#thinking about how security breach originally would’ve had a pretty good story before it was toned down

[luisleyyaoi]

I hate being hyperfixated on fnaf lore and security breach like this shit actually sucks :(

[conspicuous-clown-car]

lemme ramble for a bit

so i have this story in my head of my self insert and the bs they go through while working at the pizzaplex for like 2 years as a night guard

and originally they were gonna die at the end of it before the events of security breach, smth about them finally getting what they wanted bc that’s one of the reasons they wanted to work there in the first place. but i thought that was way too sad, despite, yknow, it being a horror and if i was in their place id definitely be dead before then. plus there are some things worse than death in the fnaf universe. so i decided to veer away from angst for this story and go for a more thriller horror (maybe psychological) type thing yknow? makes it more fun

THEN i was like yo what if ghosts kids start haunting them to help them find their killer and there’s like 1 for each pizzaplex animatronic (excluding freddy and roxy bc they got gregory and cassie). and it could be super angsty bc 2 of the kids were inadvertently killed because of moon and one was killed by moon, and my s/i is super close with moon right? so it would be like a moral dilemma, bc they want to help the kids but they still want to be friends with moon, but they’re also horrified that he killed a kid. and my s/i would start dreaming and sleepwalking, forced by the ghost kids to relive their deaths to try and find who killed them. but then i started thinking about the timeline of that, and it would mean moon would’ve had the virus or whatever years before this story takes place, which isn’t what i wanted nor did it make sense. so after a while i was just like nahhhh, and it didn’t really mesh well with the story of security breach anyways, its more sci-fi than supernatural now, and including the ghost kids would just be too much crammed into self insert story i have. the kids designs im still gonna use tho lol

NOW after getting back into fnaf after like a few months of not really caring about the lore, i’ve been watching more theory videos and book summaries and stuff like that and it made me shift my whole view on security breach’s story

so i’ve decided that i wanna stick as close to canon lore as possible and make gregory and vanessa/vanny more present and important. i want to focus more on the issues with ai, and show the slow downfall and problems with depending solely on them. i also need to figure out why my self insert has plot armor bc anyone in their situation would’ve been fired or killed by now (i don’t have to stick that close to canon for this i guess). but im just gonna justify it as they’re a pushover who doesn’t ask any questions and just does what they’re told, which is pretty much what got the other employees fired or killed bc they did the opposite (they’re also a huge nerd about robots so they end up being good friends with all the animatronics which is a HUGE plot point in this story, friendship is the real magic love conquers all etc. etc.) don’t get me wrong, they are fully aware of how wrong things are in the pizzaplex and how some things vanessa has told them don’t add up, but they are a good little employee (they are a severe people pleaser) so they feign ignorance to it all.

my self insert being autistic and having adhd is also a big thing i wanna include, bc there’s some really specific shit about their autism that would affect how they survive and stuff. things like trauma responses, masking, unmasking, meltdowns, and shutdowns that will affect their relationships with the others and will domino affect over time and lead to them surviving. idk ive just been thinking a lot lately about social interactions and experiences i have that are negatively or positively impacted specifically because of my autism. choices choices

i also want to make sure that it’s clear how neglected all the animatronics are. not just the dca since it is intended to be a s/i x sun and moon story. but there’s a lot of issues the in game messages have talked about with the animatronics that seem to happen because no one is bothering to help them. they just put a bandaid on a situation but they don’t fix the root problem yknow. also, my s/i doesn’t think the animatronics are sentient at first, and i want that to be a big thing that gets explored several times throughout the story bc i love thinking about robot sentience.

at first i was gonna have monty sort of start to be nice to my s/i, and maybe they could be friends or even have a sibling type relationship (red hair lol) but then i was like nah, monty being an asshole is what makes his character interesting. plus his behavior is a nice contrast from the rest of the band. though i think it would be funny for some characters to think monty is my s/i’s favorite at first bc their hair is dyed red

i also want sun and moon to be as close to canon as possible. while i love love LOVE pretty much every dca x reader fic i ever read, i have a preference for canon depictions of sun and moon lol. no hate to fanon depictions of sun when i say this, but ive been lost in the sauce of fanon sun for too long, and i wanna make him passive aggressive, and sarcastic, and picky, and fussy!! but still an anxious wreck and a people pleaser perfectionist. i’ll admit im still struggling with this. it was kinda hard to get a gauge on his personality at first because until help wanted 2 we had only seen how he interacts with kids. and even though in universe that isn’t the real sun it’s the only indication we have of how he interacts with adults, so im taking it. moon is still gonna be mischievous, creepy as hell, and won’t talk much, but he’s not gonna be killin anyone (yet), he’s just gonna be kind of a stalker lol. also the dca and freddy have beef for some reason, it’s a personal head canon of mine but im adding it to this story hehe

