#plot snippet

[the-bio-ska]

Conduction on Tour(Tentative Title)

This should have been Lenox’s dream job. A big paying job that carried with it a lot of clout that could really help build up her reputation. A massive step up from fighting in underground cage matches and bouncer gigs in order to help provide for her two younger siblings, where she obtained the horrible nickname the Flying Bear. 

Lenox Xing-Balam is a cambion, a humanoid who has genealogy with demons of the Ars Goetia. Her lineage, as her last name suggested, was that of Balam. The bear part of the implication, giving her bear ears, or at least orange hairy human ears to match her hair. Cambion have a tendency to be villainized due to having demonic origins. Something Lenox sorely recalls after she mutated during the grazing bang. Due to her lineage and being so young when the mutation occurred, she grew fast and by the time she was a teenager she was the height of some adult men.

The job Lenox has now is guarding the pop star Brittany DeBoin, a starlet who despite being around for less than 3 years was already approaching a level of fame it would have taken her predecessors years to achieve. Her music was described by music critics as the odd whimsy of Kate Bush, the chunky layered production of Arca and the pop sensibilities of Kylie Mignoa. To her fans, she was an eclectic, dynamic performer who had not tried to hide from her being influenced by these artists. 

Others saw her as a hodgepodge, with too many ideas and influences muddling her style down. Brittany came from money as well. Not helped that she threw her allegiance behind Cernunos, a god who has had a storied past of sexual deviance.

In other words, she was polarizing.

Not only that, during this trip her two siblings would be staying at a highly regarded and most importantly, highly guarded, boarding school that was all expense paid and had the resources to help her brother Garcia, who has physical disabilities. Helped that she knew one of the seniors at the Academy who would keep an eye on her siblings for her. The cambion could at least guarantee that her siblings would be ok.

Everything should be flawless.

“Lenny!” A high, haughty voice cut through Lenox’s concentration. Not helped by the voice calling her by a nickname she does not like.

“Yes Ms. DeBoin.” Patient and proper. Not unlike a butler that the other voice seemed to think Lenox is.

A tall woman struts up to the woman before her. She is a pale, slim thing with white hair that went to her neck. Wearing jeans and a long sleeve blouse that left her navel exposed, showing her toned stomach. While she was taller than most normal people, Lenox still managed to dwarf her by at least a head’s height. On her face are rectangular sunglasses, meant to provide some kind of mystique. On the backs of her hands were two tattoos of roses. One blue on her right, and a red on her left.

She lowers the sunglasses, so her eyes can be seen by the cambion. Brittany has striking golden eyes with green scales under her eyelids. “Rooms are already set up. You are good to sleep on the sofa. You will have to carry some of my bags down when we leave in two days.”

Lenox furrows her brow. This kind of work is beneath her, guarding the envoy of Cernunnos is already a stressful task. “Why can’t you have the hotel staff bring them down?” Lenox folds her arms and shoots Brittany a look of impatience.

Focusing on her bodyguard’s muscular arms, a smug smile forms. She is sizing her up, thinking of the next way to test her patience. “Some of the staff dropped a few of my bags on the way up here. Some of my fragile things dad bought me.”

Her father, Alfred DeBoin is the pioneering bio-organic surgeon, who has mastered the ability to surgically alter people who were altered after the grazing bang altered their bodies. Being an early follower of the goddess Apolly, the guardian of the god whose body is mined for the material needed, helped immensely. This also put a target on Brittany’s head.

“I will help with 1, maybe 2 bags. Beyond that, the hotel staff will need to help you. I need to make sure I am ready in the chance someone tries to hurt you.”

An expression of realization is plastered on the diva’s face. “Talk about killing my joke. Well, if you want to get out with help with luggage, I guess I will just allow you to resume your duty as my personal magic proof shield.”

Lenox made sure to not dignify that with a response. Remember how she handled her baby sister Lana when she was eight: if you ignore the teasing, it will stop being fun. This proved effective almost immediately, the musician sighed and walks away, losing her source of fun. For now.

[andarateiacantori]

am i crazy or has very little of what bioware has revealed so far been actual "spoilers" and not just very typical game marketing to get people interested in the story... like i get wanting to go in blind of course but then you shouldnt be watching this marketing stuff to start with lol

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alt Assistant Pt 7 (finale)

Kara reflexively keeps her distance from Lena, for all of two days, until she realizes that while respecting Lena's boundaries is important, she does not have to respect any boundary set by Lex.

