#tim is really pretty in this one i like hus face

[saym0-0]

censorship 😔

i just think jonny would wear a 'modified' fish fear me shirt (ashes did it) over a tassled bikini. .. ..with jorts

[vegan-peppermint]

In which Toby is kidnapping the reader.

Toby never wanted to hurt you. He's just young and stupid, too eager to prove to those creatures lurking in the shadows that he is cut from the same cloth as them.

It's been no more than two years since the fire swallowed his life whole, since the faceless figure first started treading on the edges of his mind. Every day spent in that eerie house, under the watchful eyes of his so-called "mentors," pushed him further from the boy he used to be. Tim's unbearable presence didn’t help—Toby had even toyed with the idea of doubling down on his pyromaniac tendencies.

Then The Operator spoke his name—his name alone. It wasn’t just a command in Toby's mind, more like a one-way ticket out of being a second-class proxy, lesser than the other two. This was his first solo mission, a validation of all the time and effort he'd poured into this twisted world. A reward.

You.

He at least had the courtesy to stalk you first. He tracked your habbits down, watching your work from across the street or joining you on your bus ride home on particularly uneventful evenings. He has been creeping closer, gliding from shadow to light and back into the dark- just like Hoodie had thought him.

Toby never wanted to scare you, that's why the first thing he did after parking the car in front you your house was going to the convenience store down the street. He'd seen you buy this particular brand of chocolate many times before. He hoped once he handed it to you it would bring an once of comfort amidst the circumstances.

The fact your hands are tied behind your back and your mouth stuffed didn't cross his mind then.

You were nothing like the others, he observed. You didn't scream or cry- hell, didn't even bite. He wanted to be grateful for such an easy capture, but -for fucks sake- you stared. Stared with gloomy, empty eyes past him into some far-off, unreadable place. Shaking his head in frustration, he muttered to himself dissaponted he ended up with the creepy chick, before slamming the the trunk door down, leaving you blind in the cramped space.

The drive to the mansion was uneventul for Toby, giving him plenty of time to let his mind wander. He hadn’t asked why you were wanted or what his boss planned for you—it didn’t matter to him then. But he couldn't help notice how you were rather easy on the eye. Maybe it was the isolation, the pent-up frustration and loneliness but a thought crossed his mind; what harm could it do if Slender let him borrow you for a little while? He chuckled darkly at his own thoughts, already imagining your surprise when, after a few days surviving on scraps in the manor’s cellar, he'd hand over the chocolate he’d picked up. You’d probably think he was your savior, fall right to his feet.

And if you would still be devoid of any reaction, he'd fuck your face into a pretty nice expression.

The old Mazda pulled into the driveway, its engine puffing and huffing, similar the old man Toby had swiped it from. Tim and Brian were already outside, blowing smoke and ash into the brittle winter air, their jackets hanging loose against the chill. The car's strained chug faltered as it rolled to a stop, steam curling from under the hood. Without waiting for Toby to fully park, Tim burried his cigarette into the frozen ground with the heel of his boot, his sharp gaze fixed on the boy as if he didnt expect him to ever return. Brian exhaled a plume of smoke, letting it drift lazily into the night.

"Back already, Tics?" Tim snarled, looking back to his friend. "What you say, Brian- think he's got her?"

The hooded man didnt respond but stepped closer with hesitation.

"Obviously I g-got her, got her," he smirked proudly getting out the driver's seat. "Hardly a challenge, really" he added, tilting his head back so high he might've been mistaken for a certain snouted animal.

"I gotta admit, that's a pretty impressive first job," Tim said, clapping Toby on the back as they approached the trunk. Brian hummed in agreement but kept a few cautious steps behind.

"What d-does Slender even want-t with some goth bitch?" Toby asked, gripping the key with newfound confidence and turning it smoothly in the rusty trunk lock. The red, corroded door creaked open with a deafening shriek, the sound swallowed immediately by an even louder silence.

So heavy was the quiet, Brian was certain he heard Tim's grin vanish, and he Toby's posture shrink. The trunk was empty.

