#spoiler: the hotel is a hotel for the dead >:)

[tsunodaradio]

unless you call tonight ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 lando falls for a busy woman and it ruins his life.

♫ starring: lando norris x pilot!reader. ♫ word count: 4.3k. ♫ includes: romance. suggestive content/off-screen smut, profanity. friends with benefits. @norrisradio requested busy woman by sabrina carpenter. ♫ commentary box: unfortunately, i will never be normal about anything tara asks of me. ever. all my lando's are hers and this is proof. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Lando stares at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. The chat is open— your name at the top, a string of texts below. Nothing crazy, just a couple of messages exchanged over the past few weeks. Enough to keep the line open but not enough to call it anything solid.

He exhales sharply and locks his phone again, as if that will stop him from thinking about you. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

He unlocks his phone. Reopens the conversation. Scrolls up, reading over the last thing you sent. Been up since four. Dead on my feet. Talk soon. 

That was two days ago.

Lando flops back onto the hotel bed with a huff. He should text you. It’s not like you’d ignore him. Every time he’s reached out, you’ve answered, even if it’s just a short reply before you’re off somewhere again. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

He already knows how this will go. You’ll take hours to reply, if you reply at all. Not because you’re uninterested— at least, he hopes not— but because you’re busy. 

You live in the sky, chasing time zones while he chases apexes. He doesn’t even know where in the world you are right now.

You’d met briefly. One of those moments that should’ve been forgettable but wasn’t. He was waiting for his flight, slouched in an airport lounge, when you walked past in uniform, checking your watch. Someone had called your name, and you’d turned just enough for him to catch the hint of a smile. 

He knew, then and there, that he had to at least try. 

“Give me your number,” he had said, leaning against the airport counter, all charm and easy confidence. “So I can let you know when I land safely.”

You had laughed, shaking your head as you tapped your name and number into his phone. “Is that your way of saying you get nervous on flights?”

“No,” he’d grinned, locking the contact in. “It’s my way of making sure I see you again.”

“Don’t be boring,” you warned before handing him off to be handled by some attendant who had probably tried to flirt with him. He couldn’t be sure; he was so caught up with you that he couldn’t see past it.

Lando had planned on being anything but boring. And yet, here he is, stuck in his own head.

He drags a hand down his face, annoyed at himself, at the situation, at you for being so goddamn unavailable. Not in the emotional way. No, that would be easier. But in the literal, physical sense. 

It’s ironic, really. He’s the one in a different country every weekend, but somehow, you’re still the one he can’t seem to pin down.

Maybe that’s what makes this feel different. He’s used to things being easy, casual, within reach. 

You slip through his fingers before he can decide what to do with you.

He types out a message. u free?

Then he deletes it. 

Tries a different approach. what country are u in now? 

Lando deletes that, too. 

His fingers dance across the screen as he jams out yet another thing he won’t send, typed out with the belief that simply putting it out into the world might suffice. 

i miss being inside you, he types, and then he backspaces until it’s just i miss you, and then he just trashes the whole thing all together. 

Lando rests his phone on his chest.

And waits. What for, he’s not sure.  

It’s not like he’s asking for much. A conversation. A distraction. A sign that you might be thinking about him, too.

With a sigh, he locks his phone and sets it aside. 

Not tonight. 

The first time you slept together, Lando hadn’t really thought about what came after.

You’d been in the same city by coincidence. One of your flights aligning with his race weekend, just by sheer luck. The two of you had figured that out quickly enough, and from there, it had been easy.

A drink, a conversation that flowed too smoothly, a brush of your fingers against his when you took his empty glass from him. By the time you were both back at his hotel, neither of you had pretended it was anything but inevitable.

Lando had been more than happy to take his time with you, to let things build and stretch into the early hours of the morning. And, fuck, it had been good. 

You were the kind of person who made everything feel easy, like you’d known each other longer than just the past handful of hours. Like you’d done this before, even though you hadn’t.

So he’d fallen asleep next to you, pleasantly exhausted, fully expecting to wake up to a warm body curled into his.

Instead, he had woken up to the rustling of sheets and the quiet clink of a zipper.

Blinking through his sleep-heavy haze, he had turned over to see you by the foot of the bed, pulling on your jacket. Your bag was already slung over one shoulder, your phone in your free hand. The bedside clock read something ridiculous— barely past five in the morning.

