#tim ears turn red ive decided

[v1ct0r1an]

A little doodle page of some magnus hornets au stuff

[eldritchcryptids]

37, jam!! please!!! cuz god knows how many times ive spotted them in each other's clothes during the entries lmao

Jay found himself digging through his bag of clothes, trying to find anything clean to wear. Things had gotten so busy as of late that Jay hadn’t had enough time to wash any of his clothes, the concept having slipped his mind until right about now. Jay sighed, he’s been wearing the same clothes for about three days straight now and the clothes were undoubtedly starting to smell bad. Not to mention that it was cold out too and Jay’s sweater had remained unwashed for about a week.

It seemed like his memory loss also extended to forgetting to wash his clothes, primarily shirts. About to give up and settle for wearing the same shirt for at least one more day, Jay rested his head against the frame of his bed. As he did so, a familiar piece of red and black fabric caught his eye. Tim’s flannel was left lying over top of Tim's duffle bag. Jay blinked.

When travelling with someone, especially someone as hectic as Jay, things get misplaced rather easily. Quickly packing their bags and rushing to the next motel often resulted in a lot of their items being swapped around - usually clothes. So, if Jay wore Tim’s flannel, surely that wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Plus, Tim would probably be understanding if Jay just explained that he didn’t have any new clothes to wear. They practically shared everything together nowadays anyways.

Jay slid out of the bed and grabbed the red flannel button up. He held the soft fabric in his hands, staring at the iconic button up. He chewed on his bottom lip before deciding that he’d change into it. Once he did so, he immediately could smell Tim on the shirt. The shirt smelt strongly of cigarettes, cheap cologne and a vague earthy scent - almost like the forest, freshly after it had rained. Jay almost expected the cigarette smell to be overwhelming, but it wasn’t at all, hell, it almost felt comforting. You could tell the shirt was slightly too big for Jay, the sleeves reaching his knuckles, the shirt ended at his thighs, and overall the shirt made Jay look very boxy. Luckily, it didn’t look like Jay was drowning in the red and black shirt.

Tim, who had gone to grab the free breakfast that the motel puts out every morning, soon returned back to their room - holding a styrofoam to-go box of the breakfast for Jay. He entered the room and paused, seeing the male seated on his bed, wearing the large flannel. Jay glanced up at him, “Oh, hi Tim.”

“Uh, hi…Is that my shirt?” Tim asked dumbly, staring at Jay. Jay blinked and his cheeks dusted pink.

“Uh, yeah..Um, I hope you don’t mind? I just didn’t have any clean shirts right now..” Jay quietly explained and Tim nodded slowly.

“Oh right, it’s fine, don’t worry.” Tim quickly waved it off, “It looks good on you.”

The room fell silent and Jay stared blankly at him, before looking down at the flannel and then back at Tim with a red face, “Oh, um, thank you.”

Tim awkwardly nodded, processing what he had just said, he quickly placed the to-go box on Jay’s bed “This is for you, by the way.” Jay muttered out a small thanks and Tim shuffled to sit on the bed, watching Jay review the recent footage from over his shoulder. Silence fell across the room again, save for the sound of Jay’s laptop fan and the sound of Jay eating. Tim couldn’t help but continuously glance and stare at Jay, there was just something about seeing Jay in his flannel which had him hooked. The way he had to constantly push the sleeves up because they kept falling or the way the oversized flannel fell over Jay’s thin body.

Jay could feel Tim staring at him, the gaze boring into his side, causing Jay’s face and ears to burn in embarrassment. Jay cleared his throat awkwardly, turning his head to look at Tim, their eyes locked, and Jay was suddenly aware of how close the two were, but he continued, “You know if you want your flannel back, I-I can give it back- It’s not that big of a deal or anything..”

Tim continued to stare dumbly, his eyes slightly wide and mouth slightly ajar. Tim was silent for a few moments before he could even process that Jay had even said anything, “Oh. No, it's fine.” He briefly said, wetting his lips. The two sat silently, their noses practically brushing against each other due to the position that they were in.

“Great.” Jay responded quietly.

Neither of them moved an inch.

Tim glanced down at Jay’s lips for a mere second before his eyes flicked back up to meet Jay’s, asking a silent question to which Jay responded with a small nod. Tim leaned in and their lips met in a kiss. It was quick but gentle, Jay’s hands finding their way to Tim’s side, where they fiddled with the cotton of his shirt and Tim’s warm hands gently cradling his face. Just as the kiss arrived, it also departed. Tim leaning back, his hands resting along Jay’s thin shoulders.

It took a minute before Jay spoke, “That was…” He paused, the gears in his brain slowly turning to try and find a word. Amazing, magical, fantastic, blissful, “Um...That was great.” Tim blinked and chuckled slightly before nodding, pressing their foreheads together.

From then on, it became quite common for the two males to share clothes, whether or not it was due to the lack of clean clothes.

[echoalyssa]

Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it. 

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead. 

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others. 

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her. 

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears. 

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

[timothy-chamlet]

the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

°•○●○•°

people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends. 

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows. 

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you. 

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you. 

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling. 

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude. 

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress. 

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question. 

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."  

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie." 

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you. 

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling." 

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo. 

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you. 

"yeah, just.. tired." 

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours." 

"i thought the awards show was only 4-" 

"there's always the afterparty.." 

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee. 

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle. 

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets  people.  

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face. 

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star. 

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention. 

"bring it in hot stuff!" 

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since. 

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in. 

"oh god no-" 

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation. 

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations." 

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later. 

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile. 

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!" 

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me." 

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend. 

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?" 

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk. 

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically. 

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face. 

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance." 

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?" 

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?" 

"i dunno- go to my place?" 

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house. 

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you. 

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed. 

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers. 

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice. 

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.." 

"us?-" 

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg. 

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up. 

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?" 

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face. 

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours. 

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move. 

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt. 

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other. 

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper. 

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath. 

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more. 

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response. 

"please… please what, mon amour?" 

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice. 

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him. 

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core. 

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss. 

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!” 

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-” 

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.” 

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep. 

[toosicktoocare]

Prompt:  this might be too vague but how about sick dick or jason (your pick, i'm fine with either) hiding it from bruce on patrol bc things are really bad between them at the moment

Catch me flying with the typical Jason is still A+ Bitter at Bruce

With the recent rise in aggravated incidents in Crime Alley, Jason’s been forced to share his patrols with the bats, an idea he violently fought against until Alfred stepped in, the calm, steady voice of reason, and insisted it was necessary for his safety.

Monday he had Dick, and things were... okay. Dick’s face is plastered beside the definition of “handful,” but he knows how to respect Jason’s patrol strategies, following wordlessly and only helping when needed. On Tuesday, Tim proved similar to Dick, his maturity blossoming. Though, he asked more questions, weirdly curious about Jason’s lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit. Jason answered each, hoping his short, clipped replies would hush the replacement because his head was starting to pound along each question.

Jason wasn’t surprised to see Damian on Wednesday, but he was definitely annoyed. He had woken up with a splitting headache that seemed to bleed down to his muscles, pushing against them. He thought, at first, it was a migraine, but the pain in his head was different and accompanied with a flushing fever heat that colored his cheeks. He said nothing to Damian, and Damian merely scoffed and disappeared to navigate Crime Alley areas alone. Jason let him, going off on his own as well, and they met up to one-word debrief before parting ways for the night.

When Jason shoots his grapple hook to the edge of a rooftop on Thursday, he expects to find Dick again. Maybe Cass. What he doesn’t expect is to see the unwanted, annoyingly familiar, brooding shadow of Batman standing atop the roof, arms crossed, mouth flat.

Jason’s stomach drops, and he stumbles his landing, catching himself with a hushed curse. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Bruce sighs, fingers visibly digging a little harder into his arms. “Language, Hood.”

“This is my territory,” Jason spits back. “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. Why are you here? Doesn’t Batman have bigger things to do?” Saying ‘Batman’ aloud leaves a sour taste atop Jason’s tongue, a bitter word that plays with the dull burn of the Lazarus Pit.

Since Jason’s return to Gotham, Bruce has been trying to reconcile, but Jason’s not willing to forgive and forget. He’ll try with the others, more so because they are annoyingly persistent, but not with Bruce. He can’t wrap his mind around forgiving Bruce for letting him die, for letting the Joker continue to breathe while he took his first last breath.

“I want to be here.”

“That’s fucking gold,” Jason rolls his eyes and turns away, absently coughing into his fist as he scans his rapid departure. The coughing’s a new development, only just testing his lungs when he woke this morning, but the headache’s remained, a steady, pulsing thump that his repeated consumption of pain killers can’t seem to touch. He doesn’t need a thermometer to know he’s running a fever; he’s got the inconsistent jumping from boiling hot to freezing cold to supply that for him.

“Jay-”

“Code names, Batman,” Jason growls before he shoots his grapple hook to a rooftop adjacent to them, moving along the sudden pull of weightlessness until his feet are thumping atop the next roof. He breaks out into a run, falling into a pattern of leaping over smaller gaps and grapple hooking over larger ones, all to ditch Bruce. His muscles are trembling from the sudden exertion, but he feeds off of the pain, pushing himself harder and harder when he hears Bruce not far behind him.

He only stops when he hears a woman scream from below, skidding to an unsteady stop and peering over a roof edge just as Bruce lands heavily beside him.

“Muggers.”

“No shit,” Jason grumbles, already bracing to leap off the building. “Do me a favor? Stay the fuck out of my way.” He jumps to the sound of Bruce’s strangled “Jay,” ignoring it as he grabs a fire escape to soften his fall. He lands strategically between the two muggers and a young woman.

“Today’s your lucky day, gentlemen.” Jason smiles sharply under his mask. “I’m in a really shitty mood, so I’ll make this quick.” His fist moves on its own, and he allows the aggravation to bleed to a dull rage that pushes his punches, plants his feet, and pulls his dodges. In just a minute, the two muggers are unconscious at his feet, and the woman’s running from the scene, stopping only when Batman drops to the ground in front of her and talks her into staying to give a statement to the GCPD.

Jason’s already shooting back up to the next rooftop, and his lungs quake against a bursting fit of coughs the second his feet make a rough landing. He coughs into his helmet, his chest shaking, but he forces a steady breath when Bruce drops beside him. Though, it takes more blinking then he expects to clear his wavering vision.

“Do you plan on following me all night?” Jason questions, tired and far too hot under his suit. “I don’t need my territory associating the Red Hood with Batman. I have a reputation, and you’re going to fuck that up for me.”

“I’m here to help.”

“You can help on the East side of Crime Alley,” Jason mutters, a few, weaker coughs slipping past his lips. “I’ll handle the rest.” He drops to a landing below him, leaping over to the roof of a convenience store, and his legs buckle on the landing. He falls to his knees, his vision swimming faintly, and he unconsciously taps into the deep-rooted burn of the Lazarus Pit when Bruce drops beside him, one hand frozen mid-reach toward Jason’s back.

“What part,” Jason growls, coughing hollowly around each word, “of fuck off isn’t clicking in that empty skull of yours?” He’s shaking despite the heat gripping at his bones, and he clumsily undos the lock on his helmet, sucking in a ragged breath when his burning face is exposed to the cool wind.

“Jay?”

“Jesus Christ, B,” Jason spits out, forcing himself to his feet and slapping Bruce’s hand away. “Just fucking go.” His throat’s burning, and his head feels oddly heavy despite the absence of his helmet. The skin across his face is so hot it’s practically itching, and he rips at his domino, squeezing it in his fist when Bruce frowns deeply at him.

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

Jason laughs, and his laugh gives way to a few, chesty coughs that rattle his lungs. His vision is graying at the edges, and he hastily rubs at his eyes. “What’s wrong is I’m tired of you and the fucking peanut gallery clinging to me like fucking leeches!” He’s faintly aware that he’s breathing too fast, and he’s impossibly hot. He swipes at his eyes again, but his vision only darkens. He’s fading, and yet, his body is mingling with panic.

He feels Bruce slip and ungloved hand across his forehead, and he tries to jerk away from it, but Bruce keeps him in place with his other hand wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Jason, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say?”

Bruce’s classic growl, Jason thinks, is wavering? He’s not sure because his ears are ringing. “Because it’s not your fucking busin-” Jason stops, his mouth forming a round ‘oh’ right as his vision goes black.

***

Bruce catches Jason as he falls, and he swallows back the panic threateninng to cripple him as he taps his comm, rattling off his coordinates. “Who is closest?”

“I am,” Dick chimes in after a moment. “I can be there in five. What’s up?”

“I need to get Jason back to the manor. Do you think you can cover the Alley alone tonight?”

“Of course, but what’s up, B? Is Jason okay?”

