimand his behaviour in public as Red Hood. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

“Tell me what’s around you now,” he demanded, his voice steady but lined with urgency. He could see the tallest building of your campus now, the red lights dim in the neon signs surrounding it. 

“Um...” Your breath hitched again, the sound rattling through his chest. “I just passed the café. I can see the bookstore across the street. There’s... there’s an alley up ahead. Jason, I—”

“Don’t go near it,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening. He could picture the intersection perfectly now—the dim street lights barely cutting through the fog of rain, the shadows pooling in places no one should walk alone. “Stay in the light, sweetheart. Keep moving, but don’t rush. Just act natural, okay?” 

​​“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the faint sound of your steps echoing faintly through the phone. The roar of his bike echoed off the buildings as he turned onto your street, his heart pounding with every beat that he wasn’t by your side. He could see the café sign now, its neon glow muted by the rain. 

“I see the café,” you said, your voice so soft he almost missed it.

“I see it too,” Jason replied, relief flooding his tone as he spotted you a few paces ahead. Your figure was small under the weight of the storm, your bag clutched tightly at your side. He could see the trench coat you were wearing and the half-broken umbrella in your hands. 

But he wasn’t the only one who’d spotted you. His eyes locked on a shadow moving behind you, too deliberate to be a casual passerby. The figure lingered near the edge of the light, pacing a little too perfectly with your steps. 

Jason’s jaw clenched, his vision tunneling. “Sweetheart, don’t look back,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Just keep walking toward the bookstore. I’m right behind you now.”

You hesitated, your steps faltering slightly. “Jason—”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone firm but pleading. “I’ve got you.”

He cut the engine and dismounted the bike in one fluid motion, his boots splashing onto the wet pavement. The rain poured around him, soaking through his jacket, but he didn’t feel it. His focus was locked on the man trailing you.

Jason’s hand hovered near his holster, his movements smooth and deliberate as he closed the distance between him and the stranger. The man was too preoccupied with you to notice the Red Hood stalking behind him, and Jason intended to keep it that way—until it was too late.

Jason moved with the precision of a predator, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. The man trailing you was oblivious to his approach until it was too late. In one swift, silent motion, Jason’s arm locked around the stranger’s neck, earning a quick struggle before the man managed to kick out of his grasp. 

Jason’s eyes flared as he threw a punch. The man staggered back, his hand shooting for his waistband, but Jason was already on him. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the nearby wall, the impact rattling the alley. 

Jason felt a faint shift in the air—a movement too fast, too sharp to be ignored. He spun, his instincts screaming just as a second man emerged from the shadows, his gun raised and aimed straight at Jason’s chest. The man behind Jason kicked his knee, effectively knocking Jason to his knees. 

Jason’s breath left him in a sharp hiss as the kick collided with his knee, sending a jolt of pain through his leg. He stumbled but caught himself, barely, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. His eyes locked onto the gun aimed at his chest, the barrel glinting in the dim light of the alley. His eyes flickered between the gun and the man. The man from behind cackled. 

The gunman took a step closer, the cold muzzle pressing against the red bat symbol on his chest. “Red Hood. Saving pretty girls, huh? Thought you used to be above all that.” 

Jason’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling in preparation, but the pain in his knee was a constant reminder that he was in no position to fight back easily. The gunman’s words cut through the night, a taunt designed to throw him off balance. But Jason wasn’t going to let that happen. Not tonight.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Jason said, his voice low, threatening, as he forced his back a little straighter, despite the throbbing pain. His fingers twitched at his side, inching closer to his own gun.

Just as the gunman took another step, a rustle from the other side of the alley caught Jason’s attention. A flash of movement, a shadow that wasn’t there before. It was enough to shift the gunman’s focus, just for a split second. That was all it took. Before the gunman could react, a loud crack echoed in the alley. The force of the shot sent the man reeling back, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. 

Jason swiveled around, kicking out the man’s legs from him and then knocking him out. Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting to the source of the shot. There you were, just an arm’s length away now. Coming to a stop in the alley, your hand shaking slightly as you lowered the gun, still aimed in the direction of the man who had just fallen. Your chest heaved as you stared at the limp body, the weight of what you had just done settling over you. 