Lando frowned. “You’re leaving?”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Right now?”

You huffed a laugh and adjusted the strap of your bag. “That’s usually how flights work, yeah,” you had shot back. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, still groggy, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were actually about to walk out the door like this. “So you’re just gonna disappear before the sun’s even up?”

“I’m not disappearing,” you corrected, “I’m saying goodbye.”

Lando scoffed, unimpressed with the technicality. “Right.”

A brief pause settled between you. He could still see the soft marks of his fingertips on your skin, the messy imprint of the night before. He thought, just for a second, that maybe you’d hesitate. That maybe you’d crawl back into bed, let the morning stretch a little longer.

But you just smiled instead, already halfway to the door. “Good luck on your race.”

And with that, you were gone.

Lando sat there for a long moment, listening to the faint click of the door shutting behind you.

He wasn’t used to being left behind. 

He had finished on the podium that race. Everybody talked about his car, about strategy, but he knew he’d been fueled by spite and the glorious afterglow of a good fuck. 

A part of him had wanted to reach out and ask if you’d seen him win. He didn’t, of course. He liked to think he had some dignity. 

Tonight, though, Lando is convinced that all of his dignity will be damned.

He steps out of the bar, the night air cool against his flushed skin. The noise from inside spills onto the street— laughter, the bassline of some song he should probably recognize, the occasional burst of applause from a group in the corner. He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as he leans back against the brick wall, phone in hand.

He shouldn’t be checking his phone. Shouldn’t be waiting for anything.

But he is.

He flicks his thumb over the screen, unlocking it for the tenth time in as many minutes. No notifications. No messages.

No messages from you.

His jaw tightens. He shoves his free hand into his pocket, tilting his head back against the wall. It’s stupid. You have a life, a job that doesn’t leave you glued to your phone, a schedule that barely aligns with his. But it doesn’t stop the frustration from simmering under his skin.

Then, as if the Universe is sick and tired of his moping, his phone vibrates.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You good?

Lando exhales through his nose, half in disbelief, half in relief. He should let you wait, make you sit in silence the way he had. But he doesn’t. His fingers move before he can think better of it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i was starting to think you forgot about me

The dots appear immediately.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Don’t be dramatic. Long flights, long days.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. Yeah, he knows. Doesn’t mean he likes it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ am i so easy to ignore, hm??

A bit too honest. But he lets it sit.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Poor baby. Want a kiss to make things better?

A sharp laugh escapes Lando. He glances back toward the bar, but the thought of going back in— of pretending he’s not the happiest he’s been in days— feels unappealing.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ure lucky i’m a forgiving man from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Oh, are you? to: little ms. pilot ✈️ wouldn’t be texting u rn if i weren’t from: little ms. pilot ✈️ And here I thought I was doing you a favor.

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes at his screen.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ by what? keeping me on my toes? from: little ms. pilot ✈️ By giving you something to look forward to.

He shakes his head. You’re good— he’ll give you that.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u make it sound like u’re doing charity work from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Aren’t I?

Lando’s stomach tightens at the way you always manage to flip things back on him, like you’re the one indulging him instead of the other way around.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u r a menace from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You like it.

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he exhales, glancing back toward the bar. He should go inside, forget about this conversation before it pulls him in deeper.

Instead, he types:

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i like a lot of things about u :)

A beat.

The dots appear. Disappear.

Reappear.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Careful, Norris. Sounds like dangerous territory.

He smirks. Gotcha.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ only if u make it out to be

No immediate reply this time. He waits for a second, then two, before locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. If you want to keep playing this game, fine.

But he won’t be the only one chasing.

Lando sees your name light up his phone, and for the first time in a long time, he considers not answering.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. The problem is that he does—badly. He wants to see you, wants to hear that teasing lilt in your voice when you make some offhand remark that he’ll spend hours thinking about later.

The phone buzzes again.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Layover in your city. Few hours to spare. Busy?

He stares at the screen, jaw ticking with impatience.

This is the moment where he should say no. He should have some fucking dignity, tell you he’s got better things to do than be at your beck and call.

But he doesn’t. 

Because Lando’s never been good at resisting things that feel good in the moment, and right now, there’s nothing he wants more than you.