lots of physical injuries, several concussions, a migraine so bad they loose the ability to communicate properly (smth i experience) will all happen to them, bc i am throwing them through the ringer. they will be stressed more often than not. get projected on idiot (i say that as if this isn’t my self insert and is literally me)

tbh this story would mostly be just a slice of life, shenanigan, character driven thing for most of it. but then little things brought up in the past will become important to the plot later on.

like how copyright music can’t be played in front of any of the animatronics or else they will freak out :]

that’s all lol

[i-love-you-all]

Rough Draft Dump

2021.08.17

I feel like I should be putting more original content on this tumblr... As the title says, these are just bits of writing I thought I’d turn into a story/a scene I wanted to include but just didn’t work. It’s unedited and rough, but hopefully still entertaining...

Info: Breach/Sova, 1.5k words, introspection, Breach’s POV, some explicit language (like one word...)

.

There are days where he can’t stop it. The bubbling heat under his skin, the squeeze of his heart, the sick need to punch something, hit something, feel some kind of pain so that maybe – just maybe – he could go back to being happy. Or if not happy, at peace.

Normally, it was a little easier for him to control it. The jobs he used to take, breaking down doors, cracking safes, bringing in more riches than he could’ve ever dreamed of as a child, while dangerous, they helped him channel his anger into the destruction he left behind. And while those jobs weighed on his heart sometimes in the darkest of nights, right before the sun rose, they made him happy. Or at least they took away the anger and allowed him to feel anything else. He didn’t know if he’d ever felt actual happiness until he met Raze.

She was a ray of light piercing through the storm clouds that fueled his anger. She brought with her laughter, a carefree feeling, and the knowledge that he had someone on his side, no matter what. It was a change that he welcomed slowly. The people he worked with were the opposite, and he knew he had to watch himself. If he got stuck, made a mistake, or in trouble, he was on his own until Raze stopped for him. She came back and kept him moving when she could’ve just as easily left him and moved up in their world by herself.

And yet, none of that even compared to when Sova smiled at him. The ease with which Breach fell into the comfort of sleeping next to another body without worrying about being able to wake up in the morning was frighteningly fast. The soft touches with no expectation behind them lulled him into some version of security that he had never felt in his life until the nights spent side by side with the Russian, praying that death would be staved off for the next days, next missions, for both of them. If Raze was an angel, lifting him up from the crashing waves, Sova was the god, radiating enough warmth and love to push back the crawling tendrils of anger and hate.

So why – why – was he feeling this again?

He didn’t even want to find Sova. Right, because he was pissed off at his love. Just thinking of how it normally was almost made him forget the bitter feelings swirling in his lungs and begging to be screamed out.

Sova had been sent on a mission without Breach which was a normal occurrence. Brim didn’t often feel a need to send them together, but recently, even when he did, he tried not to. This was all Breach’s fault, sure, but it still stung whenever he saw Sova suiting up for yet another mission and he could only wait for his return. It stung more when Sova’s first action after returning wasn’t finding Breach in a room and subtly, or sometimes not so subtly, let him know that he missed him, and that Sova would find him the moment he could. Instead, when Breach walked past the lounge on the way from his room to go and hunt down Cypher and shove the little bug back into the body that placed it, he saw Sova there, sitting quite peacefully with Sage tucked under his arm and drawing little circles on her arm. Sova didn’t even seem uncomfortable, even though it took Breach multiple nights before he was allowed to kiss him.

A knock came at his door, and he was pretty sure he knew who it was. Still, he fought against the urge to jump out of his bed and answer it. Plus, if it was actually Sova, he had his own key to the door.

Sure enough, after a long period silence that almost lulls Breach to sleep, the door creaked open. When Breach woke up, knowing who was now quietly making their way over to his bed, taking a seat right at the edge, there was no more of that anger. Instead, just an empty feeling. It was like he could remember the buzz of the fury in him, could feel where he wasn’t right, but it was gone. Almost like Sova’s very aura could drive that anger away even when it was directed at him.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

He felt the warm hands wrap around his, and how they slid up his arms to carefully run through his hair. Breach didn’t react though. It took more energy to keep his head on the pillow that it would’ve leaning into the touch.