She comes to this conclusion late Sunday night, and makes a point to be in the office early to make her point. She's lucky Lena's already there, plugging miserably away at a spreadsheet R&D had sent to her the Friday before. Kara plunks down her boss's coffee of the desk, nearly sloshing it, and scowls when Lena turns her gaze up at her.

"You don't have to do everything your brother tells you," she says, far more scathingly than she intends. It backfires when Lena interprets her tone as petulance.

"I hardly think two days without sex warrants a tantrum Miss Danvers," she responds coolly. Her gaze returns to her computer. "Nor do our trysts qualify you to pass judgement on my relationship with my brother."

"I know you better than you think," Kara snaps. "And living under Lex's thumb isn't a good look on you."

At that, Lena's gaze snaps back up with razor sharp precision, skewering Kara to the spot. Her jaw tightens. "My respect for my brother--"

"Isn't respect!" Kara bites back. She knows she skirts the limits of Lena's goodwill, but she can't help the anger and resentment that bubbles up. "It's control, and you know it."

At that, Lena's scowl deepens, but her focus skitters away, proving the veracity of Kara's accusation.

"You are your own person," Kara pushes. "And you're capable of making your own decisions."

Lena's moment of concession evaporates with a scowl. "Get out."

It's enough to make Kara see red, but she manages to keep her temper in check.

"Fine," she clips out. She turns on her heel and marches towards the door, only to pause with her fingers wrapped in a fist around the handle. "And maybe you should think why Lex has such a problem with you being fucking happy for once."

With that, she yanks the door open and all but slams it shut behind her when she leaves.

----

Prepping a charity gala isn't easy-- or fun-- when they can hardly stand to be in the same room together without snapping. It involves a lot of "fines"s and "just get it done"s and "yes, miss luthor"s, but it eventually culminates in a lavish, extravagant affair that the guests seem to enjoy.

Kara hovers in her floor length gown that snugs in all the right places, yet leaves her arms bare to give her room to actually work during set up, and now cools her down as she takes a moment to breathe.

She knows Lena is here, by way of a curt text received an hour ago, but has yet to actually see her in the throng of well-dressed patrons. She does see Lex though, who somehow manages to look smug even as he glowers at her. It's nearly halfway through the night when Kara finally catches a glimpse of her boss.

Her mouth promptly goes dry.

Lena's dressed in a black chiffon dress that hugs her hips. When she turns, Kara sees the thin straps that leave the ivory skin of her back largely bare-- and the long silver chain that dangles against Lena's spine.

The vision is so distracting that it takes Kara a long moment to notice that Lena had turned towards a tug on her wrist, and that it was Lex who now gripped it tightly.

Kara watches their heated exchange of hissed words until Lena finally wrenches her wrist free of her brother's grasp. Lex's features darken as he issues what can only be a final warning before taking his leave. Lena watches him go for a long moment before finally turning.

Their eyes lock.

In that moment, Lena is laid bare-- Kara can see the shock of their unexpected connection (Lena has been avoiding her), and registers the brief up-and-down of Lena's gaze as she's scanned by wide green eyes. Then, Kara sees that dreaded word again: don't.

Only this time it's not directed at Kara, but rather inward, a silent scold towards Lena herself, combating the flush of desire written clear across Lena's cheeks. But then, almost as soon as it appears, it's eclipsed by a sudden hardening of Lena's gaze, now resolute as Lena comes to a conclusion known only to her.

Kara stares as Lena marches towards her, determined and unflinching. She barely has the time to grin before her arms are full of Lena, and warm hands sandwich her face fiercely as she's kissed long and deep.

When Lena comes up for air, breathless words come tumbling out.

"You're fired," she says. Their foreheads rest together, and Lena's hands have yet to move from where her thumbs rub gently against Kara's cheeks.

Now, Kara does grin.

"About time," she growls, and pulls Lena into another searing kiss. Kara senses the eyes on them, but doesn't bother to look to see if Lex's is among them.

Screw them, Kara thinks, savoring the taste of Lena's lips and the glide of their tongues together.

Screw them all.

[foolsfrogg]

I have so much art and comics I haven’t posted- (this is from january for my su au )

continued under cut

[pupyr0arz]

thinking about obsessive Gaz still…him being a bit of a weird bff. Male reader.