“No,” Bruce whispers, smoothing a shaking palm to Jason’s burning forehead. “But he will be.”

***

Jason’s entire body feels impossibly heavy, so heavy that he struggles to open his eyes, mind briefly flicking toward panic at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re at the manor.”

The ceiling suddenly makes sense his mind, as does the voice at his side. He drags his gaze to see a Bruce sitting in a chair at his bedside. He frowns, briefly glancing to the IV in his arm before turning back to Bruce, a silent question in his eyes.

“You fainted on patrol. You were running a fever of 103.3 degrees, and you were dehydrated.”

Shit. Jason knew he was sick, but he hadn’t realized he let it get that bad. He wants to talk, even opens his mouth to, but Bruce holds a single hand up, shaking his head.

“Save your strength. You’re on the mend, but not as quickly as we’d like.” Bruce slips to his feet, his eyes colored in dark pain that Jason catches onto.

“I’ll give you some time to yourself now that you’re awake, but I’ll be back, and you are just going to have to deal with that.”

Jason’s mind is fuzzy, confused, pained, but he feels a fraction lighter along the knowledge that while he blacked out, he woke back up this time, safe, alive. He stares at Bruce’s back headed to the door.

“B?”

Bruce stops, and he whips around, one brow arched.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Of course, son.”

Bruce leaves, and Jason decides that, just for tonight, he’ll take muted comfort in the single word that carries an impossibly heavy amount of weight.

Son.

[scary-lasagna]

Trust || Part IV

"Tim was always defensive and stubborn, but you could tell there was so much more precious information than he was letting on. It was information that you needed, something that could possibly save your life. And he was being quiet about it. Why? "

Yandere!Hoodie/Brian x Reader

* * * You woke up with another person in your bed the next morning, unfortunately having to share with Tim. Jay moves too much in his sleep, and it was aggravating for the both of you.

But now the smell of tobacco and nicotine was making you sick. The best option was a simple breath of fresh air. You could only hope that you weren't met with a camera like last time, or worse, a red rope and a newly bought knife.

You kept the door open to the building, breathing in the fresh morning air. You even closed your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

Upstairs, though, Tim noticed your absence as soon as your foot touched the wood of the floor. But after getting up to see what you were up to, he paused at the open computer.

It was the only source of light in the room, so it was hard to ignore when it was half-lit due to a notification blocking the white screen.

Clicking on it, Tim saw it was from that ToTheArk account. It was black and white, a style most of the videos held, with static lining the edges.

It was a person, standing in the window, with [Y/N]'s red jacket. 

"Ṭ̷̓h̵̟͋ȇ̶̘y̷̒ͅ ̸̦̑a̵̖͝r̵̥̔e̶̢̍ ̶͓̈́n̴̩̍o̷̲͝t̴̝̀ ̸̤̆t̷͕̏ö̸̭́ ̴̨̿b̸̥̋ê̶̪ ̶̰̿t̶̰̃r̶̨̓ṷ̴͌s̴̩̔t̵͓̀e̴̯͆d̶͇̚.̵͈͆"

Not to be trusted? Yeah, thanks, Tim knew that already. That's why he was out of the warm bed in the first place. He ignored the video, for now, deciding on watching it later after he herds you back inside. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling the cardboard of his smoke in the left, and the smooth texture of the picture in his right. He should give it back, Tim didn't mean to take it, but he panicked when he got caught.

Heavy footsteps thumped against the dull and dirty fabric of the carpet. 

However, they were not Tim's.

__

A flash of red was the most warning that you got before being dragged to the ground. The rope lassoed past your vision and secured around your neck. A pair of leather hands grasped your frantic arms and pulled the rope around them behind your back. 

And the cool metal of a blade pressed against your neck, "Walk." When you didn't move, the captor simply encouraged you with a harsh push on your spine. You recognized the car as Brian’s. It was one that you always ate McDonald's in after coming home from a class.

You were pushed through the car door, buckled up, and driven off. In the side mirror, you saw Tim, supposedly yelling as he stomped on the dirt and pulled at his brown locks in desperation. Jay joined him with the usual camera he carries, and you caught a glint of it from the lense that caused you to see spots for a short moment.

"Where are you ta-"

"Don't talk," Brian said, glancing side to side before making a turn. You didn't need to ask. You knew he was taking you to Rosswood. Oh god, he was going to kill you. Your own boyfriend. 

The one who you've spent so many long nights with. The one who's slept in your arms while you run your digits through his hair after he had a nightmare. The same heartbeat that calmed your insomnia on most nights would now be the one to cease yours.

Not many people were at the park, the clouds in the sky predicted rain for the day.

The ropes burned your skin, even when you weren't trying to free yourself. "Can I at least say goodbye to my friends and family?"

"No." He picked you up and aided you over a log before setting you back down to walk.

You tried to start a conversation again, to hopefully get an insight of what he'll do so you can start planning ahead, "Where are we going?"

"Shhhhshsh." The man hushed you, turning gently towards you. "Just trust me, sweetheart. Have I hurt you yet?

"Yes. I can recall a few times, actually."

His lips pursed, "Then that'll teach you something." He grabbed your elbow, quickening your pace through the woods in hope to beat the rain. It was hard to keep your balance with your hands tied behind your back.

You passed the cement building you met in before, and waited by a cellar door that the hooded man was attempting to open.

You thought about the words he said the last time you met.

"I'll make your life a living hell if you don't learn to love me."

Maybe if you started pretending now, he'd take it easy on you. Hopefully. "How about Hoodie?" You pondered aloud, causing the dirty blonde to freeze with the crowbar.

"Hoodie?" It was like he was testing the name, wondering how good it would sound once you first say 'I love you' to him. "Yeah, I like it." He spared a soft smile, one that wasn't Brian's. 

The cellar door popped before banging open with Hoodie's help. He held out his hand, flexing his fingers as he stared into the cellar. You could run. You could escape now. So why were you obeying him and allowing him to help you into his dark and creepy basement?

Maybe it's because you thought Brian was still in there, that he'll find a way to take control and help you. You wanted Brian, you wanted to cuddle on the couch with a shitty movie that neither of you liked. You wanted to feel the tender kisses along your neck, and his large hands sculpting around your curves. 

But you couldn't. Brian isn't here now.

Another fucking damp room. If you left rice in here for a few days, it'd be tender.

"It's not the best but it's the safest place."

"Safe from what? Alex?"

"Literally anyone." The scraping of the heavy bar sealed your only exit besides a window next to it. "C'mere." He mumbled, approaching you and fumbling with the rope. 

On the way through the rough terrain, your jacket struggled feebly to stay on. Hoodie ran his gloved hand gently over the bruises and you couldn't help but flinch away from the sharp pain his touch caused.

"I'm sorry, I don't know my strength sometimes." He whispered, stepping into your line of sight. He was still covering his eyes with the mask, and yet his mouth was free to feel the damp air of the cellar.

You reached up, slowly and placed your hand on his cheek. How could you not feel something for this man? It's the same one you've been dating for almost a year. But he feels alien. 

The tips of your fingers inched under his mask and took advantage of Hoodie leaning into your touch. His gloved hand made his way over yours but didn't attempt to stop your advancements.

"I've watched dormant all of these years." Your captor spoke up in a gravelly voice. "I knew you had to love me. But patience was the key."

You could now see the three freckles that flecked under his left eye, along with the baby hairs around his ear.

"I had to find a way to keep you to myself, without Brian." Your eyes twitched at the name but kept on your journey of taking the mask off. No sudden movements.

"I can tell you still think he's here." His large hand gripped around your fingers. You gulped as he pried your hand away from his skin. "He's not here [Y/N]. I'm in control now, don't you see? Can't you trust me to take care of you better than him? To love me?"

"Br- Hoodie, I don-" "He was always letting you go out with people, your family," His tone sounded disgusted, and his grip only tightened. You were starting to grow worried that he might crush a digit. "And he was always letting everyone touch you. He wasn't worried about losing you." The blonde tilted his head up to look at you, and for the first time, you could see the shape of his eyes through the fabric. 

You didn't say anything, you couldn't. Because if you did, you would scream. Scream for mercy, scream for help, scream to just scream. It was hopeless because now you're going to be trapped down here, if what Hoodie says is true. Your eyes must have revealed your thoughts, because his grip loosened, but guided your hand back onto the mask.

You shed the fabric, and what you saw was not Brian. You dropped the stiff cloth that was stained with both blood and sweat. Hoodie's eyes were sunken in, and rimmed with dark circles like never before. Sure, Brian had trouble sleeping, but not like this. But it was the color of his eyes that unnerved you. What used to be a comforting chocolate brown was now replaced with an eccentric auburn.

He sported new scars as well, and his hair was a tad too long for your liking. You wrapped your arms around his neck, you wanted to smell him. To find a trace of your lost boyfriend. It was there, but faint. The smell of the basement overcome the smell of Maplewood and smoke that you knew so well. You used to love sitting in front of that woodfire stove at his place, just to smell the sweetness of the air.

Hoodie didn't allow you to pull away but rather kept you close as he buried his face in your hair. You looked behind him at the dark basement. All of the carpets were torn up and the bricks were painted back. A few paintings and pictures hung here and there, but nothing fancy.

Except for a picture of you sleeping that hung over the TV. That one stood out. 

"Hoodie, if we're to live together we need to sort some things out." You needed to start playing into the illusion more. Flip the cards and give the captor a little bit of hope.

"I-I know that." He nodded, parting the embrace, but not too far. "I've written some down for you." The bastard almost sounded hopeful.

"Not just for me, babes." You craned your neck to look up into his auburn eyes. 

He shook his head with a chuckle, "No, I'm the one in control. I don't get rules." 

"Then I suppose I won't provide you with my end of the deal." You shrugged, unsticking yourself from his grasp. You didn't even get three steps away.

"Deal?!" You whipped around with frightened eyes. You keep forgetting you can't tease as you did with Brian. "This isn't a fucking deal, buttercup. You're here because I'm protecting you.  And you will love me, you'll cherish me, and you'll be grateful that you get it this lucky. Because I could’ve done a lot worse in getting you here."

Your chest tightened and your arms flex with your increasing heart rate, "I hate you. I want Brian." You kept your voice level. You haven't spilled any tears yet and you weren't planning to.

"I'm not Br-"

"I. Want. Brian!"

The hooded man stared at you, and if you blinked you would have missed him launching off of his right foot to fight you to the ground. Kicking, screaming, and even biting were futile. You were stuck against his warm body, and his arms locked themselves around you as you thrashed.

He stayed like that, hugging you to his chest for a good five minutes. Your limbs were exhausted while trying to put up a fight against your captor.

You finally went limp after realizing your fate. The bobbing of Hoodie's chest made you feel the primal pang of guilt and pity you got whenever you felt Brian holding back sobs in his nightmares after an argument.

And the waterworks started for you as well. You had no fucking clue why he was crying, but you knew why you were.

You'd never see your family again. Your mom would wonder why you left without a call, and your father would miss the weird way you scrunched up your nose while you were in deep thought like he always does. Tim...He'd probably miss bickering with you on the daily, and Jay would have no one to tell him to get some rest after editing for 10 hours straight.

Your hands were numb by now, and you were exhausted from the fight you put on. Hoodie seemed to be done crying as well, because he was carrying you into the depths of the cellar, with tear stains along his thin cheeks.

"This is your room." He mumbled, setting you down on the soft mattress. Each time you blinked it felt like someone poured soap into your eyes. After a few involuntary sniffles, Hoodie leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to your swollen eyelids. 

"You'll feel better after you rest."

[side-shawty]

Ivy’s Daughter • Two

Title: Ivy’s Daughter • Two

Fandom: DC

Type: series

Prompt/Summary: Poison Ivy asks Batman to care for her daughter.

Pairing(s): (eventual) Damian Wayne x Reader (aged up), Batfamily x Reader

Requested? Yes

It took two weeks for J’onn to permanently stabilize Y/N’s mind and for Bruce to utilize everything Ivy gave him to create a compound that stabilized her growth. She would age slower than the average person but it was better than the accelerated growth rate she had to begin with.

He also tried to acquaint her as much as he could with society and its norms. His kids would take care of whatever he missed. Or at least he hoped so.

In this time you were staying in a room at the League HQ. The very first time you opened your eyes the first thing you were met with was a ceiling full of stars against the darkness of space.

Every inch of you was filled with shock and surprise but you stood quickly and almost knocked over the IV as it was ripped from your arm with the movement.

You called for your mother, and when no answer found your ears you began to panic. You attempted to open the doors, the first was a bathroom and the second one was certainly the exit because it had been sealed shut.

“Let me out!” You screamed and waited. No answer again.

You looked around the room for something that could help you get the door open but the room was bare save for your bed, a nightstand with a bamboo plant, and two plastic chairs against the wall under a window.