“I’m not in the mood tonight, Sova,” he said, realizing just how tired he sounded. The hands removed themselves and Sova made a noise in agreement.

“Would you like to come to my room though? We don’t have to do anything. We can just sleep. I missed you.”

Did you really? Not that Breach would actually ask. But if he denied this request, it would be quite obvious that he had some problem with Sova. He silently cursed himself for the one night he poured his thoughts out to Sova who he thought was asleep. One of thoughts was about how he slept better squished into Sova’s bed than he ever did even when he had the best mattress he could afford.

“Tonight’s not a great night for me.”

The glow of the artificial eye was focused on him, and the dim light gave him a view of Sova’s frown as the other man studied him.

“Is it because of Sage at the debriefing today?”

Breach tensed, knowing that was probably enough for Sova to read him. Sova was attentive to everything, his hunts, the activities around him, and of course, Breach. And it didn’t help that even Breach knew that he was acting like some petulant child, trying to give a cold shoulder when all he wanted was attention.

The bed shifted as Sova sat back down next to him. This time, the touches felt scared, as if he thought Breach would retaliate. And even though the thought went through his head earlier in the day, it was gone now. Eventually, with the soft nudging of Sova’s arms and body, Breach found himself on his back, hands on Sova’s thighs as the other man straddled him. There was no heat to the touches though, and if anything, it was comforting. At some point, Sova leaned over him, and Breach could feel his shirt tickling his nose. Just seconds later, he heard a click and the soft light from his desk lamp illuminated the abs hovering over him.

Sova sat back on Breach and gave him a concerned look, brows slightly furrowed, and mouth set in a soft frown. “I’m sorry, Breach.” And really, the sincerity behind the words was enough to make him squirm a little with discomfort. He never did get used to Sova’s genuine nature. He loved the compliments, sure, because they fed his ego, but phrases like this were different. It felt too emotional, too deeply connected, and just too much.

Breach looked away, appreciating that Sova was still with him and dealing with this silent tantrum he was throwing. The little touches to his cheek were more than welcome.

“Give me one night alone, Sova.”

“I will,” Sova nodded, taking one good look at Breach before sliding off. “I just wanted you to look at me when I tell you that I…”

There’s no way. Neither of them has said it yet, and Sova was too romantic to want to say it while Breach was kind of pissed at him.

“I really do care about you. I would do anything for you, and I would do anything you asked me to. If you asked me to jump, I’d ask how high. If you asked me to swim, I’d as how deep. My feelings towards you cannot change so easily.”

And with that, he turned off the lamp and stood to walk out. Breach didn’t even register that he held onto his hand, stopping Sova from walking too far away.

“What is it?” the soft voice whispered in the darkness.

He really has to get in the habit of thinking before doing these things.

“I know you wouldn’t change. Not that fast, and not without reason. I just missed you too.” The words taste dry on the way out, but he really did mean it. Breach just wasn’t used to saying anything this sappy back to Sova. “Plus, you wouldn’t dare move on from me, or should I say my cock.” There it was. The mildly insulting teasing put Breach at ease, and from the soft exhale from Sova, he could assume that the other man was smiling too.

“I’ll take my leave then,” Sova murmured. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

Somewhere inside of him, he knew he had two choices: he could either go with Sova to his room now, or he could wait for a few minutes to stew in the loneliness while replaying Sova’s words over and over again before giving up and going to his room. At least if he went now, he might be able to convince Sova to go a couple rounds with him.

“Give me a second to find clothes for tomorrow.”

[heyscience]

If I Were Inquisitor - Ask Meme.

@batsintheshadows @tea-me-and-smut @foxywolfmeerkat13 @howling-at-night OMG THIS IS SO FUN YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT!! Thanks so much for writing yours, and I’m so stoked to finally share mine!

If you are reading this and want to give it a shot, please reblog the original post and I’ll send you an ask! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, I LOVE READING PEOPLE’S ANSWERS. THEY’RE ALL. SO GOOD!!!!

1. Race: I want to be a giant muscley mountain of a Qunari. I wanna be the very best, like no-one ever was, at smashing my enemies’ faces in and giving the best goddamn hugs there is. 