It’s not a shrine. Shrines are childish, weird things built by freaks who obsess over people, complete creeps who probably have bones in their closets and lick printouts. It’s….a refuse drawer, that happens to have acquired a theme. Not even a collection, that would imply Kyle was being deliberate, which he isn’t. He’s only keeping your things so he can return them, but he can’t exactly show up at your house with just a toothbrush now, can he? It’s only polite, and he’s sure when he finally has enough knicknacks you’ll smile and pat Kyle on the cheek like you always do when you’re pleased and somehow manage to get away with it without being condescending. Maybe even knock your heads together, like you do when you’re sleepy and staying over for a movie, giving him long molasses moments with his nose to yours. He isn’t some weirdo following some girl around and stealing her panties. Kyle hasn’t touched a pair of your boxers, though he hasn’t been able to get you to stay more than one night. He thumbs over Ghost’s contact in his phone and thinks about crime statistics a normal amount.

He doesn’t have a drawer for Johnny or his other guy friends because they’re assholes, that’s all. You’re just his nice friend, the one who smiles and genuinely talks about your life and encourages him to be soft and sweet and buttery instead of raucous and harsh. Kyle wants to smooth his rough edges in your presence, wants to charm you and see things how you do, he wants his ladykiller smile to soften to something genuine. That involves picking up the things you leave behind with a pure kind and full intentions to return them, not in some creepy, awful manner that would make you call him gross and shut the door in his face.

Kyle is a considerate friend to you, dutiful and generous. When you’re hurrying out of the door, one foot in a hangover, he passes you the closest jacket. It’s his, by sheer coincidence, his rack is solely his own clothes, and yours had gone missing from atop the couch mysteriously during the night. Kyle doesn’t mention folding it and tucking it away, it’s his right to have a clean home and he’s a good host tidying up after his guest. He pretends to find it a half hour after you’ve left, ensuring the temptation to use it as an excuse to catch up to you or drop by and steal an extra conversation. Sometimes he struggles with long term rewards over the short term, and you’re no help. It’s the lottery ticket in your pocket, he’s discussing to himself, what else could he be speaking about? He considers laundry for half a second, holding the jacket tightly in his hands. It smells like you more than the deodorant does, deeper, and Kyle decides he shouldn’t make assumptions about your clothes. What if it’s dry clean only, or he uses the wrong temperature setting and ruins it? It’d be rude to assume your nondescript hoodie isn’t anything special to you. He picks up the glasses both of you had used and if he forgets to wash yours before he takes a sip, he’s a bachelor living alone and can blame it on habit.

Kyle likes inviting you over more than he likes going over to yours. Your apartment isn’t far, and it isn’t ugly or overly cramped, and you are never anything but an angel to him there, but Kyle needs sleep and he finds himself face down on your couch, staring into the black all night. Or wandering home, restless and chewing his fingers bloody for hours afterwards. He’s so antsy in a room filled with nothing but you and your things. He catches his fingers in a door once out of impulse, trying desperately to shove away the urge to pick up a little statuette from some sudden uncontrollable kleptomaniac urge, and you notice and fuss and soothe and suddenly he has the desperate urge to smash something and take it to his skin and he wonders if you would stitch it together and kiss it afterwards. Kyle keeps the bandage. He sits on the couch and stares through the tv and thinks about it and he can’t bring himself to look at you because if he does, that unnamed, unknowable buzzing under his skin promises something and he’s too scared of himself to find out.

In his apartment it’s better. Kyle can cling to himself, a better man, a good man, when it’s soft and more controlled. You’re comfortable among his things and he doesn’t feel the drive to take the place around him apart. It feels like someone has taken a hot knife to him when you leave, which is fine. He counts the days before it’s too needy and strange to ask again. When he gives you back the hoodie, it smells like the two of you and he fibs about finding it under the couch while cleaning. Kyle digs his nails into his arm under the coffee table when you ask about his day and he wonders wildly if you knew about it. He wants to show you the marks on his arm, prick tears into his eyes and have you soothe him, but Kyle knows better than that. He doesn’t have a response to your inevitable questions. It’s not weird for him to want to seek the affection either. He’s like everybody else in this, starved for attention and cradling the source of it. He’s just smart enough to not grip too tightly and bruise you.

[nyoomfruits]

ellie nyoomfruits writing choscar 👀👀👀

HEHEHEHE

“Oscar!” Charles exclaims, when Oscar wanders through the door the next morning, impressive levels of zombie state. He startles when Charles says his name, like he forgot he was actually out and about for a moment.