Your breathing was heavy and ragged as you dragged yourself to the said window and looked out of it. You were slowly floating through space and the Earth was shining back at you with it’s beautiful blue and green.

You were terrified but for some reason, the view made your breathing slow and you took deep breaths.

Panicking now would do nothing, you had to think of a plan. As you were racking your brain for ideas there was a soft hiss as the door slid open.

Your head quickly whipped around to eye the figures standing in the doorway. An uncowled Batman and Superman were both looking to you with sympathy clouding their eyes.

“Hello, Y/N,” Batman said, “My name is —“

“Bruce Wayne,” you cut him off, “My mother told me about you. She said I could trust you. Where is she?” You asked.

“In hiding,” Bruce said stepping closer with his hands raised in front of him. You didn’t of him as a threat but appreciated the gesture.

“Why?” You asked.

“In order to keep you safe, she had to do some things she’s not proud of. There are some bad people after her now, so she left you in my care,” Bruce told you, now only a few steps away. He put his hands at his side.

“No,” you said, “bring me back. I want to be with my mother.”

“I don’t know where she is,” He said.

The anger that flared in your eyes made Superman shift on his feet at his place in front of the closed door.

Before you got the chance to speak again Bruce continued, “I spoke to her before she left. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you very much but this is the only way to keep you safe.”

“Throwing me into outer space? I would have been better off at home, I can take care of myself,” you said, crossing your arms.

As if the universe had been personally involved in this conversation the station rocked and you lost your footing, Bruce caught you before you could hit the ground.

After releasing you, he looked to Superman and sighed, “Jason is here with Bizzaro. Make sure they don’t break anything else, please.”

Superman looked wary before nodding his head and exiting the room.

“Jason? As in your son—Red Hood?” You asked. Batman’s eyes went wide for a millisecond before he recovered.

“Yes. You’ll be meeting him when we go home.”

“And when will that be?”

“Tonight.”

———

You were given a pair of black jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved t-shirt to change into when Bruce told you it was time to go. It was the last thing you wanted, so you devised a plan, you would stay for a few days, maybe a week and then you’d slip away and find your mother. It wasn’t at all fool-proof but it was a start.

On the walk to the zeta tube, Bruce had told you that this was your home and you wouldn’t feel like a prisoner, but there were still rules.

When the flash of teleportation faded from your vision you were faced with the intricate, oddly welcoming Bat Cave. In your opinion it was stunning, but you didn’t get much time to fully explore it or take it in as Bruce led you towards computers and the people standing amongst them.

Three boys were standing with an older man and a young woman, once you and Bruce reached them you decided to let someone else speak first.

“Y/N these are my children,” Bruce began, “well some of them. Dick, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian. And this,” he gestured to the older man, “is Alfred. He’s one of the reasons things continue to run around here. You’ll meet the other later.” He told you smiling to himself at an inside joke.

“This is Y/N Isley. She’ll be staying with us.” Bruce said and you waited for more but it never came.

Dick was the first to move forward, “Nice to meet you Y/N,” he stared, holding out his hand. You shook it. “What Bruce failed to mention was that I am also the oldest and his favorite,” He said with a smile before his phone chimed. He removed it from his pocket to check.

“I am also late for a date, but welcome and I’ll see you around,” Dick told you with a wink before heading towards a staircase and disappearing.

“While he might be the oldest, I’m the brains of this operation,” Tim said before also shaking your hand.

“You’re still as delusional as ever Drake,” Damian said, and once you looked to him he was the only thing that holds your attention as the two of them began to bicker.

He looked like Bruce, but not really. His eyes were a different shade of blue, almost green…almost. As you continued to stare, Cassandra walked up to you.

“I’m Cass,” she said, her voice was soft and sweet as she bowed her head ever so slightly instead of shaking your hand.

“Hi,” you replied, realizing it was the first thing you had said since coming into the cave.

“Let’s get cookies,” she said to you and linked her arm with your own before bringing you up the same stairs Dick went up. Alfred followed closely behind and Bruce sought to stop his sons from arguing.

———

You liked Cass. She was a woman of few words but they got her point across every time. Afterward, she had given you a quick tour of the main living areas before she had to leave for patrol.

When she left you decided to wander a bit more on your own. The manor was even more extraordinary than you could have imagined. You found yourself gravitating towards the library.

While you were in your cryo-chamber your mother had taken to reading to you. She was never sure if you could hear or not but you remember. It was always peaceful when she read to you.

You felt a pang in your heart as you stepped inside and began running your hands along the spines of the books. You stopped on one with a green cover when the door to the library opened and closed.

Your eyes met Damian’s when you turned to him. His face was tight and uninviting as he watched you continue to read the spines.

After a few more moments he finally spoke.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice was emotionless and uninviting. You sighed and finally turned to him, crossing your arms.

Damian was only a few feet from the door but was slowly inching closer to you.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” You said to him, and his features flickered briefly, he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer.

“So why not try to leave?” Damian asked, he finally stopped an arm's length away.

“I haven’t got anywhere to go. Not yet anyway,” You told him, tugging at a red curl and wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, your mother was a criminal with connections. So the faster you find one, the faster you leave.” He said, crossing his arms.

It was hard not to look at Damian’s arms in the fitted black t-shirt. He saw your gaze shift for a second and gave the faintest of smirks.

“This house is a fortress. I step a toe off the property and your father would drag me back,” You released your curl and turned back to the books on the shelf.

“Tt, if you were half the mastermind your mother was you could, and will, be out by morning,” He said before turning on his heel and leaving.

[meterokinesis]

Caged Birds Still Sing

Read it on AO3

Prompt: explosion, kidnapping, tearful smile

Summary: Tim's been kidnapped before. He doesn't know if he's getting out this time.

It had been three days since Tim had been kidnapped by the League of Assassins. This time was significantly less nice than the last, and then he’d been missing an organ.

He was in the same lavish rooms, with their silk sheets and gilded mirrors, but the lock on the door had been changed. Where Tim had once been allowed to come and go, he was now stuck here. The door locked from the outside, and the only other point of escape was the large balcony, where iron bars arched overhead. He was a Red Robin in a golden cage.

Meals came at regular times. A crossword puzzle came with his breakfast, and on his second day a copy of War and Peace came with lunch. He’d been stripped of all his trackers and gadgets when he got here, which had been replaced with the silks of the League.

Tim was well acquainted with kidnapping. Having been the only heir to the Drake fortune, he had been kidnapped twice as a child, once when he was three and once when he was eight. He didn’t remember much, other than the shrieks of police sirens when he’d finally been found. Once he started as Robin, the kidnappings began in earnest. He was never gone for longer than a night or two, and Bruce always saved him. He was Batman, that was what he did.

So Tim bided his time, sipping ginger tea and doing crossword puzzles and reading Tolstoy. Soon, Bruce would come.

On the fourth day, Tim received his first visitor. He was on the balcony, taking his breakfast under the bright desert sun. He looked up to see Ra’s al Ghul, the reflection of his jewelry practically blinding against the shadowy backdrop of Tim’s chambers. Tim took another bite of toast.

“Hello, Detective,” he drawled as Tim squinted up at him.

“Oh, hello,” Tim said quietly. “Have you made up your mind on whether or not you’re killing me yet?” Ra’s didn’t laugh, but Tim didn’t expect him to. He wasn’t known for his sense of humor.

“See, there’s only so many reasons you’d keep me here,” Tim continued. “You don’t need intel, because you already know everything about us. You don’t need money, because you’re richer than God. I’m either here because you want to trade me for something, you need me to code, or you still want that heir.”

A venomous smile spread on Ra’s face. “Clever boy.” The words stilled Tim, his toast abandoned on his plate. “Now, follow me.”

Ra’s swept out of the room and Tim followed, keeping sure to hold his head high. His mother would be proud. Even being led to his doom, he wouldn’t let the facade fall. As they walked through the Cradle, Tim refused to meet the eyes of the assassins that milled about. He could feel their gazes tear at him, but he let the wounds pile up.

Ra’s study was incredibly simple, but nice all the same. It looked like an older version of every board member’s home office. Tim despised it.

Ra’s gestured for him to sit in one of the stiff chairs, and Tim complied. The head assassin remained standing, his fingertips brushing over the manuscripts that lined the walls.

“I feel as if we know each other well enough by now, Detective. You spent quite a bit of time with us before you decided to defect. You know that I do not play, I win.” Tim stared ahead, trying his best to keep his face blank.

“So, here is what you will do. And you will do it, Detective. You will notify Batman that you are turning in your cape to work for me. You will tell him not to search for you.”

Tim cleared his throat. “And if I don’t?”

Ra’s smirked, as if he expected the question. “Then I will instruct the assassins following your civilian friends to put bullets in their skulls. I don’t believe Mr. Fox will appreciate losing two of his daughters in one day. I know Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t be a fan. Nor Ms. Ives.”

Tim nodded shallowly. “So it’s them or me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why exactly do you want me so badly? Why not Damian or Bruce?”

Ra’s laughed darkly. “Because your spirit will be so much more fun to break.”

                                                ___________

That night, when he was safely back in his beautiful cage, Tim began his letter.

Dear Bruce (and Dick and Jason and Babs and Cass and Damian and Steph),

Since my return to Gotham, something has been missing in my life. I’ve decided to come back to the League of Assassins in an attempt to solve that emptiness. This is of my own volition. Do not come looking for me, I do not want to be found. I love you all.

Always yours,

Tim

He fell asleep watching the moon shine through iron bars, wondering if this is how every criminal he ever put away felt.

                                                ___________

It took two days for Ra’s to start giving Tim tasks around the Cradle. Small ones, mostly filing. Some putting pieces together. It felt as if even with all of Ra’s power over life and death, he didn’t know much about order. Tim slogged through the work, waiting for time to tick down. He fixed small loopholes and backdoors and monitored agents in the field. It was easy work, at least when Tim forgot about the trained killer hovering just outside his door.

At night, he scratched out notes on the pages of Tolstoy. Short snippets, like “I’m sorry” and “Thank you” and “I always loved you.” They’d never see the light of day, but they made him feel better.

During his free time, he fixed the computer wiring and did odd electrical tasks around the Cradle. It was as if no one there knew how to use a soldering iron. As much as the menial tasks frustrated him, they kept his hands busy and kept Ra’s off his back.

                                                 ___________

Rescue came two weeks after Tim Drake was kidnapped. He was in the main hall when the alarms of the breach sounded. Assassins streamed around him, all headed to their respectful stations. Tim headed to the control room.

The control room was small and filled with screens. A skylight gave the tiniest bit of natural light twenty feet above. Tim busied himself with the controls, monitoring the cameras and putting the last minute details on his plan.

Rapping came from the skylight, and Tim looked up to see Steph waving at him. He hesitated for half a moment, then nodded. She shattered the glass and rappelled down, landing with a quiet thud.

“Tim, here,” she whispered and pressed a comms unit into his hand. He nodded and placed it in his ear.

“I need all of you to listen to me. You need to leave,” he began, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“We’re not leaving you-” Dick butted in, but Tim cut him off.

“You have to. If you don’t, civilians die. People we love die. I-I can’t let that happen.” Stephanie placed a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off. “I have a plan, but I can’t pull it off if you’re here.”

“We’ll let you take point on this, Red Robin.” Bruce’s low voice calmed the nerves racing through Tim’s veins. If Batman said it would be okay, it would be okay.

“You have three minutes to evacuate,” Tim finished, then slipped the comm unit out of his ear.

“Tim…” Stephanie whispered, reaching out for him. This time, he let her hold his hand, running his thumb over the seams of her gloves.

“Hey Stephie,” he murmured, trying his best to muster a smile. “You have to go, okay? You have to be a hero. For me.” She shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, but he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Go,” he urged, and she nodded. With one last squeeze of her hand, she was grappling back through the skylight. He watched as she disappeared, and tried not to let his heart break too much.

He readied the plan, fingers flying faster than he could remember ever doing before. Hands trembling, he placed the comms unit back in his ear just as it crackled to life.

“We’re all out, Red Robin. We’re a kilometer away, in one of the nearby caves. What’s your ETA?”

Tim smiled shakily. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you. The Cradle’s undergoing self-destruction. I set up the protocol while Ra’s thought I was doing busy work.”

“Tim, you can’t be serious.” For the first time in years, Tim thought he heard fear in Bruce’s voice. “We can still get you out.”

“Someone needs to make sure it goes through with no interference. If Ra’s wants me so bad, he can have me.” Tim suddenly became aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Thank you for saving me. Thank you for loving me. Now it’s time to let me save you.”

Despite the layered protests in his ear, Tim pressed the figurative big red button. As tears stained his face, he smiled. At least he would go out saving people. That’s all he had ever wanted to do.

The numbers ticked down on the screen. 8… 7… 6…

“I love you,” Tim rasped.