Jason’s chest tightened, the relief of survival and the shock of what had just happened colliding in a heavy rush. He had no words at first—only a stunned silence that rang louder than any sound in the night. His knees still were firmly pressing down onto the pavement. His hands reached for the gun, gently pulling it from your grasp and sliding it into an empty holster. He held your hand a bit tighter. 

His hand pulled you lower, closer, tugging until there was barely an inch left between the two of you. His gaze left the body on the wet cement, falling upon your wet hair and trailing down your face slowly to your lips. His chest heaved with exertion against yours. His eyes snapped up to yours, watching you keep your gaze on the body. One gloved hand pulled the back of your neck to move your head to face him. He ducked his head to block the sight of the body. 

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes trying to snap you out of the trance you were in. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, the rough material of his leather doing nothing to hide the heat emitting from the two of you. 

The action seemed to break your trance, wide and fearful eyes meeting his through his helmet. Your hands came up to deftly take it off, fingers more steady than your panicked breathing. He let you take it off, silently letting you raise it above his head and pull it away from his face. A sob tore out of your lips just as his gaze met yours. 

“Sweetheart.” 

Jason��s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, his own breath catching in his throat. He had never seen you like this—so vulnerable, so shaken by what you had just done. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with the weight of the moment. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, searched his face for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just some kind of grounding.

He gently reached for your trembling hands, cupping them in his own, his gloved fingers brushing over your skin in a pattern. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, but soft. “You did what you had to do.” 

But you shook your head, your breath still ragged as you took in the scene around you. The gunman, still lying motionless, the echoes of the gunshot ringing in your ears. It had all happened so fast—too fast for you to fully process. He swallowed thickly, not caring about the fact that he was still in costume without his helmet on with you in an alleyway. 

Instead, he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as he sought to anchor you. “Look at me,” he urged again, his voice low and steady, trying to cut through the whirlwind of your thoughts. He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. It was a gentle way forcing your eyes away from the body, blocking all of your sight of the body on the pavement. 

His eerily green eyes stared into your teary ones. 

Your hands, still trembling, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his suit as if it was the only thing holding you together. The silence between you both stretched, heavy with everything unsaid, everything unprocessed. But his presence, his touch, was grounding you, even if it didn’t take away the storm inside you. 

Slowly, you met his eyes, your breathing steadier now. The pain in your chest didn’t fade, but it became something more bearable, something you could hold onto.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, the words faltering at the edges.

Jason’s eyes softened, his hand gently pulling you even closer. “You didn’t have a choice, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me. You saved us.” 

Jason cradled your head and pulled your face into the crook of his neck. His eyes darted to the limp body, studying it for a moment before he noticed the slight movement of his chest. He kissed your hair. “He’s alive, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your temple, dropping another kiss, lips lingering. 

Your body stiffened, but Jason’s arms only tightened around you, offering comfort in the midst of your confusion and guilt. You could feel his heartbeat under your ear, steady and reassuring, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair. It was grounding, but the overwhelming emotions still churned inside of you like a storm. 

“Alive,” you repeated, your voice faint and distant as you pulled back just enough to look at him. The weight of the word felt heavier than it should have, the knowledge that the danger wasn’t fully over, that the man you had just shot was still breathing.

Jason’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “Yeah. But you did what you had to do. You protected yourself. You protected me.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still gripping the front of his suit like a lifeline, as if the very fabric of him was the only thing keeping you grounded in reality. The thoughts were swirling too fast, too loud in your head. You weren’t sure how to process it all—the gunshot, the blood, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins.

Jason seemed to sense your inner turmoil, his hand moving down your back in a slow, calming motion, like he was trying to steady you, keep you from slipping. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing the top of your head again. “We’re okay.” 

But you weren’t so sure. Everything felt wrong. You had just almost taken someone’s life, even if it had been in self-defense. Your stomach churned with nausea, and you clung to Jason’s chest, hiding your face against him, letting his presence shield you from the reality of the situation. 

You steadied your breathing and looked up at him, ignoring the urge to look back at the limp bodies. “What—what’re we supposed to do now?” 