“Morning,” Oscar mumbles, a rosy blush on his cheeks. It must be getting cold out, the last wisps of summer finally officially melting into autumn. “Can I just get a blueberry muffin this time?”

“And your drink?” Charles says, leaning on the counter, fluttering his lashes in the way he’s seen Lando successfully do before, whenever he needed Carlos to do shit for him.

“Uh,” Oscar says. “Oh, uh…” He pauses. “Are you okay? Do you have something in your eye?”

“What?” Charles asks, stops fluttering.

“No, just, you were like. All twitchy?” Oscar’s flush has returned, coloring his cheeks and creeping down to his neck.

“No, I’m,” Charles sighs. “I’m okay. But, your drink? We have an absolutely delicious Apple Pie Frappuccino on the board today.” He throws in a wink for good measure.

“Are you sure your eye is okay?” Oscar asks.

Charles suppresses the urge to thunk his head down onto the counter. This is not going how he envisioned it. “My eye is fine,” he grits out. “Drink?”

“Oh,” Oscar says. “Small Americano?”

Goddamnit.

[sawboans]

did you know there’s a trek novel in which scotty and bones spend 100 pages or so living in a two person shuttle and adopt a cat together. because, well,

[scalpho]

bill wants fabian to be just like him, but the problem is that bill is aggressively self-centred, and fabian cannot emulate him (by prioritising himself) without putting bill's wishes on the backburner. and bill, being as self-centred as he is, can't stand the fact that him and his wants are not fabian's number 1 priority. family in flames gives us a great example of this: bill yells at fabian for not defending himself against bill's insults specifically because it's not how bill would react ("i would never let any man speak to me the way i’m speaking to you right now"), and in the same minute also yells at him for defending himself ("you'll raise your voice at me now, will you?"). fabian can't emulate bill without disrespecting him, but he's expected to figure out some impossible way to balance these two conflicting expectations!

the trick is that this contradiction doesn't exist as long as fabian's wants are synonymous with bill's, which is why shit only hits the fan after fabian starts spending time away from his family and discovers the magic of independent thinking. the cracks in the formula are still super easy to see early on, though - bill killed his own father, but threatens to kill fabian if he ever attempts the same move. kudos to him for managing to say something both hypocritical and, in hindsight, incredibly ironic

[aliferous-ly]

ranchers au of the story of a woman who'll marry whoever can get the key off her cats neck

except it's tango, who is a magician of sorts so he's highly sought after, so he comes up with this test of whoever can get the key he'll marry. people start setting traps and whatnot. most of them tango avoids with ease, but he gets caught in one. depressed, he waits for the inevitable downfall.

only, the person who finds him isnt the one who set the trap. a man finds him, and, aghast at the sight, let's tango go. later in town as jimmy recounts this happenstance everyone around him angrily tells him off because he's squandered this perfect opportunity, and this is how Jimmy finds out about the contest.

he thinks the contest is rather upsetting, because how could someone set the whole town against a poor cat like that?

jimmy takes it upon himself to take care of the cat. he listens as people brag about traps so he can find them and dismantle them. he leaves food and fresh water out when he can, and sets up a small shelter for when it rains. he can't imagine that the cat will use it, with it looking so obviously like a trap, but he sets it up anyway.

he gets a rather negative reputation in town because of this. but instead of backing down, jimmy instead snaps back about what kind of person tango must be, to pit the whole town against an innocent animal! because of the pushback from the townspeople he gets rather righteous about his position.

his opinion is cemented further as the cat slowly learns to trust him. sometimes Jimmy rants to the cat about his neglectful and cruel owner.

time passes. many people in town give up on their endeavors. they set traps, but can't afford to check them frequently. they're too busy working. jimmy gains the cats trust and the cat hides in the shelter he built it. eventually, the cat even walks into his home.

jimmy all but adopts this cat, at this point. he feeds it, cares for it, makes sure it's safe during storms and warm on cold nights. the cat hangs around him all the time, the key dangling from its neck. it's startling, the first time the cat jumps on his lap, but jimmy rewards this trust with lots of pets and nothing else.

the cat grows bolder. it bumps it's forehead against jimmy's hand, curls up on jimmy's lap, and yowls for food at the crack of dawn. it leaves the house but never for longer than a day, always returning with an expectant gaze.