He barely remembers the drive over, only that his knee bounced the whole way, his mind running in circles around the same thought: He should’ve said no.

When you open the door, it’s as good as over for him.

You're fresh out of the shower, hair damp, hotel robe tied loosely around your waist. You smirk when you see him, leaning against the doorframe like you already know he was coming the second you hit send.

Lando tongues the inside of his cheek. “You’re trouble.”

“And yet you’re here.”

You step back, letting him inside. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing the two of you in. He watches as you cross the room, and there’s a fleeting moment where he wonders if this will be the time it finally breaks him. If this will be the time he won’t be able to pick himself back up when you leave.

Then you tug him forward by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss, and he stops thinking altogether.

Lando’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s trying to ground himself in the moment. His fingers press into the soft fabric of your robe, but it’s not enough. He’s desperate for more, for the feeling of your skin against his, the way you always seem to make him forget about everything else.

You laugh softly against his lips, a teasing sound that vibrates through him, and for a second, he thinks maybe you can hear the way his heart is pounding.

“Impatient,” you murmur, your voice low and smooth, as your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath.

“You started it,” Lando replies, his voice rougher than he intended, his breath hitching when your fingers graze his chest.

You grin at him, and he can’t help but mirror the expression, even as he watches you slowly step back, eyes flicking between his and the space between you. It’s like you’re daring him to follow, to push this further— and God, does he want to.

Before he can take another step toward you, you pause, looking at him with a glint in your eye that makes him hesitate for a moment. “You’re sure you want this? You know how this goes, Norris.”

His throat closes up. 

There’s that voice again, the one that whispers that he’s being a fool, that he’s walking right into the same trap he always does. The same trap you’ve set so many times before, and he’s willingly fallen for it each and every time.

“I’m not going to regret it,” he says, the words tumbling out more firmly than he feels.

His eyes are locked on yours, searching for any sign that you’re not on the same page. But you don’t look away. You’re not pulling back. You’re watching him with an intensity that almost feels like you’ve already made up your mind.

You nod, slow and deliberate, and then you’re moving toward him again, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss that makes his whole body hum.

There’s no talking after that. No hesitation.

The next thing he knows, he’s pulling at the knot of your robe, hands shaking as he exposes more of your skin, his mouth following the trail of fire you leave across his chest. You tug at his hoodie, almost impatient in the way you’re stripping him down, until he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but his jeans and the fast-fading remnants of his composure.

At this point, Lando’s not sure it matters. Not with you this close, not with your hands tracing the lines of his body, not with the heat between you building to a point where it feels like he can’t breathe without you.

And when you pull him into another kiss, your lips just as desperate as his own, it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no more thinking, no more wondering. Just the feeling of you, here, with him.

Lando doesn’t think about tomorrow. Doesn’t think about the empty space he’ll wake up to or the way he’ll check his phone, hoping— pathetically— for a message that won’t be there.

For now, all that matters is the way your breath stutters when he kisses down your neck, the way your hands press against his skin like you need him just as badly.

For now, he lets himself believe that you do.

Patience has never been his strong suit, and he sure as hell doesn’t have any left when it comes to you. It’s been— what? Two weeks? Maybe three? Since the last time he saw you, since you last texted, since he last even felt like he existed in your world.

And fine, he gets it. You have a life. You have a job that keeps you moving, that pulls you across time zones and continents with no regard for whatever flimsy thing the two of you have going on.

But it’s starting to get to him.

He’s been staring at his phone for the past twenty minutes, scrolling through old texts, checking to see if maybe you had responded and he somehow missed it. (He hasn’t. You haven’t.)

Before he can talk himself out of it, he taps on your contact and hits FaceTime.

It rings. Once, twice— he’s already regretting it.

Then, you pick up.

You’re in some dimly lit hotel room, the glow from your laptop screen casting soft shadows over your face. You look tired. You blink at him like you weren’t expecting the call.

“Lando?” Your voice is thick with exhaustion.

“Hey,” he says, gripping the edge of his couch. He hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to say— just that he needed to see you, to hear your voice, to remind himself that he still exists to you. “Where are you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Singapore. Just got in a couple of hours ago.”

He bites back the urge to apologize. Singapore. The other side of the world. Not that it should matter. Not that it ever has.