2. Class/Specialization: Two-handed Warrior/Champion. I like hitting things, and I love the idea of getting involved in all that pompous Orlesian chevalier bullshit and RUINING IT for ALL OF THEM.

3. Your homeland? It’s gotta be somewhere warm and by the sea (because I love the ocean and also I can’t deal with the cold cos I am WEAK), so I’m thinking Rivain. Ooh! And that would mean I’d have a bunch of sick tattoos and piercings! Rad.

4. Your family? (Ok so I’m basing this loosely off my irl family because they’re my best point of reference I guess????)

So, my family. I love them, but they’re a mess.

My Mum was the ideal Tamassran. A devout adherent to the Qun. She worked as a healer and was very well respected in her field.

That was until she met my Dad, who in short, looked at the Qun and was like ‘fuck this shit I’m out.’

Dad was a soldier and one day he was wounded in battle, ended up in the hospice where Mum worked, wooed her, and they ran away together to Rivain.

They had my brother and I and then realised that they’re actually polar opposites and it’s a wonder they were ever attracted to each other. They split up, re-partnered and had more kids. So I have a pile of siblings that I have varying degrees of blood relation with, but we all consider each other fully part of our extended, convoluted family (for serious - irl I have 9 siblings).

Mum taught me business sense and how to tend to battle wounds, Dad taught me how to fight. I’ve got a lot of family of various races all over Thedas, all related (not necessarily by blood) one way or another. People say lovely things about my Mum, and the craziest things about my Dad - the stories of his exploits are so outrageous it’s difficult to believe any of them are true (like irl my dad was involved in organised crime for a while but quit cos he got bored????).

I love my family but I’m really bad at keeping in contact with them, so I get the occasional letter from Mum being like ‘ARE YOU DEAD?!’

Leliana has taken to sending her reassuring updates preemptively.

5. Who were you before? I imagine I’d be part of something like a dnd adventuring party.

We started out as a ragtag group of misfits, travelling the land in search of gold and glory. It was mostly treasure hunting and mercenary gigs, and some of the work we did on the high seas was um, legal-adjacent (piracy). But occasionally we’d stop to lend a hand to those in need, pass ourselves off as bards to earn extra coin in small-town taverns, and we even involved ourselves in vigilante justice a couple of times.

We grew into our own little family, and eventually we found ourselves wanting to do the type of work that really mattered. That’s why we signed ourselves up to work security at the Conclave, with a plan to move into aiding refugees in Ferelden afterwards. It didn’t. Quite. Work out that way. Unfortunately.

6. Would you be religious? That’s a hard no.

7. Do you have a mabari? YES PUPPY! Who is also a fully fledged member of our adventuring troupe I might add.

8. Your opinion on other races? Elves = rad, dwarves = awesome, humans = eh, dragons?? = HELL YES

9. What would Varric’s nickname for you be? Stubby.

10. What would your tarot card look like? This one is hard! I’m thinking a lot of compass imagery (because the sea and travelling and finding your way etc.)...and I’d have to be facing at an angle that best accentuates my glorious biceps.

11. Where would you hang out in Skyhold? I like to be in the centre of the action, but I’m not sure where that would be?? Probably in the main Skyhold courtyard near the entrance, in amongst the merchants? It’d be a good spot to see the comings and goings, check in with recruits and workers for the Inquisition, and also play with any kids who might be around. 

It’s important to make sure the kids of the Inquisition are happy and healthy and, um, ok Josie I’ll admit it, they’re also way more fun to hang out with than that stuffy noble whoeverthefuck you just brought in from Orlais.

12. What would you do for fun? Knock back beers in the Herald’s Rest with my companions, come up with dirty drinking songs with Sera, get blackout drunk with Dorian (although I’ll eventually realise it’s a very unhealthy coping mechanism and encourage Dorian to join me in cutting down the booze), swap stories and quality bants with Varric, beg Vivienne for fashion advice, gush over romance novels with Cass, have tea and gossip sessions with Josie, poke fun at Cullen, spar with the Inquisition recruits (and scare the shit out of them), and, just anything to distract from the looming horror that is Corypheus.