Jimmy tries to ignore the key but he grows restless. this tango guy hasn't even asked about his cat, and Jimmy's been caring for it for ages! He knows the key is to tangos house and is only for the winning suitor, but after the weather turns cold and jimmy despairs about how the cat would survive in such extreme weather without help, he takes the key and stomps up to tangos house to give him a piece of his mind.

it's a long, winding path. The cat follows him the whole way, which is odd, since the cat usually only follows Jimmy when he's safe at home. jimmy reaches the house and he knocks first, he has manners, but after no answer he unlocks it and storms in.

only, the whole place is empty. it's clean, someone clearly lives here, but there's nobody home. jimmy deflates. the cat jumps on a large cushioned chair and stares at him.

jimmy slumps over to the cat and pets it, mumbling about what to do next. he does one final sweep of the house (in jimmy's opinion, if tango wanted privacy he wouldnt have put his key on a cat!). and when he turns back to the cat, hands on his hips and ready to announce failure, his cat isn't... there. in it's place is a man with fiery red hair and a smirk firmly upon his lips.

jimmy has his moments of foolishness but he's not dense. he makes the connection. he realizes, and gapes at the man -- at tango, who's been the cat all along.

tango teases him about marriage and jimmy flusters. the two of them finally get to know each other outside of the contest and tango is firm in his reward, announcing it to the townspeople (many of which are furious at Jimmy, loudest anti-tango spokesman around, being the winner).

and jimmy and tango fall in love and live happily ever after the end.

and yes, jimmy is incredibly embarrassed about unknowingly insulting tango to his face. tango, for his part, found it hilarious and it actually endeared him to jimmy, since jimmy was so furious on the cat's behalf.

[tswwwit]

Have you ever thought of writing your own boon?

Ok, hear me out, but I find your writing style so much more "grabbing" than most modern books I read. I can't really put it into words, but the way the characters act, how they harmonize the way there are (hidden) emotions, little tiny details, foreshadowing, and also a bit of comedy, makes your writing feel so much more attention grabbing, intriguing, and alive. While recently re-reading Faking It, I stumbled upon how much your writing has improved over the years. Thumbs up for you that's impressive!!

(Don't ask me what exactly I mean by all of this, please. English isn't my first language, and I don't have my way with words the way you do. I just got the urge to write this since I had bad luck with the books I read recently, and they just appeared so dull to me. If you have good book recs please share a few. I'm desperate. (Literally, ANYTHING will do.)

ANYWAY

If you ever publish a book, I'm sure a lot of people would buy it.

Thank you for all your kind words!

I figure since I'm not going to stop writing anytime soon, at some point a book is inevitable! But it'd be quite a ways off, as I don't have a concept that really compels me at the moment. If I ever set out on the stormy seas of that particular project, I'll be sure to obnoxiously advertise it to you all.

[wandixx]

I found my supply of Danny Phantom x Young Justice (cartoon) fanfic snippets, get ready for some stuff soon. I'm back in fixating on it

[justallihere]

“Was it impolite when I fucked you every night for the past week?” He asked it in a low voice right next to her ear, and was pleased when she drew in a quick little breath and shivered. “Because I was definitely staring at you then, and I seem to remember you enjoying it.” 

[fallen-flier]

swim in circles (sniper! tim)

au where tim's parents get kidnapped by obeah man earlier on but they survive. and he becomes a sniper. :)

inspired by @yjcorefourenjoyer's sniper! tim idea, who graciously let me run around in their sandbox. :D

Turns out, when you leave your child alone without a parental figure for months, you can’t integrate yourself back into their life and just pretend all is normal.

You never wanted to parent me before, Tim wants to scream. Why are you even pretending you care now?

But he says none of it, swallows it down his throat dry where it resides in his chest, thick and cloying like a good son. His parents narrowly escaped being killed. Tim is being selfish because he isn’t used to this. It’s fine.

Jack wants him to transfer to a nearby private school and live at home instead of boarding school so he and Mom can keep an eye on him, fine. Tim can adapt, take advantage of the fact that he’s home more to take pictures of Batman and Robin. 

So Tim is twelve years old when his father brings him to a shooting range and puts a hand on his shoulder. Some good ol’ father-son bonding, his dad claims. His dad is too scared to admit what the true purpose is; so Tim won’t be defenseless in case he’s kidnapped.

But it doesn’t matter whether his dad verbalizes it or not: Tim knows, so there’s no point in saying it out loud.