“You could’ve texted,” he says, and it comes out rougher than he means it to.

You frown. “I’ve been working.”

“For two weeks?”

You hesitate. It’s brief, but he catches it. “I meant to,” you say eventually. “I just— Lando, come on.”

“No, seriously,” he pushes, his grip tightening on his phone. “Do you even think about me when you’re gone?”

Your brows furrow. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah? Then why does it feel like I don’t exist as soon as you leave?”

That gives you pause. You glance away, like you’re searching for the right words. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You could start with the truth.”

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter. “Lando…” There’s something warning in your tone.

He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

A beat of silence stretches between you before you finally sigh. “I thought we were on the same page about this.”

There it is. The thing he didn’t want to hear, the thing he’s been trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

You’re not in a relationship.

You’ve made that clear from the beginning, in the way you never linger too long, in the way you leave before the sheets even cool, in the way you go weeks without speaking to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But it’s not easy for him.

Lando swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

And then, because he can’t help himself, because frustration is curling hot and tight in his chest, because he wants you to hurt the way he does, he adds, “Must be nice, though.”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“Not having to think about anyone but yourself.”

Your expression shifts instantly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it must be convenient,” he continues, his tone sharp. “Keeping me on standby for when it suits you, for when you’re not busy. Must be nice to just disappear whenever you want and not have to deal with the mess you leave behind.”

Your lips part slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. Then, just as quickly, your face hardens.

“Lando,” you say, voice steady, firm. “I’m not doing this with you.”

His jaw clenches. “Doing what?”

“This,” you snap. “Whatever this little tantrum is.”

Lando opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You don’t get to act like I’ve done something wrong just because I don’t orbit around you,” you say, and your words cut deep. “I told you what this was from the beginning. If you thought it was something else, that’s on you.”

He flinches, but you’re not done.

“And before you ask— no, I don’t have a flight to catch.” Your voice is like ice now. “I’m ending this call because I don’t feel like listening to your bullshit. I’m too busy for it.”

And then, just like that, his screen goes dark.

TWO DAYS AFTER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ yo

FIVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ look, i was an ass. i know that just... idk. lmk if i can make it up to u or something

ONE WEEK LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u still mad? tbf i’d probably still be mad

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ sooo does that mean i shd wait longer before texting again

TEN DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ok i’ve done some thinking. i’ve concluded i deserve to be ignored, but also i don’t like being ignored

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like i shd at least get points for self-awareness

TWELVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ just tell me u hate me so i can sleep at night

TWO WEEKS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ alright. u win. won’t bother u anymore

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ unless u text first. then it’s fair game.

ONE MONTH LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ saw a plane today and thought of u

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like that should earn me AT LEAST a pity response

Lando tells himself he’s fine.

He throws himself into racing, into training, into anything that doesn’t involve picking up his phone and staring at a dead chat. He convinces himself that it’s better this way. He’s faster on track, more focused in meetings, less distracted.

At least, that’s the lie he repeats to himself.

But then, one afternoon in Monaco, he sees you at the grocery store. Every carefully constructed wall he’s built around himself crumbles in an instant.

You’re standing by the produce section, inspecting a bunch of grapes like they hold the answers to the universe. It’s almost laughably ordinary— no pilot uniform, no layover rush, just you in a sundress, vacationing like a normal person. 

And for some reason, that stings.

He almost walks past you, pretends he hasn’t seen you. But then you turn, eyes meeting his, and there’s no escaping it now.

“Lando,” you say, like you’re surprised to see him. Which is ridiculous, because this is his city. His home.

He swallows hard, nodding. “Hey.”

An awkward pause stretches between you, filled only by the low hum of the store’s music and the distant chatter of other shoppers. Lando clears his throat, gripping the handle of his basket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Didn’t know you were in Monaco.”

“I’m just here for a bit,” you say. “Taking some time off.”

“Right.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Guess you’ve been too busy to take a vacation before now.”

The words come out sharper than he intends. Your eyes narrow, just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

He wants to argue, to remind you of all the unanswered messages, of how he felt like a complete idiot waiting for a reply that never came. But what would be the point? You’ve made it clear before that this was never anything serious. That he wasn’t supposed to care like this.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Maybe it’s not.”