A collared dove cooed mockingly as it flapped past their heads.

"A witch, Toby," Tim finally exhaled. "She's a witch."

"Yep, a witch, thats exactly what I was gonna say..."

[butwhyduh]

Cute little idea I had (which you definitely don't have to write, I just needed to share it with someone)

Imagine Ra's al Ghul with another daughter, this time younger than Talia at around Tim's age. Tim has already impressed Ra's (much to his chagrin) and the next time he has to confront the demon's head about one of his schemes. Ra's is just like "Ah yes Timothy Drake. Have you met my youngest?" because he's hoping for some real prime heirs. Tim's trying to decipher just what kind of situation he's found himself in where Ra's set him up on a goddamn blind date while she just buries her face in her hands (defying his expectations) and whines out a "Really, Father? You're so embarrassing."

Bruce shows up to handle the demon's head and while they're figuring that out, Tim's just like "Yikes, wanna get out of here?" "My gods, please."

(and because I'm a meme loving fuck. "I've connected our children." "You haven't connected shit" "I've connected them, detective")

“You see Detective,” Ra’s said triumphantly. “You did not take into account of my secret weapon, my daughter.”

Tim looks up from the chair he was tied to. It was placed in front of a table with a white table cloth, lit candle, and a bottle of wine. It looked like a scene from Lady and the Tramp. Tim sighed.

“Please. Stop. No,” he said dryly. “Do you ever get tired of this?”

A young woman was pushed from behind the curtain to in front of Tim by a ninja. She glared at him.

“Father, if you think you can make me join your grand plan, you’ve got another thing coming,” she threatened Ra’s. Tim couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that left him. Then he thought, oh god Ra’s had another kid.

“Just sit. I had them make your favorite,” Ra’s said and Tim almost lost his mind and how the man was kindly speaking to you.

<And the white boy tied up? He’s just to look pretty?> you said in Arabic. Tim tried to act like he couldn’t understand you.

“He’s a disciple of the Bat,” Ra’s said dramatically and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Partner. It’s not a cult,” Tim corrected Ra’s.

<I’ll let you go to Stanford in America like you want. Just meet him. He would make a good sire for your heirs> Ra’s said in Arabic. Tim stared at him. What is this guy’s obsession with bloodlines and why must Tim be involved in it?

<I will go anyways> you answered. <Talia will pay for it if you won’t.>

<Talia?> he sighed heavily. <children nowadays don’t listen. You should be honored that I give you a choice.>

A baterang flew through the air between you and Ra’s. You jumped behind the table and Ra’s moved to action. Both he and Batman furiously threw punches and kicks. Flurry of movement was all you could see.

Tim shifted in his chair and you looked at him.

“Can you untie me?” He asked and you stared at him. <Can you untie me?>

“I can speak English perfectly,” you said annoyed at his rough Arabic. “If you try to hit me, I’ll stab you.”

“Sounds good. I just want to go,” he said.

“Not interested in the date?” You joked and he stopped to look at you before realizing you were joking.

“I mean, not like this,” Tim said. “Not that you-“

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered,” you said grabbing a tray of food from the table. Tim shrugged with a little smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure, so Stanford hu?” He said as you both left

Ra’s stopped fighting. “See what I did? You can beat me in battle but I have still won,” he said excitedly. “Look at them!”

“You’re an idiot,” Bruce answered.

“I connected them,” he replied.

“You didn’t connect shit.”

[tparker48]

Request for Forever-1234567899

Tim was shrunk due to one of the cites catastrophes, he had to manage to find a job somewhere that would be willing to hire someone at you size. Unfortunate no one would take him up on his offer as each turned it down. That is until one fellow appeared from one of the alleys and approached him.

"Hey shrimp, i hear you're looking for a high paying job"

"Y-yeah i am. Do you any that'd be willing" Tim asked.

"Oh I'd say there pretty willing. Interested?"

"Yes! God yes!"

"Splendid, let me take you there" the fellow lowered a hand to the ground as he waited for Tim to step up.