3… 2… 1…

0.

The world went white, and then there was nothing.

[badacts]

dragged away

Damian has not been permitted to patrol tonight, so he has decided to train in the Cave instead while Pennyworth runs communications.

Richard had taken one look at him earlier and said, smiling, “Cheer up, sulk-face. You’ll be back out in no time.” Damian would never admit it, but it was helpful to hear. He would also die before admitting he was sulking.

It’s just a wrist sprain. It hurts, but it’s nothing serious. Father’s insistence that he rests it is irritating, especially when it’s 2AM and he’s restless after hours and hours of inactivity.

So, he’s boxing at the punching bag with his good arm, and every time his sprained one so much as twitches in the direction of the bag, he gets a warning, “Master Damian,” from behind him. Pennyworth isn’t even watching him, as far as Damian can tell - he just knows.

“Too many years of knowing your father,” Pennyworth says, unprompted. “The two of you are very alike.”

“Thank you,” Damian says, a little snidely, and hits the bag again. He’s worked up a light sweat between that and the careful footwork, hopefully enough to let him sleep by the time the others get back.

It seems like a normal night in Gotham, as far as Damian can tell. Pennyworth sounds calm as he talks to Nightwing and Batman, and then Spoiler and Red Robin. There’s some kind of bust happening tonight, but Damian hasn’t been allowed to know the details. It’s irritating.

Tired of the bag, he picks up a tennis ball someone must have left down here for Titus, and heads to the far end of the cave to bounce it off the wall. If he gets really bored, he resolves to use the T-Rex as target practice.

It’s vaguely therapeutic, the fuzzy green ball and how it fits in his hand, and how he can bounce it off precisely the same places over and over again. He sinks into it, thinking half-heartedly of his schoolwork for the coming week. He has a history essay on a topic of his choice to do - he’s considering the earliest member of the Japanese Imperial House, Emperor Jimmu - and a report on The Book Thief. He resolves to ask Jason for suggestions on the latter, seeing as he definitely -

Damian can’t explain how he knows something has suddenly changed, but he does - a pall settles across his shoulders, and he turns to Pennyworth at the computer with all the hair standing up on the back of his neck. The tennis ball rolls past him across the floor.

“I’ll prepare the medbay,” Pennyworth is saying, before abandoning his post with more speed than Damian has ever seen him show before.

“Alfred?” Damian asks. “What is it?” 

There’s no immediate reply. After a moment, without looking up, Pennyworth says, “Come help me, Damian.”

They prepare in silence. Damian tries to follow what is being procured for clues as to what has happened, but he doesn’t know enough to extrapolate. He’s never wished so strongly that Mother focussed less time on his ability to kill people and more time on him healing them.

He doesn’t ask who it is, but he doesn’t have to wait long: it’s only been ten minutes when the proximity alarm for the gate goes off, followed moments later by the thrumming roar of the Batmobile’s engine being pushed towards its ground-bound limits. It screeches to a halt in the cave, the door popping open before the engine even dies.

Richard emerges first, which sends a shiver of something like surprise over Damian - he could have sworn...

His question is answered when Richard reaches in to assist Father out, with the Red Hood pushing him from the inside.

The suit is shredded. The material of it, black though it is, looks slick. The skin underneath is red with lifeblood. Richard and Jason are covered in it, too. The both of them are pale, but Batman is grey.

“Father?” Damian asks. Even as he says it, his own ears hear how young he sounds.

Father, his cowl off, just groans, eyelids flickering but not opening.

Damian has seen so much blood in his short life. It makes no sense how the ground beneath his feet suddenly feels terribly, terrifyingly unstable. “Father!”

There’s no answer, nothing. Damian is forced to trail behind as Richard and Jason half-carry Father to the medbay and then lift him onto the gurney.

“What happened?” Damian asks as Jason takes a pair of shears from Pennyworth and cuts the remainders of the suit away. “Richard, what happened?”

“Move, Robin,” Richard says, and that’s his Batman voice, the one Damian can’t help but obey. Richard is taking a surgical cloth and covering the too-deep gleaming gash on Father’s abdomen before leaning an elbow into it to slow the bleeding.

There’s engine noise at the door, and Red Robin’s bike squeals to a stop inside the cave. Damian ignores it in favour of listening to Jason’s rapid low voice saying, “Definite organ injuries, probable arterial compromise - anything from Leslie?”

“She’s on her way,” Pennyworth replies. “She recommends we do what we can.” He’s inserting an IV shunt, hands steady as ever. Jason hangs a bag of saline and a bag of blood ready to go.

Damian is having an out-of-body experience, he thinks. This isn’t right. This is all wrong, and he’s standing here, still, while the others move too fast for him to keep track of, doing things he doesn’t understand, and he abruptly becomes aware of his own voice saying, “Father? What happened?”

Still, no one answers.

“Tim,” Jason says, “Get him out of here. Now.”

And before Damian can protest, a hard skinny arm wraps around his chest. They’re already in the elevator before Damian’s body responds to his mind’s frantic, no! No!

He fights, mean and unsophisticated. not caring that it hurts him as much as Tim, maybe more. He just wants to get back to Father, and then, failing that, he just wants to get away.

Tim is like an octopus, though. This close, Damian can’t do any real damage, and he ends up half-twisted into Tim’s chest, his own arm caught behind his back in a strong grip that hurts his bad wrist and tests his shoulder. He can’t get free, not that it stops him struggling.

“It’s okay,” Tim is saying, jarred by Damian’s movements but unrelenting. “Damian, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

He can’t remember the last time he breathed. His brain, demanding oxygen, gasps it in and then releases it in a tearing, sobbing exhale. His brain whites out. He leans his forehead into Tim’s collarbone and keens.

[incoherentbabblings]

First Date (1/9)

Tim has one more test to pass before Bruce will allow him out as Robin. Like Dick and Jason before him, he has to avoid being caught by Batman for one night. He has already failed once, and is determined to succeed this time. Determination which might not count for much when Stephanie Brown is on the run from the mob. Her mother kidnapped as a way to threaten her father, Stephanie manages to escape and run into Tim. Unable to leave Stephanie alone when she is in need, Tim decides to try and multi-task. All he has to do is rescue Stephanie’s mother, take down the mob, avoid Batman, and get Stephanie to agree to a proper date all in one night. Absolute anarchy ensues.  Ao3 link here!

This is 100% inspired by the First Love (2019) Trailer.  I didn't know the plot when I started writing so it's purely the premise of girl being chased by the mob and the bloke getting drawn into the mess cause he's head over heels for the girl... seems as good a place to start as any. The film looks absolutely bonkers so I wanted to try and capture that energy in a story. God knows if I succeed. Everyone is a little bit older than they otherwise were in the comics. I have no excuse.

Tim tried not to stare too long at the Robin costume behind the glass panels.  Batman was stomping down the cave stairs behind it, heading in Tim’s direction.  He was currently slumped at a desk, fiddling with small explosives.

The final test began in three hours, and Tim was so nervous he felt like he was about to give birth to a brick.

Avoid Bruce from eight at night until eight in the morning.  That was all.  A demented game of hide and seek; stop any (small) crime that you came across that night but avoid being pointed out by or grabbed by the Bat. No costume, no equipment, just you and the clothes on your back and feet.

Dick had managed it, Jason had too.

Tim was on his second go.

The first time he had fumbled simply because he was not fast enough.  He had managed until three in the morning.  Squatting in an abandoned building in the narrows, he had stopped to eat a breakfast bar and take a piss.

It had not ended well.

So, six months later, endless missions as Batman and Oracle's mission control plus one and at least sixty lessons on improving reflexes, he was getting a second shot.

He had been told under no circumstances would there be a third.  If he failed this, Robin was dead (in every way that mattered).

Dick was optimistic to Tim’s face, happily offering advice and a change of teacher whenever Tim could manage visiting New York.   However as far as Tim knew he had not vouched for a second shot to Bruce himself.  Dick still would not step foot in Gotham if he could help it.  His relationship with Bruce, something Tim had given himself the task of starting the restoration of, was still very strained.  Jason’s costume in the glass case hung over everyone like the dead elephant in the room.  Always present, always in sight, always inescapable.

No, the push for a second go had come from Barbara.  Tim enjoyed spending time with her.  She was sardonic in her wit, but patient in her teaching.  Sometimes it was reassuring, sometimes it was patronising.  She had a level head and a gentleness about her that somehow reminded Tim of his mother (little he got to spend significant amounts of time with before she kicked the bucket).

Maybe he was projecting.

His brain wandered, thinking of what a Gotham psychiatrist would make of him.  Nothing good probably.  What sixteen-year-old signs up for what he signed up for?  What he pushed for?  If Bruce and Dick had had their way, none of this would be happening.  Tim’s stubbornness appeared pathological.  He titled his head, wondering if he was being cruel by pushing Robin back into the lives of people who had wanted to leave it behind.  He briefly realised that he was acting on the assumption that he knew how best to handle the emotional state of two grieving men than they themselves did.

Although, thinking of Dick and Bruce’s emotional processing capabilities, perhaps Tim did know better.

He frowned and pressed his lips together, hands still fiddling with the small explosives that he would not be allowed to take with him tonight.  So lost in his own head he only realised he was glaring disgustedly at Bruce until Batman coughed loudly.  Tim started, fingers fumbling over the bomb’s trigger.

“I wasn’t staring at you.”  Tim said pitifully.

“Clearly.”

Tim had no response and looked down at the tiny bombs.  They couldn’t do much damage, they stung more like a paintball pellet when they exploded.  Enough to make you wince and potentially fall over, weak enough to avoid any real damage apart from your suffering ear drums and bruises from the popped shell.

“Where’s my starting point this time?”

Batman looked at the time: 7pm.  One hour until kick-off.

“Wayne Tower” he said.  “Fifteen-minute head start, then I will set out from here.  Be back at Wayne Tower any time after eight, but before nine tomorrow morning. Don't think you can squat there all night.  You'll lose in less than half an hour.”

Easy.

Nodding, Tim stood up and pulled away from the table.  He still held on to one bomb with his right hand, thumb rubbing anxiously against the sphere.

“I won’t fail this time.” He swore.

Bruce said nothing, and there was no movement of his mouth to indicate any other sort of reaction.  Tim felt himself internally slump.  Bruce had no faith in him.  He’d always known that, and logically he understood the reasoning.  It didn’t mean that it still didn’t sting a little.

“Your father understands you won’t be home tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m covered.”

Ives was the cover.  He hadn’t intruded too much into why Tim was sneaking out all night, but felt naughty enough to agree to lie to Jack in case enquired further.  It wasn’t the most solid of plans, but Tim also knew that his father barely checked on him as is.  Too lost in his own head to notice what his son was up to.

“Good.” Batman held out a small device.  “Take this.  If you need help or want out, switch this on.  I’ll be able to find you then.”

Tim stared at it for a moment, then rather reluctantly took it.  “It’s not on already is it?  Not much of chance tonight if this is already tracking me.”

Batman was unamused.  “It switches on when you switch it on.”

Tim’s awkward smile fell and he nodded, pocketing it.

“See you tomorrow morning then.”  He joked, laughing with a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt.

Bruce just grunted and went to turn away.  Tim exhaled heavily, gnawing on his lip, when his thumb snapped a small knob on the bomb.  He looked down, realised he had just triggered it, and squeaked.

The thing popped in his hand with such a loud bang that it disturbed the bats above, screeching and rustling.  One of them proceeded to take a massive crap which plopped down between Tim and Batman.  Swearing loudly, he flapped his hand quickly back and forth, trying to cool down the burn.  Bruce had turned at the sound, then stared at the pile of bat waste on the metal floor.  His gaze moved up, and watched Tim make a fool of himself.  Not one ounce of emotion was shown on his face.  Tim smiled, eyes wet with the sting.

“This is fine.”  Tim said.

“Is it?”

“Yup.  Peachy.”  Tim whistled and winced and buried his hand between his thighs, trying to elevate the sting.  Bent in half, head near the floor, he choked out a polite goodbye, wishing for Bruce to just leave him in his humiliation.

When he finally gathered the courage to look up, he saw that Bruce was gone.  Smacking his head repeatedly, he slumped away to his red car, sidestepping the bat poo that Alfred would inevitably have to clean.

A great start to a great evening for sure.

Tim parked around four blocks down from Wayne Tower, a multi-storey which smelt of piss, alcohol, weed and assortment of other nose wrinkling things.  It was around the block from the hospital, so was not used for much outside of frantic potential patients and their visitors.

Slowly he made his way down the stairs, hopping past a passed-out chap hanging over the railings.  Coming out onto the overwhelmingly busy street, he began to make his way to Wayne Tower.