13. What armour would you wear? Heavy, shiny, and bloodstone red.

14. What would your room look like? Organised chaos. I love playing host so my room would look mostly neat, but the writing desk would be an absolute mess. It would probably make poor Josie hyperventilate (which is why I’d always suggest we discuss things in her office, or at least give me plenty of notice before swinging by my chambers so I can tidy up). 

15. Who would be your friends at Skyhold? I’d wanna be friends with pretty much everyone, but I think I’d be closest with Dorian (BUT of course only after giving him a solid scolding for his views on slavery, and I’d only continue talking to him if he came to his senses).

We have a very similar sense of humour, and. Oh man. I have way more feelings about this than I thought I would. In short - I can imagine both laughing with him and collapsing on the floor together with a bottle of wine (each) and many tears.

16. Would you have any friends outside of the Inquisition? This makes me sad because my closest friends outside the Inquisition would be my adventuring party and they..would’ve...the Conclave...EVEN MY MABARI. MY POOR PUPPY. OH GOD WHY. TOO MANY FEELINGS.

17. Who wouldn’t you get along with? Cole. It’s not that I don’t like him, I’d just be super awkward around him, like ‘HELLO SPIRIT CHILD HOW ARE YOU TODAY. OH, IS THAT AN INSECURITY OF MINE YOU JUST POINTED OUT?! WELL COOL, GOOD TALK.’ 

18. Who would you romance? I know this isn’t possible in Inquisition but I would like to be in a polyamorous relationship with Isabela. SHE IS MY FICTIONAL SOULMATE OK.

(Also I’m more than a little bit in love with Cullen but I hate myself for it so)

19. Would you do pranks with Sera? AbsoLUTELY.

20. Would you sleep with the Iron Bull (casually if not romance)? 100% YES. It’d only be an occasional thing tho, cos while I’m a masochist and I like being tied up I’m not really a sub. I’d mostly go to him for bondage tips and um. Requests for. Demonstrations.

21. Would you keep Cole around? Yes. I’d still be weirded out by him, but I acknowledge that it’s completely not his fault. I’d take his word for it that he just wants to help people and let him have at it with that freaky mind-reading and vanishing shit he does.

22. Can you play the game (politics)? A little bit. I’d have to work the scandal angle. Being a Qunari I could never hope to assimilate into the realms of the nobility, but I could win their favour by being something of a novelty. Much like Casanova in this brilliant adaptation starring David Tennant - watch from 10:42.

You see, you don’t have to be liked by everybody, just the right people, and you can usually get them onside by just being very fucking entertaining.

23. What would be on your tombstone in the fade (What are you afraid of)? Ghosts. I’m not sure how well that translates to a Thedas setting but still, it’s my biggest fear so I’m sticking with it.

24. Who would you recruit to seal the breach? Mages.

25. Opinion on Mages versus Templars? Ok, so I have a proposal for how to fix this bullshit:  

1. The Chantry should relinquish any and all control over the affairs of mages. Separation of Church and State, simple as that.

2. The Templar Order should be disbanded, and the practice of indenturing soldiers by saddling them with a lyrium addiction should be banned.

3. All people in Thedas (and I mean ALL) should be taught about magic from a young age, both the gifts and dangers of its use. Everyone should learn about magical safety and how to resist demonic possession.

4. Mage children should attend the same schools as everyone else, but they can hone their skills in their late teens to early adulthood in mage colleges, with free tuition paid by the State (of wherever part of Thedas this is). They can research magic, learn a trade or train in combat, whatever they choose. Mages will be allowed to earn money, marry, have families, and have some actual freaking rights. None of this ‘hunt ‘em down and lock ‘em up’ bullshit.

5. Also the Rite of Tranquility WHAT THE FUCK. I can’t believe it’s a thing people actually agree to do. This rite should be downright fucking outlawed, and severe penalties levelled at the people who attempt it.

26. Who would be put in charge of Orlais and why? Briala. I wouldn’t suggest to Briala that she should get back together with Celene, because honestly their relationship was really fucked up and Celene abused the power imbalance between them. Briala deserves better (like for example me..maybe...but y’know, only if she wants to..)

So I would keep Celene on the throne but hand over all real power to Briala. Celene is a crafty one however, so we’d have to corner her with blackmail and keep a hidden killswitch on hand in case she tries to pull a fast one on us (just like the Voltron kids should be doing with Lotor, which sorry, I know that isn’t related but I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT IT).