Tim was hesitant at first, butt he soon hopped aboard as the giant began to move. It was a quiet walk as the sound of the city echoed in the area before the giant turned a corner and went into an apartment. The giant soon entered into a room as Tim was placed onto the bed.

"Nice digs, i love the color pattern on the walls. Oh! I didn't quite catch your name, and what's that job you were talking about" Tim said excitingly. His attention looking around the bed before a light thud brought hus gaze to the giant. His shorts were lowered over his thighs as the as the back of hus underwear was pulled down.

"The only name you call me, is boss. And your job is being a prop for my show" he says.

Tim was thinking he was joking, but the sudden hand reaching over to him said otherwise. He tried getting off the bed, but it wasn't enough as his entire body was lifted up and mushed between the tender flesh of his crack.

"Hey! I didn't sign up for this! Gah-" the mounds of flesh drew closer as the Tim could feel the hole clench at his back. The area would soon envelope his body as the tender muscle would begin to roll themselves ontop of him. Each stroke increasing the frowsty smelly as the walls got slick.

"First rule of the job, no whining while working got it?" The giant gave his ass a slight as he felt tim's back against his pucker. The feeling encourage him to hold his cheeks together as he teasingly began to pucker up his hole to bring him closer.

"Alright alright, i get it! No whining!" Tim managed timo muffle from with the muscle.

"Good, now for my offer. I got some picture I need to take for a client of mine. He demands pictures of a tiny inside my ass, so you're hear to ensure he gets it"

"But why does it have to be me!"

"What did i say about whining"

"Er- R-right sir, or..boss"

"That's better. Now, if you must know, not many who shrunk to your size are not so keen on walking about the city. Something that you foolishly did on your own. And since you're the only i got, you're gonna do it. If you want your pay, you gotta ensure the client is happy" The giant said.

"So all i have to do is participate in your pictures, that's it"

"Yes, and you can return to your life freely. IF the client is satisfied"

"Okay, doesn't sound too bad...so what type of pictures is he looking for?" Tim saw the mounds of flesh begin to mounds of flesh begin to open as two fingers would stick themselves in and fondle at his body. Hus body would twist against the walls until his back was parallel to the giant's pucker and his hand and feel were planted into the sides of his cheeks.

"The first, he wants a picture of a tiny stretching my cheeks apart. Without help he implied" the giant said.

"Push them apart! How am i even supposed to lift them"

"Guess you gotta figure that out. Get to it" the giant aligned his ass towards the mirror as he held the camera in his hands. He looked back at his cheeks as he saw them begin to part and wobble. Constantly, Tim's body would appear between the moon like glutes before they clapped back together. Hits grunts and pushes felt as the giant got a hard on in the process.

Attempt after attempt, the you would see he cheeks clap themselves together as they hid Tim from sight. "Come on runt, the client hasn't got all day".

"Easier said than done when you're trying part a whole ass! Gah!" Tim's hands would constantly slip between the cheeks walls as the muscles compressed him into a musty embrace. The flesh now feel warm as the humidity inside increased. It took a couple of trial and errors, but Tim managed to get a hold he pressed with all his might. His front side would appear between the giants cheeks in the mirrors as he pushed them as far as he can. "Take the shot!".

"Hang on, i need to get the camera focused. A little bit here and..."

"Take the shot damn it! Im slipping!"

"...there" just as the giant said that, the cheeks would clench back together as Tims grunts muffled from between.

"Not bad runt, the client seems happy with that one"

"Nuh, he better be" Tim mumbled.

"What was that"

"N-nothing boss! So, is that only one he needs?"

"Far from it, he wants one more"

"And what's that" Tim muffled. The area would soon begin to compact as the giant as s would begin to compress. A thick fabric would manage to slither its way between the giants cheeks as Tim's body was brought closer to the puckered hole behind him.

"He want a picture of you pushing out of my ass with my underwear on. Even highlighted "with handprints" in red" the giant said.

"Seriously!" Tim gritted from the compact space.