He had a rough game plan.  One that, in hindsight, was not detailed enough.  First time round he had made the mistake of planning out his every move, to which once Batman had figured out that plan, tracking Tim down was easy-peasy.  No, this time, he was going to (Night)wing it.

He was going to stay low initially, stay amongst the crowds of central Gotham for as long as it was busy and as long as Batman needed to stay out of sight from the average Joe.  He’d worn bland clothing to try and blend in.  Black sneakers, black jeans, some plaid shirt and a red light jacket.  A backpack had nothing but the absolute essentials in them.  He’d been refused any tools to help him, but food, drink and money was allowed.  He’d left his phone behind, and the tracker Batman had given him was zipped in an inside pocket.

The city’s churches rang out that it was eight o’clock, and it was go time.

He took in a deep shaky breath, rolled back his shoulders, and left the tower grounds.

***

Stephanie knew she had her pissy face on.  It matched her insides, which were churning in a such a rage she had developed heartburn.

If she threw up, she begged it would be after she got off the bus.  And in front of the hospital.

Her mom had insisted on her coming to pick her up from work.  Her mother’s shift ended at eight, and there Steph was on her way to collect her mother.

A lone seventeen-year-old girl travelling in the dark on public transport.

Bad enough for any city.

But in Gotham?

Stephanie wondered if her mother was trying to get rid of her.

She knew she had enough of an angry expression that no-one dared sit near her for fear she would start ragging on their very existence.  Or throwing up on their feet.  Depended how awful the heartburn got.

Headphones in playing no music and sneering at nothing, she silently stewed the whole journey into Gotham City Centre.

Upon arrival outside the hospital, she waited for her mother to emerge.

Crystal stumbled out into the early autumn air, wearing probably a thicker coat than was necessary.  On her feet were her white slip-ons, but she had changed into what appeared to be her pyjamas.

Stephanie inspected Crystal as she shuffled over.  “What’s with the jammies?”

Her mother ignored her.  “Need to head to the pharmacy.”

Curling her lip, Stephanie shook her head.  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?  It’s eight at night?  I’ll go to the one round the corner first thing in the morning for you before you wake up.”

Her mom didn’t seem to hear her.  “I’m all out.  I won’t sleep unless I got something to knock me down for the night.”

Seeing how uncooperative she was being, Stephanie snapped as her. “Weren’t able to grab some spares from the cupboards?  You know the in-house ones won’t give anymore so you—”

“That’s enough Stephanie!” Her mother whirled and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the street.  “I am in pain after a nightmare shift.  I don’t need you to have a go on top of everything.”

Guilt flooded Stephanie, and she shut up.  She reminded herself that she couldn’t be responsible for her mother’s sobriety and tried to let it go.  She twisted in her mother’s grip until she could hold Crystal’s hand. Her mother twined their fingers together, holding tight.  All was forgiven.  Conflict avoided.

“…We got through another scene of Hamlet today.”

“Oh?  Enjoying being Ophelia?”  Crystal asked, staggering slightly, the pain in her back slowing the pair down considerably.

“It’s fun… kinda.  Though, she doesn’t even have that much to say or do in the end.”

“No… most of Shakespeare’s tragedies don’t give much to the women.”

“Lady Macbeth and Juliet aside.”

“Hmm.  The comedies are better anyway.”

And so, they talked, slowly making their way through the centre of the city, hunting for the one pharmacy that a) was open after eight and b) was within walking distance of their bus stop route.

Gotham was noisy and bright tonight, many staggering people yelled and fell over into the road, but most of them were laughing or from having a good time.  The neon signs for assorted bars, restaurants, clubs and shops were garish more than welcoming, but Stephanie liked it all the same.  The city was alive, though down each dark alley uncomfortable smells and sights ensured both women kept deliberately facing forward.  A humdrum of the city came out at night, especially after twelve.  That was when the Bat would appear, and all hell would break loose.  Stephanie and her mother lived far enough out in the crappy suburbs to avoid the hellish events from places like the Narrows from spilling over, but that didn’t mean they had escaped what the city could be unscathed.

For example, Stephanie’s father - Crystal’s husband - hadn’t come home in nearly two weeks now.

Stephanie cared, if only because she didn’t know why and/or where he was.  Maybe he was dead, lost in a shoot out and stuffed down the sewers.  Maybe he was cooking up another awful plan to get more money, hurting who knows how many people in the process.

Stephanie didn’t love or care for her father, but she did care about the consequences of his actions on others, on Gotham.

On her mother.

They arrived at a pharmacy which looked rather empty inside, save for three blokes staring at the condoms and lube in one corner.  Crystal took one look at them and asked for Stephanie to wait outside.  Reluctant, but not wanting to fight with her mother more that evening, Stephanie nodded, and lingered under a lamp.  She plugged her headphones back in and stared in the shop window, eyes following her mother.

She watched as Crystal pulled a prescription from her purse at the counter.  A very tired and out of it looking pharmacist glanced at it, then glanced at Crystal, then glanced back at the paper, and finally back to Crystal.  They heaved such a sigh it was like they carried the weight of the world, and then moved out back to fill a bottle.  Her mother’s haggard appearance, making her look older than her age of 42, was in part due to endless cigarettes, as well as the alcohol and drug abuse.  The pharmacist no doubt recognised it, but just wanted to do their job and get Crystal out of the store.

Stephanie ignore the sound of some pervert wolf whistling her from some bar across the road and glared as one of the three condom buying men turned and did a double take at the sight of Crystal.  He repeatedly smacked his friend on the arm, not so subtly grabbing his attention.  The third guy listened to the pair as they talked, watching with no subtlety the woman waiting for her painkillers.

Feeling a drop of fear, Stephanie went to walk in the shop, praying that faced with two woman, one that could kick and punch and bite particularly hard, the men wouldn’t try anything.  The third man noticed her before she entered, and pointed with an exaggerated stupidity, like he was an old friend of hers and it was some inside joke, some usual greeting between the two.

She jerked to a stop, instead blurting out a call for her mother.

Crystal turned, frowning, when Stephanie saw them men pull out guns.

She shrieked, and the second man turned his gun on her, and shot above her head, firing through the open door.

Stephanie fell to the ground, then scrambled up.  The man had deliberately missed her, so frightening her must have been the aim.  Beyond that, she was lost at their motives.  She didn’t recognise those men, and neither did her mother it seemed, who was kicking up a storm, screeching and twisting and kicking as the other two men grabbed her.  The moment one of them put his pistol on her temple, she froze, and looked for Stephanie out the corner of her eye.  The pharmacist had seemingly hidden away in the back once the sound of shots had been made.

Stephanie tried to rush into the store to help, partially sure that the men wouldn’t do any serious damage to her, when another fired bullet grazed her thigh, shattering the store window.  She collapsed from the pain, and looked down as her leg began to run red.

The man wasn’t trying to miss, he was just a shit shot.

With a bleeding leg, a mother in danger of being shot in the head, and three men with guns ready to hurt or kill her, Stephanie freaked.

She began screaming hysterically, and a crowd had begun to gather at the spectacle.  No police presence appeared, and no-one intervened.  Drunken jeers came from the side, but no-one helped Stephanie to her feet or to check on her injury.  Three incompetent men with guns were somehow a greater threat then three competent ones to the general public.  Stephanie and Crystal were strangers to these people, and not something risking their life over.

Her mother was dragged out the shop and into a nearby car mounted on the curb, not resisting and limp with fear.  Once she was inside, two of the men turned for Stephanie, but she had managed to pull herself to her feet.  Still screaming, although with rage this time instead of fear, she body slammed one to the ground, doing a roly-poly on top of him.  Her leg burned in agony, but she managed to pull herself up to standing.  She began to sprint as best she could away, heading back towards the hospital.  She had to treat her leg first.

With what money? Eh.

And then what?

She didn’t really have the presence of mind to think chronologically or logically about her situation.  Her left leg gave way every time her foot slammed into the concrete ground, and she flinched and screamed every time a shot rang out until she was so far down the street she was out of range.

That didn’t stop them however, as the car drove away, one of the men gave chase to Stephanie, seemingly sure he could run down an injured teenage girl.

She managed to turn the corner onto a large avenue, the hospital just one more block down.  Wayne Tower, in all its fancy glory, stood watch at the far end.  Her leg gave out then, and she crashed into a streetlamp.  She called for help again as she saw the man gaining on her.  She went to push off the pole, but she collapsed in a heap on floor.  She rolled onto her back, groaning.  Most people gave her a wide berth as she stared at the man only a few feet away now.  One or two hadn't moved out of the way, probably from confusion more than anything.  The man pushed several of them out of the way.

Abruptly, and with as much strength as a brick wall, a boy in front of her held his arm out, and punched the man straight in the face.

The man actually whirled up and down, legs up in the air at odd angles, arms contorted strangely as he had stopped at such a speed and with such force.  His head thumped against the ground, and with that the man pursuing Stephanie was passed out cold on the street.  She felt herself squeak at the man now lying on the floor next to her.

The boy quickly removed the gun from his hand, emptying it of bullets and scattering them on the street.  People were staring again, but didn’t say or do anything aside from a passing comment here and there of, “Hey is that guy passed out?”

Stephanie tried not to flinch as the boy knelt in front of her, but she couldn’t help it as he looked at her bleeding leg. He went to touch it, to which Stephanie cried out, and slapped him hard across the face.

The boy lost his balance from the force of the slap but managed to hold his hands up in deference whilst looking at the floor submissively.  He was trying to make himself as small and nonthreatening as possible.  A difficult task to achieve when faced with a bleeding, sweaty, crying girl lying on the floor.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I just wanted to check on it.  Should I get you to the hospital? It’s not far from –”

“I know where it is!   Where do you think I was running?”

Her sharp interruption didn’t seem to offend him, instead it seemed to amuse him.

“Yeah.  Sorry.  Sorry.”

He finally looked at her then, and Stephanie felt her heart stutter for a reason other than fear.  He also seemed gobsmacked for some reason, and his gaze made her squirm.

Darnnit.

“My name’s Tim.”  He finally offered, smiling like a dork who hadn't just one punched a gang member.

Shit.  He was cute.

Her stomach rolled abruptly, and Tim watched as she turned faintly green, growing concern on his soft face.  Her heartburn apparently had had enough of this evening, but she managed to turn her head to the side in time for her to vomit all over the street.  Some woman cried out, stumbling away and fell into the gutter, heels flying off comically.  Someone muttered, "Jesus Christ".  Stephanie and Tim couldn't care less.  He reached out and stroked her hair, far too familiar for someone he had just met and watched puke.  Stephanie found she actually quite liked it.  

A moment's pause, and Stephanie turned back over onto her back.  Someone shouted about how disgusting she was, and the blood oozing from her leg was starting to flow upwards on the uneven ground, mixing in with the brown stinky vomit.  There were carrot chunks from the soup she'd microwaved earlier slipping down a storm drain.  Her mother had just been kidnapped.  Stephanie had been shot in the leg.  She had bits of puke stuck in her hair and teeth and now her breath smelt really bad.

Her mother had just been kidnapped.  Stephanie had been shot.  In the leg.

Tim was grinning at her as if she were a million dollars.  She smiled dreamily.

“…Hi Tim.”

[unavenged-robin]

Fic Prompt!: Brainwashed evil Dick with Batbros to the rescue! If you don't mind.

There you go. Tim decided he was the one in charge here, so I let him do all the angst. (Spoiler: it’s a lot of angst. As a matter of fact this is so sad, I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize for it in advance).

Read on AO3

There’s little room for mistakes, so they keep it simple.

Red Robin goes first. Strategically speaking, he’s the only one capable of surprising Nightwing and throw him off balance, which is something that they really need if they want to overcome him with minimum damage.

Red Hood goes next. His fighting style is brutal and effective, and bruises are not a problem at this point. Besides, Nightwing doesn’t know that he’s not going to use his guns in their most effective way, so most of his focus will be on that and not on the next attack.

Robin’s supposed to go last. Take Nightwing by surprise, work on his sides, distract him enough for Tim and Jason to go for the second round, and immobilize and drug him before things get even more out of hands.

Like with all the simple things, the plan looked good on paper, but a few hiccups here and there were to be expected as a general rule, and they all were prepared for them.

What they were not prepared for, is for Robin to freeze in the middle of the fight.

It’s such an alien concept to Tim, that it takes him three seconds too many to realize what’s happening. And even when he does, even when he turns his attention from the sedative syringe he’s fumbling with to his younger brother, it doesn’t hit immediately.

Robin is exactly where he should be - that is just behind Dick, who’s still trying to recover from Red Hood’s attack - and he’s in the perfect position to strike, but the kid’s posture is wrong, he’s not attacking and he’s not defending himself, he’s just there, arms at his sides, sword just a useless piece of metal in his hand.

Unfortunately, Dick notices it too.