Silence again. Then, you shift your basket higher on your arm. “I should go.”

Lando nods, watching as you turn on your heel and head for the checkout. That should be it. That should be the end of it.

But suddenly, he’s moving.

He doesn’t even think about it, just grabs the first bouquet of supermarket flowers he sees, throws some cash at the self-checkout, and jogs out the door after you.

You’re halfway down the street when he catches up. “Hey— wait.”

You pause, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s out of breath, which is embarrassing, considering he’s a professional athlete. He thrusts the slightly-crumpled bouquet toward you.

“Are you busy today?”

You blink, staring at the flowers like they might explode. “Lando…”

“I just— I don’t know,” he rushes out. “If you’ve got time, maybe we could—” He hesitates. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. To talk? To fix things? To ruin himself all over again?

You exhale softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. He watches you carefully, desperately, like a man on the edge of a decision he has no power over.

Lando lets out a breath, his grip tightening around the plastic-wrapped stems in his hands. “Look, I know I was out of line that night. And I know I’ve been acting like— like I don’t get what this is. But the thing is, I don’t think I know how to be casual about you.

“I’ve tried, and I’m fucking terrible at it. I want more, and I know that’s not what we do, but—” He shakes his head, his jaw working, like the words aren’t coming out right.

A passing car honks in the distance. The world moves on as if this isn’t the biggest thing happening in his universe.

“But I like you,” he says finally, voice quiet but firm. “I like you more than I should. And I know you’re busy, I know your job takes you everywhere, and maybe that means this doesn’t work. But if there’s even a small chance that it could—” 

He looks at you like he’s never wanted anything more. “Just tell me if I should stop.”

Your lips press together, and for a long moment, you say nothing. Lando’s heart beats in his throat. He braces himself for rejection, for you to tell him this was a mistake, for you to hand the flowers back and walk away.

Instead, you take the bouquet from his hands, inspecting it like you’ve never seen supermarket daisies before. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, small but real, and you shake your head just a little before looking up at him.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur.

Lando’s stomach twists. “I know.”

You step closer, lifting onto the balls of your feet to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin burns where your lips touch, and he barely has time to register the warmth before you pull back, meeting his eyes.

“I might be busy,” you say, holding the flowers loosely in your hands. “But I think I have a little bit of time for you today.”

He’ll take it, he decides. 

Today, tonight, tomorrow— for however long you’ll have him. ⛐

[arandomao3user]

. . . So, like, I'm 1000% a TimBern shipper, but I can actually picture Joker Junior! Tim Drake in "Love Me (For Who I Was)" totally hitting it off with either of them or both.

Like, I cannot bring myself to be a TimKon shipper, but you fools made me imagine J.J. Tim and Kon. And. I hate you all. Because it works better than TimBernn in my AU and I hate that.

Again, only like two of you follow me for this story, but I will still feed y'all as you wait for my dumbahh to write the fic and stop goofing around and making, like, 200 people suffer and die waiting.

—

Jason taking Tim to Metropolis to follow a lead

Jason: So, you're not gonna do anythin' stupid.

Tim, giggling: I swear on my grave!

Jason: Y'know how little that means to me? Fine.. Fine! Shoo, text me if you break another bone.

Tim, running off with his flamethrower: YES!!! FREEDOM!!!

Jason: I already regret this.

—

Kon, as superboy, somehow getting roped into letting Tim, whom he just met, paint his nails: Where'd you even get nail polish from?

Tim: I carry around three things on my person at all times, nail polish, fire, and flammable markers.

Kon, teasing: Should I be concerned your gonna get into trouble?

Tim, poking paint at the tip of his nose: I already have, boy of tomorrow.

Kon, leaning in: Oh, and what trouble is that?

Tim: You.

Jason, from the ground because Tim is up on a billboard: TIMOTHY JACKSON JASON PETER DRAKE TODD, GET YOUR A#& DOWN HERE AND STOP FLIRTING WITH ALIENS I SWEAR TO F#-%#&@ GOD!

Tim: I HOPE RENA DUMPS AGAIN!

Jason: I DIED THE FIRST TIME!

Tim, the overdramatic teen we all know he is: I WISH I WAS DEAD!

—

Kon, showing up outside Tim's hotel room window, knocking gently:

Tim, throwing it open and cackling: Stalker!