"Very, now get to it" the giant placed both hands on his cheeks as he brought close together. The fabric along with Tim would bulge forward as his grunts muffled from behind the wooled fabric. "Best get to pushin. The camera is set on a timer of 5 seconds. So im not letting up the pressure til i get a good picture for the client" the giant could feel the lile stretches in between his ass as his pucker could feel Tim's feet kicking against it. The fabric would buck in the mirror, but there would be no bulge.

"How does it look out there?"

"Pitiful" the giant snerked.

"I meant the handprints!"

"There are none, push harder" the giant clenched his body a little as the pressure increased slightly. It pushed the mounds of flesh against Tim as he was pressed in the blue fabric. His face outlined from the center as the glutes morphed around the tight fabric. "Well, its not hands, but it'll do" the giant clenched his cheeks once more as the bulged face got bigger. But on the inside, Tim would begin to notice am his lower half was being pushed into his hole. He tried getting the giant's attention but the fabric only silenced them. The giant continued clenching his ass more of the bulged face appeared, but after the last snapshot was taking from the timer was when he stopped.

He soon picked up his as he looked at the pictures captured. Each slide showing Tim's face bulging from the underwear. "Yeah, he'll like those. Alright runt, that's enough. You've earned pay" the giant says looming in the mirror. He pulled down the fabric, but could see Tim. "Hmm?" Pulling them more down, he parted his cheeks apart to show Tim gripping along the rim of his hole.

"Great, you got your pictures! Now can you get me out of your hole before it sucks me in?"

"Hold on.." The giant reached over towards his phone as he aligned it near his ass. Then with a flash, the hole would clench tighter as the giant checked the picture. "Mmm, no that's a picture i think he would like".

"Good, now get me out your ass please boss"

"Fine Fine, i'll let you" **ping** "hmm..."

"What? What's wrong" Before Tim knew it, the underwear's flap would begin to stretch overhead as the sealed him inside. "Hey! What are you doing?!"

"Change of plans runt. Looks like my hunch was correct, the really did like that picture. Insisted he payed double if i sent him more" the giant continued to redress as he took another picture.

"What, no! Grg! I didn't sign up for that! Let me out of here!"

"Pipe down will ya, you're killing the vibe. I'll let you out tomorrow...Or the next day. I don't know we'll see" with that the giant pulled up his shorts as he began to walk out the door. With Tim struggling to get out as the mounds of flesh and must compressed around him.

[justcourttee]

So you are one of my favorite writers for the Maribat Fandom and this is litterally like just on the edge getting ready to dive into barely there territory. . . but imagine Chloe "Queen B" Bourgeois deciding that Roy Harper is her future husband because he is the only one her age with the potential to even hyphenate Queen. She /will/ get her title in her civilian life if she has to drag Roy to the courthouse herself. Cue shenanigans and chaos friends to lovers lol

You’re so sweet and I hope I did your prompt justice. I love the Roy X Chloe energy and this is just something I could picture cannon Chloe trying. I hope you enjoy! @risaxtitan

The Future Mrs. Queen

The day Oliver Queen announced to the world in that fated press conference that he was adopting Roy Harper, the younger boy had no idea how much his life was about to change.

He was still floating on Cloud 9 as he stepped off of the stage and into the crowd where his friends awaited him.

“Dude, congrats! It’s like all official now!” Adrien clapped him on the back, causing him to stumble forward a little.

“It still feels unreal.”

“Tt, it’s not like your his blood son, but I suppose this will be a good opportunity for you.”

Roy cocked his head to the side as he tried to debate if Damian was congratulating him or not. A small smack echoed following an ‘oof’ as Marinette’s bright smile entered his view.

“I’m so happy for you Roy! Conner, Jon, and Wally wanted to come with us, but you know how it goes. Always a mission somewhere.”

Roy shook his head, the smile still plastered across his face.

“It’s fine Mari, it’s not like today was the real thing. This was just a press conference. They were there when we officially signed the papers and that’s what matters in my book.”

“So, like, is your last name officially Queen now?”

Roy’s attention snapped to his left where a familiar blonde stepped out from behind Adrien. She fiddled with the ends of her curled hair, her mischievous blue eyes locked onto his. Certainly if a beautiful girl like her had told him her name, he wouldn’t have forgotten it.