Nightwing spins on his feet, fast and agile as ever, and Robin still doesn’t move, and Tim still watches the scene without understanding it. Nightwing lunges forward, escrima sticks buzzing and sparking with electricity in his hands, ready to seriously hurt, and still neither of the Robins can move a finger to stop it.

Robin is not Robin anymore, Robin is Damian. And Damian is not an arrogant and self-entitled demon brat anymore, Damian is a child.

And who the hell let a child stand in the middle of a battlefield?

Tim did. It was his plan.

Memories of old discussions come to mind. Back in the days, Dick had called him a hypocrite for saying that a ten year old should not be out playing vigilantes at night. He was right, Tim knew. They were all children when they started. What he didn’t say back then was yes, but I was supposed to be the last one.

Memories of worst days follow the course of his thoughts. Damian’s funeral, and how light the kid’s coffin felt on Tim’s shoulder. An empty cave full of grief, ghosts and shouted words, a promise of protection delivered too late, apologies and hugs that never happened.

Now Nightwing is smiling a twisted, feral smile, that doesn’t belong on his face, and it doesn’t make sense. None of this does. Weird that Tim’s noticing it just now, since it’s been at least five hours since Dick was injected by Scarecrow’s new toxin and revolted against them. Five hours of hiding and planning and fighting and now it all feels like a lucid dream. Like they all are a blink of an eye away from reality. Quite there, but not really there.

“Fuck!”

The curse startles Tim out of his trance and he turns around to look at the Red Hood.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jason swears again, doesn’t lose himself in bewilderment, and just throws a batarang at Dick. The sharp edges scratch his arm, blood splatters from there and once again Nightwing spins around and gives his back to Damian, voluntarily repeating the same mistake that should’ve brought him down the first time.

This time Red Robin is ready to cover it, though.

The fight that follows is everything Tim was trying to avoid: vicious, and angry and damaging.

He already feels Bruce’s disapproval on him, on all of them, the unspoken words of truth that he’ll never say and yet they all will hear: I trained you better than this, I trained you to not let this kind of things happen in the first place, I trained you to handle every situation with a clear head and not with your emotions, I trained you to not disappoint me.

And they will all bow their heads, chastised children, unworthy heirs.

“Tim!”, Jason yells, and by the irritation behind it, it mustn’t be the first time.

“What?”

Jason breaks his iron-grip on Dick’s arms and reaches for the syringe Tim’s still holding.

“He’s out”, he says, gesturing at the now unconscious Nightwing. “I’ll tie him up, you go check on the kid.”

Tim sways on his feet. He’s bleeding, and he’s sore and he’s once again not really sure to be one hundred percent awake, but he still walks towards Damian, one step after another, wondering about when walking became such a difficult task and on what the hell he’s going to tell the kid when he reaches him anyway. Why on earth did you freeze like that? sounds a bit insensitive even to his own ears. Yet, he’s curious to know.

He remembers Dick saying that he saw it happen once, long time ago, when Damian was still new to Gotham and to their family. Killer Croc scared the kid good, Dick said, and Tim snorted because he couldn’t picture it in his mind, what a truly scared Damian looked like. Still had trouble imagining it, up to a few minutes ago. After all Damian wasn’t scared the day he died, wasn’t scared the day he came back, so how could he be scared of anything else to the point of shutting himself down?

Now he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it.

There’s the sound of a soft landing, a very well known voice calling Tim’s name, and then Spoiler’s there, just besides him.

He can’t see her eyes behind the mask, yet he knows she’s looking at him with concerned eyes, so Tim shakes his head no and tilts his chin towards Damian. Stephanie just nods.

She runs to Robin, kneeling in front of him to grab him by his shoulders. Tim halts his steps and just looks at them. Can’t hear a word of what she’s saying but understands the general feeling by the gentle tone and the way she’s stroking his cheek.

The sword falls off his hand as Damian throws his arms around Stephanie’s neck.

“I couldn’t”, Damian wheezes into her shoulder, loud enough even for Tim to hear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

Couldn’t bring himself to raise a sword against his brother, he means. Funny, Tim thinks, He’s never had that problem with me.

A heavy hand on his shoulder makes him spin around on his heels, and Tim finds himself staring at his own reflection on Jason’s helmet.

“-kay?”, Jason asks, voice muffled and distorted.

Tim looks over his shoulder, to where Nightwing’s lying, bloody and bruised and tied up with very painful-looking knots.

“Dick’s dead. Couldn’t save him.”

He’s vaguely aware that he intended the words to be two different questions and not statements. Jason doesn’t answer anyway, but his hand moves to Tim’s neck, fingers searching for his pulse.

Stephanie walks towards them carrying Damian in her arms, and she looks at Tim first and then at Jason.

“Second-hand exposure?”, she asks and Jason gives her a curt nod.

“The brat too. Must be skin to skin transmission then, since neither of us is affected”, Stephanie reasons, while rubbing Damian’s back. “I’m so gonna punch Scarecrow in his less straw-padded parts.”

“I like the sound of that plan, Blondie”, Jason says. “Let’s get the flock back home first, then I’ll gladly hold him still for you.”

Tim’s not understating much of the conversation going on around him, his attention constantly shifting from Dick, still out cold and crumbled to the floor, to Damian, unusually silent while cradled into Stephanie’s arms.

There is something wrong there, something nitpicking at the back of his mind, but he can’t figure it out what it is.

“They were dead”, he says. Thinks of saying. He’s not sure anymore.

“You were dead too”, he continues (thinks of continuing), looking at Jason and then at Stephanie.

He feels Jason’s fingers twitch in surprise against his neck, but that’s about the only reaction he gets. Without another word, Jason manhandles him again to get him closer, and before Tim can protest he finds himself being thrown over the Red Hood’s shoulder and awkwardly staring at the ground.

“Jason, what the-”, he yells, grabbing the back of his brother’s jacket with his fists.

“Just don’t kick me, please”, Jason sighs. “Dick’s already busted my ribs so be a nice and not dangerous fear toxined brother like Damian there, yeah?”

Tim is so offended by that to stop talking to him at once.

-

He wakes up in a gurney, strapped to an IV, still drowsy and with a big headache to the side. None of that comes as a surprise. A freshly showered and heavily bandaged Dick sitting on the chair next to him does.

Tim glances at him from under his eyelashes and frowns.

“You’re not trying to kill us anymore?”, he asks, only half joking.

Dick’s quick to hide the flick of hurt and guilt in his eyes behind a smile - almost quick enough for Tim not to catch it and feel shitty about it.

“Kidding”, he mumbles.

“I know.”

Dick’s smile softens instantly. The guilt stays. Tim can read it in his features, in his posture, in his low voice. He was also expecting it.

“Do you remember any of it?”

A shake of the head, and wet strands of hair fall on Dick’s eyes.

“Not much.”

“Good.”

It was scary, it’s what Tim’s not going to say. You coming after us, it was one of the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Where are the others?”, he asks instead.

“Stephanie and Jason went after Scarecrow, Bruce is on his way to join them as we speak.”

Tim nods, then looks at him pointedly.

“Damian’s fine”, Dick offers. “He’s sleeping off the leftover effects of the toxin in his room.”

“While I only get the cave’s med bay”, Tim complains halfheartedly.

“Well, you’re a bit heavier to carry. For Alfred, at least”, Dick smiles again. Tim has the sudden feeling that Dick knows exactly how he was carried back home and quickly change the subject. He’ll make Jason pay for that another day.

“Nasty stuff this time”, he comments then, and Dick’s smile falls almost instantly.

“Yes. I was looking at the first results from the analysis and it looks like Crane enhanced the original formula to make the illusions more vivid, to the point….”

“To the point you start enact them”, Tim finishes.

Dick raises an eyebrow at him.

“You figured it out right away?”

“I’m not that smart”, Tim scoffs. “But it makes sense. Damian was too scared to fight, so there was obviously something wrong. And I couldn’t help. Should have, but couldn’t. My brain went totally banana.”

“But you did”, Dick points out. “Jason said that you snapped out of it and helped him.”

“Barely.”

“You-”

“At first I thought Damian froze in the middle of the fight, but he didn’t, didn’t he?”, Tim interrupts him, but it’s a rhetorical question. “He thought he was going to kill you, so he chose not to fight at all.”

Dick sighs.

“We’re going to have a long conversation about that.”

“Yeah, good luck.”, Tim winces in sympathy. And then, softly, he adds: “I was the one who really froze.”

And that makes sense too.

His parents. Stephanie. Kon. Dick. Damian. Jason. Bruce. They all died. Almost everything and everyone Tim’s ever called family. And he could never do anything about it. Only watch and accept it, and try to go on anyway.

Dick is nice enough to not add anything to that. He just raises his hand to gently stroke Tim’s arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

Tim cranes his head on the pillows to look at his brother again, a doubt running all around his mind and a question burnings on his lips.

Because the way Tim’s looking at it, Dick’s reaction to the toxin doesn’t fit. It’s the only one that doesn’t make sense to him and it’s been bothering him since the first moment Nightwing attacked them. So he licks away the blood from his splitted bottom lip and asks. Even if he maybe shouldn’t.

“Dick? Do you really think one day you’ll kill all of us? Because that’s crazy.”

Dick laughs, but it’s a pained, humorless laugh.

“No, I don’t think I’ll end up killing any of you. I mean, you do make me want to pull my beautiful hair out, and you all suck the life out of me sometimes, but that’s just how family is, you know?”

Tim furrows his brow.

“Then why…?”

Dick sinks back in his chair, head tilted back to look at the ceiling, tensed shoulders and clenched fists, and Tim is overwhelmed by how much he looks like Bruce right now.

“Because I already did, didn’t I?”, Dick sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Robin is good for a lot of reasons, I know that. It was good for us, and now it’s good for Damian. It’s good for Batman, for Gotham, for the kids. But sometimes I think at what cost it comes with and…”

“Dick-”

“…and I feel like I set up a death trap instead of a legacy. Which is ironic, don’t you think?”

Tim shakes his head and tries to sit up, only to be pushed down almost immediately by Dick’s hands.

“Don’t”, his brother scolds him quietly.

“You’re wrong”, Tim retorts. “You know you’re wrong.”

Dick strokes his chest gently, fingers tracing along the edges of the white bandages, and it’s not clear who Dick’s really trying to reassure there, if Tim or himself.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe it’s just the toxin talking”, he sighs eventually. “So let’s sleep it off, mh?”

It’s the most polite end of discussion he’ll get from him, Tim knows. And maybe it’s okay. Maybe they really need a little time before going there again.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“You’re going to sleep in that chair?”, Tim asks.

“Maybe I’ll snuggle into Damian’s bed later”, Dick admits candidly and with half a smile.

It’s exactly the kind of thing Dick would say in a situation like this, and yet, for some reason, Tim’s pretty sure that his brother’s just lied to his face.

[kenshiliker]

mcfuck load of things i was tagged in going here thanks everyone that tagged me & im sorry for this Entire Mess

Also I was tagged in 3 different things that have like similar fuckign questions so im jst gonna stick them all into 1 tag bc if not you’d have me repeating my damn names 18 times and thts no fun for Anyone)

Meet the blogger meme (Tagged by @bodhierso, thank u ark!! @woehuxbub tHJANKS FAMTHER & @orsonkraennic)

i. name:  徐

ii. nickname: OH LORD I HAVE SO MANY um I’ll just put the main ones; Brucie, Jerry, Tiaan, King Dickard II

iii. zodiac sign: Sagittarius / Dragon (Chinese Zodiac)

iv. height: ??? UH I think 160 cm the last I measured but I’m not sure. Over 5′3″ iirc.

v. orientation: Ace (the helpful place)

vi. ethnicity: Chinese 

vii. favorite fruit: Orange, Strawberry and Banana, L E M O N (u fucKIGN COWARDS)

viii. favorite season: Autumn/Winter but I’m stuck in hell so guess I’ll Die

ix. favorite book / book series: I don’t read many books but I like Shakespeare’s stuff & also Sherlock Holmes

x. favorite flower: Hibiscus rosa-sinensis (this is as patriotic as I get tbh), PLANTA GENISTA

xi. favorite scent: Nothing too strong or I’ll feel nauseous. Maybe a soft vanilla? ...And maybe orange. Or Lemon.