(For a brief moment, he thinks of becoming Robin, of fists and swinging staffs and acrobatics. Of following Batman’s no-kill rule.)

It’s a silly thought. Tim’s parents are very much alive, and his reality is this: gunpowder and cameras and slow, choking patience. Tim is athletic, but doesn’t exactly make a point to get into fights— if he’s attacked, he would have the best chance with a gun.

But for the next few months, Tim drowns under his father’s expectations and his mother’s worried and guilty gaze. The knot in his chest tightens until he struggles for air, and Tim needs something, needs to get out of the house, needs to do something other than follow Batman and Robin because his parents keep checking on him in the middle of the night.

Tim flounders, kicks fruitlessly at the waters until another weekend, when his father brings him out again and he adjusts his stance, aligns his handgun, and waits until his hands are steady.

It doesn’t take long until he speeds through a fire safety certificate test and all but owns his father’s 9mm pistol.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tim breathes.

It’s a hobby his father supports and something his mother, who sits in her wheelchair, loosens the furrow in her brow for. Before he goes, she quietly brushes her hand over his hair. Remember your gun safety, Tim, she says, and he nods before heading out for another lesson.

Really damn good, his instructor says, and Tim smiles, because his arms are getting used to the recoil and Tim has one of the highest accuracies among all the teens in the class, even if he takes a little longer than everyone.

But it’s no matter: Tim has experience with being patient.

It doesn't take long for Tim to start bringing his handgun out with him while he goes birdwatching. It takes even shorter for Tim to start eyeing the bolt-action rifles jealously, thinking of how much farther he could take it, what he could do. Eighteen years old, he chants, eighteen years old.

Except when Tim turns thirteen, Jason dies. Batman grieves his son’s death in a way that leaves Gotham a bloody, destructive swathe of pain. And Tim can’t just watch, anymore. He goes to Dick, pleas in his mouth, begging him to see that Batman needs a Robin. 

It doesn’t work. And now Two-Face has Bruce and Dick, and Tim has nothing but his 9mm pistol and the location of the Wayne manor. Alfred looks down at him, lips pursed in hesitation, and Tim knows, knows that Robin doesn’t use guns, knows that it would be an abomination to Bruce’s values and Dick’s legacy but he doesn't know what else to do. 

“Please,” he begs.

Surprisingly, it is easier to convince Alfred that he can protect himself with a gun. Tim suspects that Batman will have a different reaction.

–

Bruce and Dick are safe, Two-Face is safely in jail, and Bruce looks at his guns with poorly concealed suspicion and apprehension. And that’s the crux of the matter: Tim uses guns, Robin does not. Tim cannot be Robin, not with his parents so closely around and his only method of protecting himself being a lethal weapon. The worst part is, it all feels like a waste. The hours at the shooting range, his father’s proud smile, his rising accuracy rates, and it sucks, because Tim doesn’t want to feel this way. 

Tim never meant to be Robin. But he needs to become Robin now and Tim has never trained in hand-to-hand combat or swung a staff before. His way out has become another trap, and Tim has never shot a dart gun before, nor is it sustainable to use tranq darts. 

Funny. Tim never seems to be given a choice. But he can’t complain, so he does the next best thing. Tim throws himself into convincing Bruce, tries to prove that he can be Robin, even if he’s fighting a losing battle. There’s really only one way Bruce will accept, and Tim knows it. 

He screams until his voice is hoarse after Batman nearly dies, but he can't be Robin, not until he gives up Tim Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake holds tightly onto a hope that isn't sustainable, thinks of his father who looks at him in the eye and makes him promise that he'll keep his life over everybody else's.

TIm is selfish and he’s drowning again, but so is Gotham.

–

“Tim.”

His dad looks angry, flickers of worry shining from behind his eyes. Tim knows he’s been acting suspicious: too many bruises on his legs and cuts on his arm, coming home later than usual.

Tim shrugs self-deprecatingly. 

“Please, dad? I know it’s not what you want but it’s getting to be a lot and I need to move around my schedule to fit in more.”

“Tim… This wasn't brought on because the boys in your class have been roughhousinging you because you’re better, right?”

“No! It’s not, it’s not,” Tim shakes his head, face burning with mortification. That would be so embarrassing. It seems so juvenile, quitting because he was bothered by the envious comments, rather than quitting because he wanted to take on a vigilante mantle that had a fifty percent mortality rate to make sure Batman didn’t go off his rocker. 

