#they tried to undone all the amazing things that made zombie island amazing

[there-are-many-ways-to-smile]

They really retcon Scooby Doo Zombie Island because they didn’t like it and felt it was too Dark and edgy. Like that movie didn’t quite literally re boosted Scooby Doo popular in the late 90s and early 2000’s

The Scooby gang being adults and dealing with real monsters is just a few of the reasons that made it great. Return to zombie island is so freaking disrespectful to the creators of the original movie. That’s so hateful.

[iphoenixrising]

For 700 Followers!

Hi babe <3

I hope things have gotten better since you sent this. If not, I love you. If they have, I still love you. This isn’t the usual Dr!Tim thing, but I still kind of liked it. The nuances are there if you squint hard.

Ah, I think I headcanon for this ‘verse that the beginning of their relationship, Dick and Jay kind of retreated to their respective places when the stress and fuckery of being a crime fighter gets overwhelming. When it’s a bad night, Dick goes to his apartment and cleans like mad or stares emptily at the television. For hours. Jay hits up his favorite and most secret safe house. A place with his books so he can lose himself and try to fight the Pit back without putting anyone else in harm’s way, you feel me?

**

With the surge in crime over the past month, Tim starts seeing the signs immediately and on the down-low. Dick’s bad knee gives him more fits than usual, even if he tries to play it off. Jay’s eyes are showing more green than blue some nights, even snuggled up to them in bed.

The nightmares are progressing, Dick moaning softly in his sleep, Jay trying to wait it out until he’s exhausted enough to pass out cold without dreaming.

(He made the mistake of lightly touching Dick on the arm and got backhanded as a result, the hit waking both of them immediately.

It’s hot fire along his jaw, but he grabs Dick to stop the babbled apologies, keeps him from getting out of bed and backing away. For the rest of the night, he clenches both of them against his chest tightly, refuses to let go.

It only helps wipe the guilty look on Dick’s face marginally.)

They need a night off because the vigilante life is killing them.

So, he makes a plan.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, Tim adjusts a stupid piece of hair that keeps getting in his eyes and fiddles with the cuff links again. He picks an imaginary piece of lint off the sharp suit lapels and gives himself one last critical glance before turning off the light.

He’s already double-checked the reservations, sent the two very carefully chosen garment bags to Dick’s apartment, and has the promise of Superman himself no one is going to bother them tonight.

(It was easy, he’s got leverage against the Kryptonian after he removed those shards of terrible green rock and got to study a little alien microbiology. It comes in handy when he needs the world to leave his boyfriends the fuck alone. Also handy if he’s running late and a little super in his step gets him to Mercy General in a blink.)

Whistling, he goes to the lower level of the building where his hardly-ever used car is covered. (He told them he had one, they’d just never seen it.) The engine purrs low when he fires it up and pulls out of the space, taking to Gotham’s streets with shades covering his eyes and a grin on his face while the Red Bird darts in and out of traffic like a champ.

When he sees Jay and Dick waiting for him on the corner by Dick’s apartment, he gets a thrill of arousal at the sharp suits outlining his very sexy vigilante boyfriends.

(Not the only ones that appreciate a fine suit.)

The first few buttons are undone at Jay’s throat, making him want to lick the enticing span of skin, and Dick has the tie perfect enough that he wants to use it to pull his taller significant other in for a deep kiss. Restraint is really not his strong point right now, but he manages to get out of the car and open the doors for his boys with a flourish.

“Your chariot, gentlemen.”

Jay whistles at the Lotus and gives him a long, sultry look, keeps the kiss chaste by the smallest margin. He slides in the back, splays his big body all over the leather seat, that small smirk too much inviting. Dick’s eyes are beautifully warm, and the kiss is sweet with a hand on his jaw, thumbing where the bruise has already faded, the other palming his ass. Almost in Jay’s face.

Both of them watch him shift through the gears smoothly, commenting on how sweet the car is, how much they like the suits, how cute he looks in his own.

(How they needed this.)

He laughs and drives faster when Jay eggs him on, taking the Crusoe Bridge out of town like they’re flying.

He talks and banters with Dick’s hand on his thigh and Jay’s reaching between the seats to run fingers up the sensitive underside of his wrist.

When they Metropolis, he stops at the amazing restaurant, gives the valet his keys, and offers each an arm.

He knows he’s playing it right when Jay slides a hand in the crook of his elbow and squeezes while Dick does the absolute same.

The table is secluded, candles and wine, high-class and secluded without being stiff or stuffy, the perfect place for both his boyfriends to be at least somewhat at ease. (He fervently hopes Superman won’t get word they’re in town. He will seriously break someone’s face if anyone take them away from him tonight.)