xii. favorite color: ORANGE (funny story is that my dad’s fav colour was orange and I decided to project frm a young age and wow guess what Orange has been my fav colour ever since), White, Black, Blue, Red

xiii. coffee, tea or cocoa: T e a slorp slorp

xiv. average sleep hours: Depends on what I have planned the next day. Lately (due to exam month) it’s been about 5 hrs per week so guess I’ll die

xv. cat or dog person: I like both as long as I’m not being chased

xvi. favorite fictional characters: ghhh Bruce Wayne, Tiaan Jerjerrod, Illya Kuryakin, B.J. Hunnicutt, Freddy Newandyke, Cal Lightman, (and Duke of Aumerle & Richard II if they count,,, hte Shookspeare version)

xvii. dream trip: UK,,, Get Me Out Of Here, 

xviii. blogs created: 4 (This one, TMFU blog, Secret Shakespeare Blog & Secret Art Blog) (I haven’t posted on the latter two) (That’s why they’re a ‘secret’)

xix. number of followers: 940 here (how even the Fuck) & 1582 on the TMFU blog.

xx.  random fact: I recently sat on the hard wood floor for 10 hours straight (s/o to you if you remember this) and felt myself just physically shrivel up and die. I literally hurt everywhere bc if I wasn’t sitting down, I was laying on the ground and gOD It took me a week to feel better but yeah god 11/10 would not recommend

xxi. number of blankets you sleep with: There’s like 4 on my bed lmao I’M LIVING

xxii.  blog created: I’ve had a tumblr since like... 2010 and I didn’t really use it until 2012, 2013 was my first year I was really active

xxiii. nationality: Malaysian

Tagged by Krenny again, to answer all these questions, and then tag 15 people 5 things you’ll find in my bag: SUPERMAN WALLET, Phone, Powerbank + Cable, Earphones, Art Supplies

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom: 5000 Stuffed Animals, DC shit, SW garb, The decapitated head of Jar Jar Binks that greets the visitors, Convention merch (+4 GAY REALLY FUCKING GAY, SO GAY THAT IF MY PARENTS FOUND THEM I’D BE FUCKING DEAD, fanbooks of TMFU which are in Chinese, sent by my lovely Internet Sister)

5 things I’ve always wanted to do: Get some air-dry paper clay and make tiny sculptures or something, learn how to paint properly, have nice handwriting, visit the UK again, WATCH A PLAY

5 things that make me happy: My unhealthy coping mechanisms, my favs, my friends!!, drawing (sometimes), reading/learning about something I’m interested in

5 things I’m currently into: TIM ROTH, LIE TO ME, Shakespeare, Star Wars, DC

5 things on my to do list: Get good fuckin grades for once in my damn life aye, finish watching Lie To Me, finish reading As You Like It and Othello, finish the school year & be done with it for the rest of my life, memorise all the experiments for the physics syllabus by Thursday if not my teacher will literally grill me

and lastly, tagged by @bunn1cula​ and Krenny again! Thank u two am loaf the both of u,

the last

1. drink: water 2. phone call: irl friend that is saved as ‘Mr. Pink’ in my phone (as per their request fhghg) 3. text message: ‘👌👌’ or if chats count then:

4. song you listened to: HOOKED ON A FEELING 5. time you cried: Yesterday while watching Lie To Me 6. dated someone twice: Nooooot yet 7. kissed someone and regretted it: NOT FOR ME THnks 8. been cheated on: ?? I don’t know. Probably not. 9. lost someone special: Yes 10. been depressed: Yeah, still am, but I think it’s not so bad nowadays (hopefully). 11. got drunk and thrown up: Never

3 favourite colours

12. Orange 13. White 14. Black

in the last year have you

15. made new friends: Yeah, definitely!  16. fallen out of love: NOT YET BUT MAYBE SOON 17. laughed until you cried: GOD A HECK OF A LOT OF TIMES 18. found out someone was talking about you: No, not really. I mean, there’s an asshole in my class that loves talking shit about me but I honestly don’t give a fuck about him he’s Irrelavant. 19. met someone who changed you: I don’t really know,,, I think I’m still the same? 20. found out who your friends are: I’ve never really had an issue with anyone, really. Maybe except one or two people, but yeah, the rest of y’all are alright. 21. kissed someone on your facebook list: NO

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: About 60/93 of them. I plan to boot a ton of them after I graduate tho. 23. do you have any pets: UNFORTUNATELY NO but I’d love a cat 24. do you want to change your name: UM SURE I mean it’d be kinda nice bc I hate when people I hate tainted my name by calling it, so yea, Yes 25. what did you do for your last birthday: I don’t think I did anything at all. 26. what time did you wake up: 6.30 a.m. (gotta love tht School Life) 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: ,,,Watching Lie To Me, reading fics instead of studying for my exam, 28. name something you can’t wait for: GRADUATING and getting tf outta here. 29. when was the last time you saw your mum: Last night ghghg 31. what are you listening to right now: Stuck In The Middle With You 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: I was the person named Tom once, so, yes. 33. something that is getting on your nerves: My shitty fucking class/school. 34. most visited website: Tumblr, YouTube 35. hair colour: Dark brown 36. long or short hair: Short! 37. do you have a crush on someone: Mnnn 50/50 38. what do you like about yourself: I’m kinda sorta funny & I can draw sometimes 39. piercings: None 40. blood type: A+ 41. nickname: Jerry, Brucie, Tiaan, King Dickard II 42. relationship status: Single & That’s Alrighty 43. zodiac: Sagittarius 44. pronouns: He/Him or They/Them 45. favourite tv show: RN IT’S LIE TO ME (TIM ROTH COULD FUCKIGNG LIE TO ME RIGHT IN MY FACE & I’D BE LIKE WOW UR TELLIGN THE TRUTH I BELIEVE IN U), but I also like M*A*S*H, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and The Twilight Zone 46. tattoos: I idon’t really want any! 47. right or left handed: Right

first

48. surgery: None to my knowledge, or maybe a few when I was super young bc my moves (lungs) are weak babe 49. piercing: None (my mom keeps trying to get me to pierce my ear but it’s not my thing, & also if I do get it i’ll only get one and it’ll be the Gay Ear) 50. sport: Football, I think? In any case, I’m bomb as hell at getting hit in the fucking head by the sports balls.  51. vacation: London or Australia iirc 52. pair of trainers: I don’t remember either, I can barely remember anything from 2016.

more general

53. eating: Nothing at the moment 54. drinking: Water 55. i’m about to: Nap or watch Lie To Me (I haven’t decided) 56. waiting for: My exams to be over 57. want: Nothing at the moment 58. get married: Sure? I’m not really opposed to marriage as a whole, but if it starts getting yikes you bet your ass I’m gonna fucking bounce 59. career: I don’t have a career rn but I’d like to do illustration/concept art it seems p cool. Either that or become a psychologist and charge people $30 for readings.

which is better

60. hugs or kisses: I don’t like either 61. lips or eyes: Eyes 62. shorter or taller: I don’t really care. I love both short girls and guys (@tiM), and tall girls and guys are just as good! 63. older or younger: Doesn’t really matter to me either. 64. nice arms or nice stomach: Also doesn’t really matter but if ur arms are good I’m definitely eyes emoji af 65. hook up or relationship: Relationship. 66. troublemaker or hesitant: See, I’d say hesitant but I don’t really know that either. Just as long as you’re not doing some stupid shit we’re good.

have you ever

67. kissed a stranger: No 68. drank hard liquor: Nope.. Well, not to my knowledge. 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: I don’t wear either ghgng 70. turned someone down: No 71. sex on the first date: N O 72. broken someone’s heart: UH Yeah when I was 13 (how even the fucK.) 73. had your heart broken: yEP 74. been arrested: Never bc I’m a cop, Larry 75. cried when someone died: Yes. I’m okay throughout the funeral but the minute it registers that I’m never gonna see them again, I’m gooooone af. Even if I didn’t particularly like the person when they were alive. 76. fallen for a friend: YEAH!!! But it’s usually one of those new-friend crushes sourry.

do you believe in

77. yourself: I mean, Sometimes. It’s like... Can I do it? Most Likely. Did I do it correctly? Most Likely Not. 78. miracles: Not really, no. 79. love at first sight: Yeah, sure, I mean everyone’s different, so who’s to say just because I don’t feel it someone else doesn’t. 80. santa claus: No way my dude 81. kiss on the first date: Depends bc at mY AGE I’m not boutta put my face anywhere near someone else’s thts jst weird 82. angels: Mayhaps,,,, I don’t believe that they don’t exist, if that makes sense.

other

83. current best friend’s name: Mmmnnnn Kylogram (Kyle Ron), maybe? I’ve a few best friends. 84. eye colour: Dark brown, they look kinda nice in the sun I guess. 85. favourite movie: RESERVOIR DOGS, Four Rooms, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead, The Lion in Winter, TMFU, Wonder Woman, ROTJ, Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade

--

This is a big Mess, but yeA I’m tagging whoever was mentioned above & no one else bc this has gone on for long enough, to do the one you weren’t tagged in or hell do the first one if you want, bc that one is a compilation of like 3 different tag memes ghfh. Good bye u all.

(OH YEAH if ur a mutual/follower/whoEVER who sees this feel free to do if if you’d like!! Say I tagged you if you’d like to c:)

[aion-rsa]

DC Comics: The 15 Biggest Moments of 2016

DC Comics endured yet another year filled with recalibration and revelations. The publisher underwent a “Rebirth” to restore some semblance of sense between the pre-“Flashpoint” era and the New 52, while still keeping the new continuity intact. The product? A year of mind-games, clues and hints as to what actually caused all this fragmentation within the DC universe and just how cohesive it could be if put back together.

RELATED: Marvel Comics: The 15 Biggest Moments Of 2016

Fans also saw the beloved Trinity being pushed to the limits, mentally and physically, with character deaths and returns sprinkled all over their precious pages. With the Justice League and Suicide Squad embedded in an even bigger spotlight due to the burgeoning DC cineverse, creators  churned out some pretty monumental moments that truly defined and dealt with DC’s legacy and evolution. Without further adieu, CBR brings to you the biggest DC Comics jaw-droppers from 2016!

SPOILER WARNING: The below contains spoilers for multiple DC Comics titles.

THREE JOKERS

“Justice League” #50 from Geoff Johns and Jason Fabok was one of DC’s most action-packed comics. It wrapped “Darkseid War,” which saw the Justice League barely overcome a resurrected Darkseid, under the control of his daughter, Grail. In the aftermath, a recovering Batman revealed crucial information on the Joker, which he found out before this fiery finale.

In Issue #42, while imbued with the universal knowledge of the Mobius chair, Batman inquired into Joker’s true identity and finally revealed to Hal Jordan that there wasn’t one, but three Jokers. Theories are that the three correspond to different phases in Joker’s career: one resembling the Golden Age Joker, the other resembling the ’70s and ’80s-era Joker, and lastly, the modern one from Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo. Multiple Jokers would explain why he’s always cheating death, why his past is so vague and why his personality shifts so much from silly prankster to psychopath. Fans are eager to see more of this mystery unveiled in 2017 because of the impact it will surely have on the Batman mythos.

DARKSEID DIES (AGAIN)

“Justice League” #50 delivered another emphatic Darkseid death. This was his second demise after the Anti-Monitor and Flash/Black Racer infusion killed him last year in Issue #44. This time, Johns and Fabok scripted Grail as her father’s murderer. With the Anti-Life Equation extracted from the Anti-Monitor, leaving Mobius behind, Grail used it to weaponize Steve Trevor to kill the powerhouse. Eventually, she took back the Equation and merged it with the Omega Sanction (taken from Lex Luthor) into the son of Superwoman and Mazahs (both of the Crime Syndicate), reviving another iteration of her father.

She held full control over this Darkseid and used him to pummel the League. However, her Amazonian mother, Myrina Black, realizing her daughter was becoming a tyrant like her father, urged her to cease her lust for war. With Wonder Woman restraining and calming Grail via her lasso, Myrina beckoned her daughter to rid her slave of the Equation. An emotional, repentant Grail obliged, with her Omega Beams piercing through both her parents, removing the Equation from Darkseid. It was all part of a stormy finale that revealed Superman’s ill-health, Jessica Cruz as a Green Lantern, Lex ruling Apokolips and Wonder Woman’s twin brother.

SUPER SONS BRAWL

“Superman” #10 offset all the dark and gritty clouds that covered the Rebirth era with something a bit more fun in the shape of a pint-sized super-brawl featuring the sons of the World’s Finest. Peter Tomasi and Patrick Gleason constructed a lighthearted story of Batman’s son, Damian, kidnapping Jon Kent, Superman’s (pre-New 52) son, after becoming concerned that the latter couldn’t control his evolving powers. Batman immediately chastised Damian upon finding out, only for a peeved Superman to come crashing through the Batcave, angry that Jon was whisked away without permission.

As both fathers worked out their differences and began testing Jon’s DNA for abnormalities, the kids apparently reached a truce through Alfred and their love of animals. However, Damian’s constant antagonizing brought a truly hilarious moment that saw a fed-up Jon punch the volatile Robin in the gut for his insults about the youth’s emerging powers. They ended up scrapping only for their fathers to break it up with looks of disapproval. Jon’s punch was certainly a laugh-out-loud moment that sets the stage for their “Super Sons” book, slated for a February 2017 release.

THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN BOOMERANG

“Suicide Squad” #2 threw us for a loop when it took Captain Boomerang (Digger Harkness) off the table at the hands of General Zod. Fans were shocked that Rob Williams and Jim Lee scripted his death, especially after the Rogue’s breakout role in David Ayer’s film. On a mission with the team under Rick Flag’s watch, Squad members Harley Quinn, Deadshot, Killer Croc, Katana and Enchantress infiltrated an underwater facility housing a cosmic artifact.

After locating their prize and picking up a new teammate, Hack, they found out that it was a portal to the Phantom Zone. Stunned, Flag urged his team to get away as they were in over their heads. However, before a prying Boomerang could escape, Zod promptly dispatched him via heat vision before revealing himself to the Squad. It ended up being a temporary removal as the character returned in Issue #8, thanks to Hack, who revived him from digital entrapment during a prison breakout and riot at Belle Reeve. It was a sigh of relief for his cult following who thought his newfound popularity fell on deaf ears.

THE DEATH OF LOIS AND CLARK

DC swung for the fences when they killed off the New 52 versions of Lois and Clark, making way for the classic versions to take center stage again. The New 52 Superman exited in Tomasi’s “The Final Days of Superman” arc in “Superman” #52, when the icon died from kryptonite poisoning, surrounded by friends and the pre-“Flashpoint” Superman. He exploded and turned to ash, simultaneously emitting energy bolts that powered up both the New 52 Lois and Lana Lang, making way for “Superwoman” #1.

However, Lois’ stint would be short-lived as artist/writer Phil Jimenez killed her off in the same inexplicable manner. She also turned to ash instantly while fighting off a Bizzaro-Superwoman clone belonging to Lex’s sister, Lena; aka, Ultrawoman. On perishing, she hinted that she saw the dead Clark and that she finally understood why he died, leaving Lana alone to carry the mantle. With this Lois dying, the pre-“Flashpoint” Lois decided to take up her identity. It was a bold move to take two big players off the chessboard in this way, but with another Lois and Clark present, fans were already looking to the next chapter (and honestly quite happy to have the return of more familiar faces).

THE “DEATH” OF TIM DRAKE

James Tynion IV and Eddy Barrows delivered quite a stunner to Tim Drake fans, without even following through on killing him. In “Detective Comics” #940, the Bat-family took down Batwoman’s father, Jacob Kane, and his rogue military operation, The Colony. Tim, aka Red Robin, stops Kane’s fleet of weaponized drones by reprogramming them to target himself instead of innocent Gotham citizens. A wounded Tim survived the first strike, only to discover a second unstoppable wave that seemingly destroys him, leaving his staff alone behind.

However, the issue’s big twist is that while he is injured, he is alive, transported to a cell at an unknown location. There, he’s confronted by the same hooded stranger we saw in the “Rebirth” one-shot who’s also been keeping tabs on Superman in “Action Comics.” The mysterious entity, Mr. Oz, cryptically says that because Tim had been “reconnecting threads that could not be reconnected,” he needed to be taken off the playing field. It was a painstaking moment to see Tim expressing hope that his allies will find him, with his fate appearing very bleak as everyone is grieving. It’s hard to come back when no one’s searching for you, though we suspect we’ll see him back in action soon enough.

MAX LORD RETURNS

In terms of being the ruthless megalomaniac we’re accustomed to, Max Lord has remained relatively low-key post-“Flashpoint.” Leading Checkmate, he did battle Brother Eye and the new O.M.A.C., but it’s “Justice League vs. Suicide Squad” that sees him return to his despotic ways in grand fashion. The former League benefactor assembled a third team, filled with villains, and all sharing the objective of taking out the stalwart chief of the Suicide Squad, Amanda Waller… by any means necessary.

It’s exciting to see this conniving attitude once more from the man who once put a bullet through the head of Ted Kord, the original Blue Beetle. He rounded up Lobo, Emerald Empress, Doctor Polaris, Johnny Sorrow, Rustam and Eclipso, to get to Waller, even if it means going through her Task Force X unit or the League themselves. The cold, cruel and bloodthirsty manner in which he broke his team out from The Catacombs prison, using his mind control to turn the guards on themselves, showed that he means business. We can’t wait to see how Joshua Williamson and Jason Fabok craft Lord’s new mission, which, ironically enough perhaps, involves “saving the world.” We’ll believe it when we see it…

I AM SUICIDE

“Batman” #12 by Tom King and Mikel Janin shockingly elaborated on what the arc “I Am Suicide” truly meant. It wasn’t in reference to Batman’s makeshift Suicide Squad that attacked Bane’s Santa Prisca base to extract Psycho Pirate, but rather, a confession to his teammate, Selina Kyle (Catwoman), who was being transferred to Arkham Asylum for allegedly murdering 237 people. In a letter, he told her of a childhood trauma, confiding that he resolved to dedicate his life to crimefighting, only after attempting suicide via razor blade.

It was his way of showing her that there was hope to be reborn, with the admission painted against a backdrop of Batman overcoming an army of attackers. It was a daring revelation by King that spoke volumes of the eternal struggle raging within Bruce Wayne, overcoming despair to find a real purpose. It also showed that he was just as invested as Selina was, in fighting for her life and her very soul, adding another dimension to their complicated love story. The breathtaking visuals made the experience all the richer and continued to show the caped crusader in an inspirational, if decidedly more human light.

INFANTISEID

In “Darkseid War,” every issue raised the stakes, with Issue #50 being the most provocative. It’s not often we see Darkseid killed, let alone twice, and then used as a pawn, but Grail managed to play her father like a fiddle. She manipulated the Anti-Monitor, Crime Syndicate, Steve Trevor and to some extent, the Justice League, in aid of achieving her goals. That comes as no surprise, given how focused she was since Myrina escaped Themyscira with her and raised her as an instrument of war.

In a twist-filled finale, Grail finally grew compassion and understood that she didn’t have to inherit her father’s destructive ways, releasing him from the grasp of the Anti-Life Equation, seemingly at the cost of both her parents. However, she escaped with Darkseid, who was reduced to an infant, and in the closing scenes, was seen soothing him. She told the child how she intended to raise him so that he has a second chance, away from his destiny to conquer and rule with an iron fist. While Grail promised to love him, the cutaway showing the child’s glowing-red eyes was ominous to say the least, hinting at just how much of Darkseid’s power — and demeanor — the child retained.

THE THEMYSCIRA LIE

Greg Rucka and Liam Sharp delivered a game-changer in “Wonder Woman” #11, wrapping “The Lies” arc. Diana’s journey to self-discovery came to a screeching halt as she found out what had been haunting her recently. It was revealed that the Themyscira trips she’d been making in the past were to a fake one and upon discovering the real island, it turned out to be abandoned and derelict, leaving her clueless as to who put up this facade that kept her in the dark all this time.

She and Steve Trevor were left baffled at the run-down, low-tech state of the real island. It was a heartbreaking moment that dealt her a huge blow because of how important it was to her heritage and eventual destiny. In reality, Wonder Woman’s never had a homecoming until now and it’ll be intriguing to see how she traverses across dimensions to try to find the fake Themyscira she’s familiar with and the Amazonians she calls family. With the mirage revealed, fans can’t wait to see what is actually going on, and just who has been messing with the routes whenever she tries to go back.

BRUCE WAYNE RETURNS

Following the Joker’s “Endgame,” Batman was taken off the table, with Bruce being reborn without his memories or crime-fighting skills. James Gordon was then installed as a police-sanctioned Batman, with a high-tech armored suit. However, Scott Snyder brought Bruce back as Batman, reinvigorated like never before. His body was fully-healed and it was indeed a rebirth as he even boasted a cocky sense of humor.

In the issue before, Bruce broke the hearts of his girlfriend, Julia, and Alfred, by stating he wanted to download a copy of his brain back into his body: a contingency plan he always kept in case he died. Alfred didn’t want him erasing his life of happiness, finally, just to go back to the cowl. Jules, on the other hand, eventually got the process started, as she knew the city needed their guardian. Issue #50 saw his return, in a quippy exchange with Bat-Gordon, as he began his retaliation for Bloom’s assault on the city. Bruce stemmed the threat and a hospitalized Gordon would go back to his old job, inspired after realizing just why vigilantes needed to operate outside the law.

GREEN LANTERN HEAVEN

“Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps” #10 told some of the most stellar stories Robert Venditti’s written since dabbling with the mythos. His current “Rebirth” arc saw Hal return as a Green Lantern, forging a new ring from his own will. He was also literally changing into energy, becoming willpower itself after going on the run with the Krona Gauntlet to take the blame for all the Corps’ misdeeds. Re-powered, he ended up fighting a rejuvenated Sinestro in a battle that seemingly cost both their lives, which led Hal to the Emerald Space, aka Green Lantern heaven.

Rafa Sandoval beautifully illustrated Hal’s inspirational meeting with his successor, Abin Sur, as well as emotional moments with deceased Lanterns. It featured heartfelt messages from Katma Tui to John Stewart, and from Tomar-Re to his son, Tomar-Tu, reinvigorating Hal just before he was plucked back to the land of the living by the White Lantern, Kyle Rayner. This issue also offered immense fan service to any Corps fan, setting the stage for Hal to lead an assault on Larfleeze, who had imprisoned the Corps that disappeared and whom Hal was searching for at the end of “The Lost Army.”

SUPERMAN RETURNS

When the New 52 Superman died, he had help in his final mission from the pre-“Flashpoint” Superman, who was living in hiding with his wife, Lois, and their son, Jon. In passing, he made it clear the world needed a Superman and the old-school version decided to take up the mantle once more. In Tomasi and Gleason’s “Superman” #2, he found himself in full, public swing; clean-shaven and back in uniform, just like the good old days, helping out a uranium-powered submarine and its crew.

After he realized that there was no regeneration matrix in the Fortress of Solitude to bring the New 52 Superman back in this universe, vintage Clark knew that it was up to him to replace the hero, not just in Metropolis, but with the Justice League, too. Seeing him take flight and assist like a true boy-scout was both nostalgic and endearing in a way the character hadn’t been in some time, enhanced by how he used the task as a lesson to teach Jon about being a superhero. It was an incredible moment not just for the character, but for DC Comics, as the old Supes triumphantly donned the cape and emerged out of the shadows for truth, justice and the American way once more.

THE WATCHMEN COMETH

Speculation has been rampant that it’s Doctor Manhattan who’s been tinkering with the DC universe all this time, taking a valuable 10 years away from it to create the New 52. While that’s yet to be confirmed in the comics, the “Rebirth” one-shot planted a lot of seeds and colossal moments indicating that the “Watchmen” universe did indeed have an integral hand in shaping things. Johns wrote off Pandora, who many believed was responsible for the era after “Flashpoint” in a manner similar to how Manhattan killed Rorschach, more than suggesting it was his semi-divine hand that had something to do with the soft reboot.

Also, the issue showed Batman finding the blood-tainted smiley face button associated with the Comedian, as well as an ending that depicted what appeared to be Manhattan conversing with Ozymandias while fixing a watch on Mars: all signature stamps of Alan Moore’s epic. Other hints include Manhattan (allegedly) obliterating Owlman and Metron in “Justice League” #50 in what seems to be his distinctive style of dispatching enemies, as well as Mr. Oz’s monitoring and potential manipulation of Superman, not to mention his kidnapping of Tim Drake. With Johns teasing at writing some “Watchmen”-related stuff in 2017, prepare yourselves for even bigger shockwaves when the truth comes out.

WALLY WEST RETURNS

Wally West’s return was one that made grown geeks cry. Taken out the equation after “Flashpoint,” the “Rebirth” one-shot saw him trying to find a tether back to the present reality and away from the Speed Force. He first haunted the Batcave before journeying to the love of his life, Linda Park, but she too had no memory of him. Unsuccessful in finding that anchor point back, he had an emotional last-ditch interaction with Barry Allen. Barry finally remembered Wally and pulled him back into current continuity, with Wally revealing that some omnipotent being — believed to be Doctor Manhattan — warped their reality into the New 52.

Both embraced in a tearjerker moment that had fans rejoicing at the sight of seeing the Flash duo united once more. Wally was younger and wearing the Kid Flash costume, but was clearly relieved to be back to try to fix things. Later, given an upgrade in costume, he’d continue to find clues in “Titans” as to who’s been toying with everyone’s lives. What his return really represented, however, wasn’t just someone to help solve a lingering DC mystery; it offered promise that DC’s universe can be fixed, reshaped into what it should rightfully be.

What do you think was DC’s biggest moment in 2016? Sound off in the comments!

The post DC Comics: The 15 Biggest Moments of 2016 appeared first on CBR.com.

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