Kon: Sorry, I kinda memorized your heartbeat. It beats... Crazy fast.

Tim: I'm very excitable.

Kon: It's beating faster now.

Tim: Certain people make me really excitable.

Kon: I'm one of those?

Tim: You're the only one of those...

—

Tim, setting fire to a trashcan:

Kon, who definitely didn't set out looking for Tim again: What did that trash do to you?

Tim: Oh, nothing, I just like fire!

Kon: Sounds dangerous.

Tim: I like danger.

Kon: You seem to like a lot of things... So, uh, your... Brother?

Tim: Uh huh, Red Hood-uh.

Kon: Yeah, um, so, he kinda already said your name was... Uh, Timothy?

Tim: I go by Tim.

Kon: Yeah, so, uh! I'm... Well, I can't just give you my name, obviously, but...

Tim: No worries, Boy super.

Kon: You're really weird.

Tim: You're an alien, you're even weirder.

Kon: Maybe we could be weird together..?

Tim: You'll need my flamethrowers permission, but otherwise, I'd like that!

Kon: Cool.

Tim: No, it's not, it's very hot.

Tim, lifting his flamethrower and giving it an aggressive shake: Fire is hot.

—

Back in Gotham

Tim, kicking open Stephanie's window: SPOILER!

Stephanie: I'm not even in costume right now, coloring book.

Tim: STEPHANIE!

Stephanie, sighing and closing her laptop: Yes, Todd Two?

Tim: I have a date.

Stephanie: With who?

Tim: UNIMPORTANT, TEACH ME SOCIAL CUES!

Stephanie: Does Jason know about this?

Tim: No, you're my alibi.

Stephanie: Wow, not even asking permission? Shame, shame on you.

Tim: Stephanie this is the most important thing in the history. Prepare me for relationships.

Stephanie: Hmm, can I say be yourself and hope it works out?

Tim: It's superboy.

Stephanie:

Stephanie: The fu—

—

Kon, running a finger along the scars on Tim's cheeks: Where'd these come from?

Tim: Pumpkin carving gone wrong?

Kon: I dunno how likely that is, but you are from Gotham, so...

Tim: I'm crazy.

Kon: Huh?

Tim: Fair warning, I was in an asylum, I was broken out, I'm certified insane, lunatic, coo coo...

Kon: Hey.

Tim: Hey.

Kon: I was grown in a lab, by a crazy rich dude. You're a lot more tolerate brand of crazy... By miles, actually, so, uh. I don't have any issue with crazy.

Tim: Cool.

Kon: No, it's not, it's very hot.

Kon, flicking Tim's flamethrower: Fire is hot.

—

Tim, coming home one day with a piercing in his ear: Jason, look! :D

Jason, loading his gun with kryptonite:

—

[trashbell]

everyone's reactions to mimzy LMAOO

[yippee-optimistically]

so ii16 huh

[synthwavecryptid]

mods are asleep, post tender old men

[krysissy]

DO Y'ALL EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH THIS SHIT IS AFFECTING ME. NEVER HAVE I EVER OMGG (ANGEL IS DOWN FUCKING BAD. YOU KNOW WHAT? THEY BOTH ARE)

*sharp inhale*

AND-

DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT LOSER BABY PLAYS IN THE FUCKIN BACKGROUND 😭

[demonic0angel]

Hotel AU

Jason groaned, holding a military grade field dressing to his wound as he tried his best to walk faster. Gunshots rang behind him and instinct allowed him to dodge, but one bullet still managed to graze him by the shoulder. It only made pain flare up worse, but Jason just sucked in a breath through his teeth and toiled onward to get to safety.

His comms buzzed in his ear, but no one was available at the moment. Jason still muttered a soft, "Requiring backup."

No one answered.

Jason, for an existential crisis-having moment, wondered if he was gonna die again.

Just as he thought this, a hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into another building.

Jason cursed and pulled out his gun with his unfortunately injured hand and pointed it towards his assailant, but then paused.

He had been pulled into a beautiful, first class looking hotel area.

"What the..." he started, before he turned.

An enormously tall woman smiled down at him. She was outrageously beautiful, with long red hair tied into a ponytail and a neat uniform covered by an apron. "Welcome, sir, to the Phantom Hotel! You seem to be in need of some assistance, would you like some help?"