“I suppose so. It’s officially Roy William Harper-Queen.”

Her smile was blinding as he nervously reached back to rub the back of his very warm neck.

“Oh Gods, we are so dense! I’m sorry Roy! This is my friend Chloe Bourgeois! Adrien was supposed to introduce you two earlier, but we all got separated in the crowd. She’s a big fan of Oliver Queen, so when she heard my dear friend was getting adopted by him-”

“I just had to come.” She stepped in front of Marinette, reaching forward to grab his hand. “Did you know that I tried to legally change my name to Queen? But my mother wouldn’t let me! She’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Something about it wouldn’t be good for my modeling career or whatever. But now, you can help me with that! Can’t be bad if it’s my husband’s last name.”

Roy stumbled out of her grasps, his entire face matching the red on his head.

“Hu-husband? Girl, we just met. You can’t go around saying things like that!”

Chloe waved off his embarrassment as her blinding smile pulled into a mischievous smirk.

“Like it or not Roy Harper-Queen, you will be my husband, even if I have to drag you to the courthouse myself!”

“Yeah right blondie.” He couldn’t help the stutter in his voice as he hid behind Damian’s chuckling figure.

There was no denying how attractive she was, but he would be damned if he let a pretty blonde step in and seal his fate.

“Maybe not today, but you’re going to love me Roy Harper-Queen, just you wait.”

The flip of her hair felt like a slap across his face as he watched her retreating figure dragging Marinette with her.

“So like, Can I be your best man? I know that you’ve known the other’s longer and all, but like we are always hanging out together! That has to count for something.”

Adrien’s wide eyes and pout earned a slight chuckle from the redhead as his eyes trailed back to where his friends stood.

“Sure Agreste, I’m sure everyone won’t mind one bit. You might have to fight Tim-”

“Tt, is that supposed to be a threat?”

Adrien and Roy shared a look before bursting into laughter. Roy slung his arms around the two boys as they headed off into the crowd. He wouldn’t see Chloe for another couple of weeks, but that didn’t stop the blonde from monopolizing his every thought.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“C’mon Arsenal, you really going to let your ass get beat by a little girl?”

Roy sneered as he pushed himself off the matt for the third time that day.

When Dick asked if he wanted to train with the Batclan, Roy was over the moon. Batman hardly let anyone into his special training spot without him being there. He didn’t think twice when he put the motorcycle in park outside of Wayne Manor. He already knew what to expect, Dick’s flexibility, Stephanie’s strategy, Damian’s rage. What he wasn’t expecting was to see a certain blonde and his two friends.

“She’s not beating my ass Stephanie, I just don’t want to hurt her.”

Dick had a hard time holding back his laugh as he leaned on Marinette for support. A hand shot into his line of view as he accepted Chloe’s helping pull him the rest of the way to his feet.

“C’mon mon chéri, your face is pretty too, but it’s not going to make me pull my punches. Give it to me, cherry.” She sent a wink in his direction as she set up for another spar.

If you asked Roy later, the red in his cheeks was from the anger at being called a cherry, but anyone could see the blush betraying him.

Chloe darted forward, dodging his first swing before smacking his butt.

“HEY!”

Roy pushed himself out of her reach as Stephanie and her shared a fist bump. There was no way he was getting out of training alive. He needed a way to finish this as quickly as possible.

“Blondie, what if we make a bet?”

Chloe raised her eyebrow at him, encouraging him to continue as she set herself back up in the circle.

“The next one of us to pin the other gets to pick the next hang out spot. I know it’s your turn in the rotation, so if you win, nobody will put a restriction on your choice.”

Her eyes glistened dangerously as a collective gasp sounded behind them.

“Hey, Roy, are you sure you want to do that? She-”

“Shut it Agreste. The boy has named his terms, no restrictions for me, or he gets to steal my turn. I’ll gladly accept Ginger.”