Jason’s expression softened further, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he saw the fear still clouding your gaze. He gently tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes, trying to anchor you in the present moment. “First thing’s first,” he said quietly, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “We get you out of here.” 

His hand didn’t leave your chin, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, soothing motions. But there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his movements. He was calculating, already thinking several steps ahead, but he made sure you felt none of it. His focus was entirely on you now. 

“The police’ll show up soon,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. “I’ll tell Oracle—Barbara what happened. She’ll handle it.” He raked his hand through your hair, staring down at you in concern. 

You nodded, still unsure, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The reality of the situation was setting in—the cold, harsh aftermath of your actions. You hadn’t just fired a weapon; you’d taken control of a life. Even if it was in self-defense, the gravity of that decision was heavier than any physical injury.

“We can’t be here when they do. We don’t need to explain any of this to them. Not tonight.” He glanced toward the fallen man, his jaw tightening. 

“What about him?” you asked, your voice small, trembling, though you immediately regretted it. The man you’d shot, his life still hanging by a thread. His future, whatever that was now, was out of your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the guilt crawling under your skin.

Jason's eyes darkened slightly at your question, but his expression remained controlled, calm. He didn't immediately answer, his gaze lingering on the fallen man for a moment before he looked back at you. The faintest of sighs escaped his lips, but his tone was resolute. “I’ll take care of him,” he said quietly. “He won’t be a threat to us. Not again.” 

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t flinch away from him. Jason’s world was one of calculated decisions, harsh realities, and necessary actions. You’d seen glimpses of that before—the man who operated in shadows, whose choices often weighed heavy, but always with purpose. 

Your heart still raced, the guilt and uncertainty gnawing at you, but you forced yourself to breathe steadily, pushing the questions from your mind for now. The sound of distant sirens began to echo through the alley, too close for comfort, and Jason’s grip on you tightened just a fraction. 

He gave you a small, reassuring nod. “We need to move. Now.” Without waiting for another word, Jason gently pulled you with him, leading you further down the alley. The sounds of the night seemed muffled, your mind still focused on the chaos you’d just left behind. But with each step you took away from the scene, the weight of the situation shifted.

You weren’t in control of it—not yet, not fully—but Jason was, and for now, that was enough.

[incorrectbatfam]

It's movie night but they can't use the home cinema, what do they do?

[week 1]

Bruce: Thanks for letting us use your place for movie night while we fix that leak at home.

Dick: No problem. Besides, I have plenty of snacks and the director's cut of Dumbo.

Everyone: *gathers around*

Dick: *puts on the movie*

~ 10 minutes in ~

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Tim: My crime alert's going off.

Harper: Mine too.

Duke: Must be big.

Bruce: Suit up and rendezvous in three.

Dick: *sighs and pauses the movie*

Dick: Can't get one night in this damn city.

———————

[week 2]

Tim: Steph, why are we at a karaoke lounge?

Steph: I know the owner's cousin's hairdresser's dog walker's sister's girlfriend and I convinced them to let us use the party room. Don't worry, it's just like a TV screen.

Steph: *puts on Pitch Perfect*

Steph: Ooh, I love this part.

Steph: *grabs a mic and starts singing*

Everyone:

Damian: *stuffs napkins in his ears*

———————

[week 3]

Jason: Since we decided on Pride and Prejudice, I thought I could play it at my safehouse.

Dick: Sweet, thanks!

Jason: *unlocks the door*

Dick: *tries to step in*

Jason: *stops him*

Jason: I said I could play it. I never said you could come in. I don't want your you-ness all over my new stuff.

Bruce: Jason, be reasonable.

Harper: Yeah, you got this junk off the side of the road.

Jason: My junk, my rules.

Tim: Then what are we supposed to do?

Jason: Fire escape's around the back. You'll get a decent glance.

~ 20 minutes later ~

Dick: *leans his head in to hear better*

Jason: My air, my rules.

Jason: *closes the window*

———————

[week 4]

Bruce: Cass, it's your turn. Got the movie?

Cass: *nods and plays Rambo on her computer*

Barbara: Uh, why isn't there any sound?

Cass: Volume button broke. Just read lips.