27. Would you sacrifice the Chargers? NEVER.

Seriously Fuck the Qun. The Qun actively promotes eugenics with how they selectively “breed” their people. ALSO the Qunari are gaslighted into believing that they will literally go insane if they don’t follow the Qun?!!!?!?!!??!??! FUCK THAT SHIT.

So yeah, I was never keen on the idea of allying with the Qunari, so when Gatt’s like ‘if you sacrifice the dreadnought there will be no alliance’ I’m like ‘I am ok with this.’ Also, of course, I love the Chargers with all my heart and couldn’t bear to lose them.

28. Would you go after Blackwall? Yeah. He should put all his moral posturing to good fucking use and try being an actual hero. I’d make him join the Wardens, cos it’s effectively a death sentence (or an early grave at least ) and I don’t 100% dislike him, so I know he’d be cool with it because he has a giant fucking hard-on for the Wardens (Jesus fuck). 

29. Would you drink from the well? Nnnnnoooooooooo..and it’s because I would fucking die for Morrigan. I wish I could say I have a well considered reason, but I’m just pathetic like that. She could say jump and I’d say ‘I’d rather not, but, counter offer - would you instead like to sit on my face?’ 

30. Where would you go if the Inquisition was disbanded? Minrathous. It’s warmer there (I love Skyhold but fucking hate the cold), and I would involve myself in the inevitable slave uprising - helping out in whatever way I can. Also I’d just be having a fucking great time terrorising the Magisters, rocking up at the Magisterium like ‘LOOKIT ME I’M A RAGING QUNARI HERE TO INVADE, RARRGHH!! oh hey Dorian, what’s up babe how’ve you been????’

31. How do you react to the egg telling you he is an elven god? The five stages of grief:

Denial - lol no ur not, you’re our painty pyjamas nerd! 

Anger - Wait, so it’s YOUR FUCKING FAULT MY FRIENDS AND EVERYONE ELSE DIED AT THE CONCLAVE??!?! I AM GONNA GUT YOU AND STRING YOU UP BY YOUR INTESTINES SO I CAN USE YOUR WEEDY BODY AS A GORE PINATA YOU FUCKING MONSTER 

Bargaining - but you’re a god right? Does that mean you can bring them back? Can you undo all this somehow? You gotta have superpowers or some shit right??!?

Depression - After all we’ve been through...you never even saw us as people, did you? Did you ever think of me as a friend? Or anyone else? How could you be ok with murdering your friends? Solas, please, you don’t have to do this. I know that if we work together we can find a better way. You don’t have to destroy the world to save it.

Acceptance - ..................I fUCKING HATE YOU SOLAS.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 6

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

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

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

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

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

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

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

-Regina Spektor, "Two Birds"

Then.

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

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

Dick’s smile didn’t falter.

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

Tim skewered him a look of disgust.

“Do you have to make everything sound dirty?”

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

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

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

Tim’s lips tightened.

“Forget it.  It’s not worth it.”

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

“…Didn’t sound like one.”

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

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

Dick clutched his behind in mock dread at the threat.

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

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

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

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

Dick’s smirk jerked slightly.

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not.”

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

“I’m not hiding anything.”

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

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

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

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

Dick lowered his limb in disappointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

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

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

Dick shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I borrow this?”

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

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

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

For Babs.

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

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

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

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

“…It was.”

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

Good luck at college, Dick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim glared at him in disbelief.

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

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

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

“Tim…”

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

“It’s not like that.”

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

Dick cleared his throat, aversely acknowledging hypocrisy.

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

Tim shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

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

“I told you, I’m fine with this.”

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

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

“I said forget it.”                                                          

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

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

“Why?  I suck at it.”

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

Tim wavered at the sincere, if somewhat scheming statement.

“I don’t know…”

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

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

“What was that?”

“…Nothing.”

Dick held his gaze for a second.

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

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

“Damnit, Kon.”

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

“It’s fine, I’m handling it.”

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

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

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

His partner fixed him with stern concern.

“Are you off your meds again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ringing.”

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

“Here.  She wants to talk to you.”

Dick lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hey, doc.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please do.”

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

“Where do you think you’re going?”

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

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

Tim swiveled with a sour countenance.

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

“Show me.”

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

“Satisfied?”

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

“All right.  Now empty your pockets.”

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

“Give me the knife.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t make me wrestle it from you.”

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

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

“Sure thing, Mom.”

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

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

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

Out of sight, out of mind.

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