A sudden shift in the atmosphere was easily noticeable. Inadvertently, a shiver went down his back as every hair on his body stood in high alert. Her first strike was quick, he barely lifted his arms up in time to block it before she had hopped backwards, ready to hit again.

He thought he was the one holding back before, but clearly he was underestimating. Here she was, no longer holding back, toying with him as if he was nothing more than her prey. It was a bit terrifying.

Just as he extended his arm to try and make contact, Roy suddenly found himself on his back, her knee at his throat.

“God, when did you even knock my feet out?”

Her eyes were dancing with humor as she slowly stood, offering her hand to the boy below.

“We tried to warn you, my friend. Chloe doesn’t do competition, she destroys them.”

Adrien offered his hand as well and together the two blondes heaved him to his feet. Marnette shook her head solemnly as she and Dick mock prayed for Roy’s fate.

“So, no restrictions huh? That means overseas is fair game.” Chloe placed a hand gently on Roy’s shoulder sending a chill down his spine. “Guess tomorrow, we are going to Paris, France. Richard, is there a Zeta-Tube that does overseas?”

Dick finished his mock prayer before sending a nod in her direction.

“Perfect. Marinette, tell your little gloomy boyfriend and Timothy that we will be taking a day trip tomorrow, to the city of love.”

She sent a wink to Roy as she stepped out of the rink to grab her towel. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t ignore the racing in his heart all from one little comment.

“You are falling so hard, my friend!” Roy flinched as Dick threw his arm over his shoulder, sharing a fist bump with Adrien.

“I am not! I barely know her! We’re like acquaintances, at most she’s just a friend.”

Adrien stiffened as he bit back his laughter.

“Just you wait, after tomorrow, you’ll be questioning everything you know.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Roy was indeed questioning everything, like his sanity, as he stepped out of the tube and onto the tallest platform of the Eiffel Tower. Taking a quick step back from the edge, he found himself pressed against the cool metal.

“Isn’t it like illegal to be this high up?”

Chloe’s giggle filled the air as she smacked his arm lightly.

“Of course it is, for normal people that is. We can’t just have everyone using the Zeta tubes ginger.” Her fingers curled into his hair as she gave it a light ruffle.

“Tt, man up Harper. Even if you fall, it’s not like you’d hit the ground before someone here saved your sorry ass.”

A small ‘oof’ echoed from where Damian stood as Marinette stepped out of the tube.

“You didn’t even hear what I said!”

“True,” she shrugged, a smug smile pulling at her lips. “But I assume you were making fun of Roy.”

Damian huffed under his breath as he snaked his arm around her waist, drawing her into his side. Roy was never sure how someone like Damian could have landed a sweet angel like Marinette, but if it meant he had a constant guardian angel, he could care less.

“Where’s Adrikins?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to be a third wheel and neither does Tim.’”

Chloe rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the sparkle from the new information.

“Looks like it’s a double date!” She gripped Roy’s arm pulling him from his safety. “You wouldn’t leave me alone to those two annoying lovebirds would you Harper?”

Roy gulped nervously as his eyes darted between the couple and the blonde hanging off of him. With a sigh of defeat, he nodded, allowing her to pull him closer to the edge.

“I hope you’re ready Harper because if you survive today, there’s no way you won’t fall for me.”

Without warning, Chloe used all her strength to push him off the platform. The scream caught in his throat as the wind rushed past him. Some first date! Here she was trying to kill him within the first five minutes!

A flash of yellow flew past him, catching his attention briefly before an arm yanked him out of midair. This time, the scream managed to slip out, but instead of fear, he felt instant relief as he flew through the air pinned to Queen Bee’s side.

“There was an easier way of doing this Chloe!” He tried to shout over the wind but it felt useless. The only indication that she might have heard his pleas came from the sideways smile she flashed him as the came to a halt in an alleyway.

As his feet touched to ground, his legs instantly gave out. On his hands and knees, Roy reassured himself that this was safe, in solid ground. Moments later, a flash of pink blinded him as Marinette and Damian landed in front of him.

“What’s wrong Harper? You look a little green. I thought that was Oliver’s color.”

Roy’s middle finger only seemed to fuel the egotistical smirk Damian bestowed on him.