Jason: Kinda hard to do that with the brightness at zero. Did that stop working too?

Duke: Looks fine to me.

Jason: Shut up, Flashlight.

———————

[week 5]

Tim: I brought my entire Star Wars collection.

Bruce, dodging a space laser: Not the time.

Tim: Okay.

Bruce: *punches an alien robot*

Tim: How about now?

———————

[week 6]

Barbara: Sorry I got a cold, but at least we can still have movie night on Zoom. I torrented a copy of The Matrix.

Barbara: *shares her screen*

*movie plays*

Barbara: *leaves herself unmuted*

Barbara: *starts crinkling Sun Chips*

———————

[week 7]

Everyone: *crowd around Damian's phone watching My Neighbor Totoro*

Bette: Why is your phone so small?

Damian: I have tiny hands.

———————

[week 8]

Harper: Because we're watching Cars this week, I thought I could put together an all-immersive experience.

Bruce: BY LOCKING US IN A RUNAWAY SEMI-TRUCK?!?

———————

[week 9]

Duke: I called this company and since we're heroes, they're letting us use their electronic billboard for this week's movie at a huge discount. Kill Bill should be coming on right about...

*movie starts playing*

Jason: Not bad, Narrows.

*billboard switches to an ad*

———————

[week 10]

Carrie: Since Steamboat Willie is now public domain, I thought we could do something different tonight.

Carrie: *pulls out a flipbook*

———————

[week 11]

Everyone: *watching Love, Simon in a dark living room*

*lights flick on*

Apollo and Midnighter: *standing there in date night outfits*

Steph: Um, Cullen, who are these guys?

Cullen: *laughs nervously*

Cullen: Everyone, meet Apollo and Midnighter. They're kinda-sorta my gay uncles and we're kinda-sorta in their apartment and I kinda-sorta didn't expect them to come back early.

Midnighter: Remind me why we gave you a spare key?

———————

[week 12]

Kate: *sets up a projector and plays Glass Onion*

Bruce: Kate, this is a crime scene.

Kate: The fun part's already done, let Gordon do cleanup this time.

———————

[week 13]

Alfred: Back in my day, we did not rely on scrupulous use of technology. Which is why I propose watching a classic Sherlock Holmes tale on a classic instrument.

Alfred: *pulls out a zoetrope*

Steph: Anyone know what that is?

Dick: Not a clue.

———————

[week 14]

Luke: Nothing like a good ol' drive-in movie. Great idea, Helena.

Helena: I know, and the Godfather is perfect for this.

*Batmobile crashes through the screen*

Steph: Sorry we're late.

Duke: I'm still figuring out the PRINDL.

———————

[week 15]

*TV playing the Aristocats*

Bruce, trying to flirt: I like what you've done with the curtains.

Selina: Thanks, but it was Snowball's after-dinner surprise.

*TV blinks off*

Tim: Hey, what gives?

Selina: *takes a chewed-up cord out of a cat's mouth*

Selina, sighing: This is why I married rich.

———————

[week 16]

Luke: May I present the ultimate Snakes On A Plane drone show!

*phone rings*

Luke: Hello? ... Yes, this is he. ... Mhm. ... Yep. ... Okay.

Luke: Never mind, the FAA says I can't.

———————

[week 17]

Everyone: *watching Legally Blonde at Bette's place*

*dogs barking*

*sirens*

*loud music*

*car honk*

*neighbors shouting*

Bette: Sorry, we have thin walls.

Bruce, shrugging: Eh, still not as bad as HOA.

———————

[week 18]

Damian: Where is movie night this time, Father?

Barbara: My money's on another crime scene.

Bruce: Actually, I rented out the theater just for us and they're playing a special edition of The Mark of Zorro. Everyone got their snacks?

Duke: Popcorn, check.

Cass: Licorice, check.

Steph: M&Ms are obviously the right answer by the way.

Dick: I got a slushee.

Jason: I got the slushee machine.

Bruce: Alright then, take your seats. The movie's about to begin.

*movie plays*

*Rogues break in, make a mess, and leave*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: I miss my parents.

[horneboy]

keysie edit to please the people 💗