Jason felt eerily calm and level headed, even as he bled all over the floors. "... that'd be nice." He said gruffly.

"Right away, sir." She said with a smile. She waved to someone over to his side and continued to speak. "I'm the co-owner of this hotel, you may call me Jazz. May I get your name for registration?"

Jason still didn't freak out yet. "Registration?" He echoed, as he took in his surroundings.

The hotel was beautiful, with tall ceilings, marble floors, white walls and candle chandeliers that glowed with dim lighting. People that didn't look like Gothamites milled around the lobby and sitting area, all relaxed and chatting amicably. There were a few that were dancing to club music. There was a noticeable bar in the corner of the room that looked unstaffed but was conspicuous in its size and black coloring.

"Yes, sir." Jazz said. "I assume that you're staying the night? We offer breakfast in the morning, and drinks are free all night!"

Jason was silent for a moment. A person wearing a similar uniform to Jazz, with a dark green vest and dark colored apron, approached them and immediately got to bandaging Jason's wounds.

Once again, Jason did not freak. He felt oddly calm, and in the back of his head, he knew that he was safe here. His gut instinct was to collapse on top of Jazz and take a nap, strangely comforted by her presence.

"... why am I so calm?"

Fuck it. He decided to just voice his question.

Jazz giggled. It was a cute noise. "Why wouldn’t you be? There’s nothing to worry about. We're the same, after all!"

Jason blinked. Then he turned to her as the attendant stepped away with the medical box, Jason feeling all healed up, and he said, "Is a night here free?"

"For you? Yep! Everything is free here."

Jason gave a nod. "Then I'll take a room with a single bed, please. Breakfast is free?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. The name's Jason Todd."

Jazz smiled, a sparkle in her eyes that made Jason feel all fuzzy with warmth. "Very good, sir. Your room number is 312, on the third floor. Here's your room card." She handed over a plastic card that was procured out of thin air but Jason didn't think about it.

He was mentally exhausted and being in her presence made him feel like he was going to drop and fall asleep on the floor and still wake up refreshed. It was so disconcerting that it was almost not disconcerting.

Jason eventually found the elevator, though not without lingering a little around the area. The vigilante in him was telling him to be careful, even though everything else inside of him couldn't give less of a damn and was telling him to kick back and relax. Jazz, after registering him, had gone to the bar to prepare drinks.

She mixed together alcoholic concoctions amidst a small crowd and the more Jason stared, the more it seemed like the dim light was hiding something. People looked like they were wearing ragged clothes and a lot of them had dark stains. There were quite a large amount of old people as well, along with people with seemingly missing appendages.

The last two details wasn't a bad thing, but the amount of them seemed like a hint to something bigger.

When Jazz made eye contact with Jason, she gave a sweet smile and a little wave, and that was Jason's signal to leave.

He got into an elevator, went to his room, and practically sank into the cloud-like bed before he basically knocked himself out. That night, he had never slept so well.

When he woke up, his body felt rejuvenated and he almost felt peppy. It was as if his previous irritations were only bad days and he had finally struck on a good day for once.

He washed up, miraculously found his wounds all healed up, and when he went to take a shower, his clothes were found on the sink, all washed and patched up. Even his helmet had been cleaned and fixed, pristine like the day he had first gotten it.

Jason could've been more suspicious.

But to reiterate, he couldn't.

Everything about this place was like a mother's hug. It was comforting. It made him feel safe. He felt like there was nothing to worry about and although a small part of him found this alarming, he really couldn't explain why he decided to trust it.

When he came down the elevator for breakfast, he was astonished.

Last night, the hotel had looked elegant and high class. Now, in the morning, everything looked warm and homey.

The various large rectangle tables had turned into small round tables that were densely packed together. The floor was a cool blue carpet and the walls had turned a shade of cream. The ceiling had shrank, but now flowers and vines grew from it, dropping from the ceiling with bright blossoms. The bar had been replaced with a little coffee area, with a young man behind the counter, currently taking orders.

The people sitting around and eating their breakfasts looked different in morning light. They glowed with faint shades of blue and green.

Jason paused to take in the sight, considering this information before he shook it off and approached the counter.