Tim is so grounded when his dad finds out. His father sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Tim guiltily shrinks under his gaze. 

“You spent so long practicing,” his father accuses. There’s the hidden panic Tim was expecting. “I really thought you were into it, Tim.”

Tim flinches. 

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, trying not to feel like he’s wasted so much of his and his father’s time. “I’m just not that interested anymore and…”

And the truth is, Tim hates this choice. But it’s still his decision, to pick up Robin and put down Tim Drake. He goes for the low blow.

“Let me make my own choice for once, okay? You always want me to do this and that and I’m trying, but I want some space to figure out what I like instead of just balancing what you want in favor of what I want.”

His dad freezes, frustration playing out over his features, but Tim knows he’s won this one. 

“I’m going to check up on your mom. I don’t want to talk about this tonight, but we are talking about this.” I can’t stand talking to you right now.

It’s fine, because Tim has won. 

The situation will blow over, and Tim will prove that he can protect himself in other ways, to both his father and Bruce.

And once again his reality shifts: swinging fists and lies and the fast, spiraling rapids of life.

He thinks of steady hands and the quiet click to the loud bang of a gun. He will wait it out, he foolishly thinks. He has practice being patient.

a/n:

so basically this could go a NUMBER of ways, holy. i had so many plans that i derailed and thought over and whatnot

i originally was going to go for tim being a sniper wayyy earlier, like shooting bruce with tranqs post-jason death (which, by the way, tim would've gone through SO many hoops for that, dude is way too tiny to pass as over 18 and has to be a pretty damn good liar to his parents), never becoming robin (prob would've become a vigilante, just with guns)

but oh man in this version i haven't even GOTTEN to sniper! timmy yet...

also! discussed another cool idea with my wonderful beta @pinkcowzz about reverse robins where tim comes back from the dead as a sniper would also be fun. there are many ways that this au could branch out lmao

[stevebabey]

oh hey gay people in my phone.....

introducing steddie bb project 025 !

what's this.... gasp ! all my quietness and lack of posting hasn't been for naught!? why yes i actually have been quietly ticking away on project 025 for @steddiebang2024

i'm very excited to be able to share a glimpse of it here with you all <3 i'm also so v chuffed to be working with @callunavulgari and to have @roomwithanopenfire helping make this the best possible version it can be <3 i hope to share a little more soon......

[nyoomfruits]

perchance a chance for an early post or snippet this time as well? I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL MONDAY LIKE THIS 😭

honestly you're the first person to actually ask me for a snippet so yeah!!!!!! why not!!!!

The whole ‘not avoiding his friends’ thing does get a little bit more complicated roughly two weeks later, when his doctor finally, finally tells him they can remove his cast.

It should’ve been a joyous occasion. Something to celebrate. The thing has been a bit of a hassle, after all. He should be thrilled its coming off, that he can finally move around freely again.

But now, all Lando can do is glance down at the cast, at the little black marker smiley Oscar drew on there on their last vacation day, and feel like it’s his last tether to Oscar, his last tether to their time together, getting cut.

After this, it’ll truly be over.

So yeah. Not looking forward to it.

But the not not talking to his friends gets in the way because he needs someone to drive him to the hospital. He could take the bus, but the connections are shit and it would take him four busses and an hour and a half while it’s a mere 20 minutes by car, so. Someone driving him would really be the preferred method of transportation.

Eventually he caves and texts Alex. Alex will probably nag him about the Oscar thing, but all things considered he’s the least annoying and will let it go the quickest when Lando tells him, so. Alex.

Alex replies way too enthusiastically and tells him he’ll be there at 8am sharp the next morning, which should have been Lando’s first red flag.

The second red flag is that he doesn’t ask about what happened with Oscar, which for someone as chronically curious as Alex is weird.

So Lando should  have seen it coming, really. The signs were there. The flags were waving. But he was way too relieved about Alex not giving him too much shit to notice, and so when he opens the door, 8am sharp, to find Oscar hovering awkwardly on his doorstep, the wind kind of gets knocked out him.

“Hi,” Oscar says, does a little half wave, fidgeting a little nervously. “I uh. Alex said you needed a ride?”

[prince-liest]

Woooo, I finally got some writing done again for the first time in forever! The next chapter of Once Bitten, Back For More is coming along DELIGHTFULLY. >:)