The food is amazing and they’re all sitting close enough to feed one another. It turns into the kind of play that leads to smouldering arousal and half-mast bedroom eyes, specifically when he sucks the cream off Dick’s fingers and bites down lightly on Jay’s thumb.

He drinks water all night to make sure they don’t have any reservations about him driving, flying through the night on the open road. Jay’s in the front with him now while Dick leans between the seats, slurry and affectionate.

Both of them are buzzing a little with the wine and good food, both of them laughing and relaxed, it makes him satisfied and warm. He laughs with them, flirts outrageously, and rubs his thumb over Jay’s knuckles, just holding his hand.

Dr. Drake gives himself all the kudos for managing a romantic dinner successfully. It’s even more important he’s gotten them out of the masks for the night, given them a much-needed break.

He walks them up to Dick’s apartment, giving the illusion he’s doing it for the goodnight kisses instead of supporting them both to make sure they don’t end up falling all over their own feet.

He gets sloppy kisses while undressing them, maneuvering soft pajamas over scarred, broken skin and bandages, gently touches dark bruises while he smiles at them with soft, affectionate eyes. Glass of water for each and wrestling them down to the blankets, The Good Doctor playing on television.

When he leans down to get his last kisses of the night, Dick whines at him and makes grabby hands, but Jay just wraps both arms around his thighs and looks up with hopeful blue eyes.

His suit is probably going to get wrinkled, hung haphazardly on the back of the bathroom door, but Jay’s shirt and Dick’s sweats are more comfortable than his own clothes any night.

He distracts them from going below the waist by taking the hand and kissing each knuckle, or moving another around his neck so the body drifts more solidly against him. It’s an easy thing to shift his fingers softly through thick hair and nuzzle against a cheek. It’s easy to whisper sweet nothings while cuddled close, to tell them how proud he is to be theirs, how proud he is of their hard work, how much good they do for the city, how much he admires them, how much better they make him just by being them.

He can shake off the numb, tingly feeling in his arms the next morning more easily when both of them are still huddled against him, no nightmares driving them out of bed or in a corner where the fetal position is the only thing that can make them feel safe. He can ignore the way his heart pounds harder in his chest when he looks at their sleeping faces, and something so wonderfully precious swirls around in him until he aches.

It’s easy to gives them sleepy kisses and lingering caresses to hair and backs and faces before sliding out of bed to start coffee and make the attempt to put on something good for breakfast–

(he fails. Epically. Orders out for breakfast instead.)

–and has a mug ready for when they stumble out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and yawning.  

After this experiment, he’s planning a weekend get-away. Some nice tropical island where Drake Industries has a condo he’s only used like twice and communications are spotty so those calls from Oracle, Batman, the Titans, the Outlaws, and whoever the hell else can wait until they get back.

He’s humming to himself happily while setting out plates and adding syrup, cutting pancakes into bite-sized pieces so maybe he can, you know, feed them again.

(He might have discovered a new kink…)

And he’s standing at the sink, humming to himself while cutting up strawberries to rinse off and put on top with a little whip cream, sinking in to the comfortable silence and motion.

Which is how Jay comes upon him, still rocking a notorious bed-head, all kinds of dressed in their clothes, cutting strawberries by the sink with a soft, sleepy smile on his face. On their table behind him, he’s got a nice looking spread, coffee, milk, and juice ready to pour.

It’s an instinct close to the one that’s all vigilante. An instinct to protect that hits Jason the moment he sees that smile and knows what’s making his boy happy.

(Any fuckin’ one ever lays a hand on ya, and I’ll make ‘im scream ta die.)

“Hey, good morning,” he puts the strawberries on the table and picks up Jay’s ‘Zombies Do It Better’ mug. He tilts his chin up for the kiss, sighing gently against Jay’s mouth when he gets it.

Dick is more clingy than normal when he’s finally drawn by the smell of breakfast, and hangs on him like a blanket to accept bites in between sips of coffee.

It’s too soon when he has to put his suit back on to leave them with the dishes washed and a nap in their immediate future. He’s got to stop at his penthouse, grab a shower and scrubs, be off on his own mission.

None of that means he wouldn’t rather climb back in bed with them and sleep off a good breakfast like a boss.

It’s no surprise when he gets a page deep into the night and leaves Steph to the crickets chirping around their ER, taking off for the roof, heart racing with what he might be coming into. He comes out in doctor mode, ready to drop to his knees and handle anything from burns to toxins to bleeding out.

The sigh of relief is caught up with the gasp of surprise when the rooftop picnic is complete with candles and a small bluetooth speaker playing something soft and perfect for the scene. He drops his vigilante-only bag and laughs loud enough for the whole damn city to hear.