The man, after noticing him, immediately went to the cash register with a large smile on his face. "Hello!" He said cheerfully.

Jason immediately noted the similarities between him and Jazz. They had the same heart shaped face, the same ethereal beauty to them, the same nose and smile. This man, however, had bright blue eyes and dark black hair that swept over his eyes.

"What are you drugging me with? I'm way too comfortable here." Jason blurted out.

The man paused. And then he burst out laughing. Jason couldn't help the few snickers that fell out of his throat too, but they both quickly calmed down and the man explained softly, "We're not drugging you. You're just comfortable here because it's where you belong. Don't stress too much."

He continued to smile reassuringly. "Call me Danny. I'm the owner. What would you like to order?"

Jason's eyes flicked to the menu and then he said, "A California club croissant and a caramel latte, please."

"Coming right up, big guy!"

Jason moved a little bit away to the side so that other people could order.

He couldn't help but contemplate what was going on, but it was a little hard to think being this close to Danny's presence. The urge to fight against his soothed mind and the urge to just relax were warring, but unfortunately, his latter side was winning.

If Jazz had seemed comforting and like a hug, then Danny was the blanket, fireplace, hot chocolate cup and book on a cool rainy evening. It was like Danny was his missing piece that just sucked out all of the fear, misery, and rage inside of him.

It was almost crazy how Jason didn't want to retaliate against them at all.

"Here you go, Jason." A voice interrupted him and Jason looked up into crystalline eyes before something was pushed into his hands.

Jason looked down at his order and then up again. "Thanks."

Danny smiled. "No problem! You're pretty freaked out, huh?"

Jason shrugged. Then he thought about it and he asked, "Can I leave?"

"Of course you can." Danny said. "Come back anytime. For someone like you, you have the opportunity to come by anytime you want."

Jason nodded wordlessly and then, with his order in hand, he started walking to the door.

For one last time, he turned and met Danny's eyes. Danny smiled cheerfully, his eyes squinted in happiness. He gave a big wave and Jason returned it before he put on his helmet and pushed past the doors into the open air of Gotham's polluted and smoky world.

The rose glasses fell off and the pink sparkles faded away with each blink.

Jason stared dumbfounded at his own state of body and mind, as his siblings and family all screamed into his ear frantically, begging to know where he went and how he was.

Jason could only stare at the gray, listless world around him and wonder if he had imagined everything.

"What the fuck?"

[tonihatessociety]

Oh my god what the actual fuck has just happend?!

Alastor and Charlie having a deal

Alastor getting HURT?!

Adam is dead because Niffty fucking stabbed him and Lute stands in some sort of contact with Lilith

Sir Pentious first getting the Courage to confess his Feelings for Cherrybomb and then dying/becoming an angel

Alastors New biggest plan being to free himself and planning to take over hell

The Vees now trying to take over hell?!

Vox x Val is now Canon

Alastor lending his cane to Charlie and it later being revealed as one of his main manifestations of Power?!

Vox still just being utterly obsessed with Alastor

The Vees think Alastor is dead (I am so exited for Vox to find out that he isn't)

Lucifer pulling up Last second to save everybody

The Angel and Husk dynamic

Please tell me we won't have to wait another 4 years for more episodes! Because these last two were great!

[tranquil-slaughterhouse]

Are there any other Alex Brightman characters I should know that suffered the same fate?

[seefasters]

briefly considered an idea where julian's daughter visits the button house hotel before remembering she's literally a green party mp and it's a golf resort. rip julian you will never see your daughter again

[powerpointpartygirl]

[notsosmallbean]

Yeah they built Alastor a radio tower to come back to but I couldn't help but notice that it looks a bit... familiar

Am I looking into this too much or is it also a nod to Sir Pentious's ship? Do you think they made the tower as a combination nod to the two demons who (presumably) went down fighting against Adam?

[jstardoesthings]

I can’t believe that Alex brightman killed Alex brightman

[trashbell]

when lucifer started playing the violin i thought for SURE alastor would do the same thing and we'd get a Camp Camp style duet

[ilovecarmillia]

Alastor wallpaper,I got carried away(the neon lettering says "The Radio Demon" )

[afandomroom]

My biggest take away from reading Last Stand of Dead Men is that Anton is (to me) a softy beneath the stoic, intimidating demeanor.