“If that was too much, I can’t wait to see how you handle the rest of the day.”

His eyes widened as he tried to imagine what could be worse than freefalling a few hundred feet from the highest structure in Paris. Little did he know, he would soon get his answer.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bourgeois.” He tried to keep his voice steady as he offered his hand to her, but the condescending stare made him want to crumble.

“What do you expect me to do? Shake your hand? Honey, you may have been adopted into money, but you are not money. I do not touch any person that is worth less than I am.”

She turned her back briskly as Roy slowly dropped his hand, unsure of whether to be insulted or not.

“Mom, Roy is my friend, can’t you be nice?”

Her mother’s cold glare rested on Chloe. Roy had no idea how she managed to stand her ground. He wanted to crumble for her.

“You are lucky I let you into my workshop after you have missed the past three fittings. When I said you could move to America with the Marianne kid, I expected you to still make time for the business. Should I begin looking for your replacement?”

The tension between the two of them was deadly. Roy wanted to step in, tell her mother to back off, that Chloe was a hero who didn’t always have time for fashion, but somehow, he figured it would only make it worse.

“No mother, I am here now am I not? Let us work quickly so that I can return home.”

Her tone was icy as she stepped forward, holding out her arms for her mother to remeasure. Roy shifted from foot to foot as he held back his tongue. Her mother commented on her weight gain, complained that she was going to begin to fat to be her model anymore. She commented on her studies, or lack of, and on her being a class d hero compared to Superman.

It was to quietest he had ever seen Chloe Bourgeois.

“If that will be all mother, Roy and I have to meet up with Damian and Marinette.”

Her mother waved her off. Not a single love you, not even a real goodbye. Roy was sure his face matched his hair by the time they had set foot back into the streets.

“So, Mari’s parent's house isn’t too far from here. Wanna swing over?”

It was as if a switch flipped. Back was the flirty social butterfly that he had gotten to know over the past couple of weeks.

“Chloe.”

“C’mon carrot top, swinging really isn’t a bad way to transport. It’s quick and effective.”

“Chloe.”

“Don’t be a chicke-”

“Chloe.”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he knew what she was trying to do.

“Chloe, why do you let her treat you like that?”

Her lips were pressed into a tight line as she turned, taking a step away from the building.

“Chloe, you don’t have to pretend that it didn’t happen. I’m not going to tell anyone, it’s just, the Chloe I saw in there is nothing like the one I’ve come to know.”

“Well, maybe all you know is a lie.”

Her voice was quiet as she took off at a brisk pace down the street. It took Roy a second to process before he took off after her. Gently, he pulled her arm until she came to a stop once more.

“Then let me get to know the real Chloe. After all, I can’t marry someone I don’t know!”

She laughed half-heartedly at his joke, her smile weak.

“She isn’t very good with her emotions and neither am I. I know that she cares, hell, she wouldn’t let me explore this hero side of me if she didn’t think I had potential. But she always puts business first. I never wanted to go into business with her because she can’t separate family and employees. But I need the money. Daddy won’t let me touch my trust fund until I am secure on my own.”

Roy nodded, a number of things falling into place.

“Why don’t you work for Oliver or Bruce like the rest of us?”

Chloe shrugged, her fingers absentmindedly reaching for his.

“They have offered before, but I really feel like the way to her heart is through the family business. I know she wants to leave it to me one day and if I abandon it now, she might reconsider, and honestly, that would hurt her more than me. She’ll never say it to my face, but it would mean the world to me if I could be her legacy.”

A moment of silence passed, and then two as Roy admired the determination that crossed her face. Somehow, it made her more beautiful than she already was. He hadn’t even noticed how close they had gotten until a soft cough snapped him back to reality.

“Well, we only left you for like two hours. Is this a new development?”

Marinette and Damian shared a smirk as Chloe dropped his hand as if it was burning her. She tried to pull up her scarf, but it was too late. The red on her cheeks were burning, matching his he was sure.

“I don’t know what you are referring to Dupain-Cheng. Let’s head back to the tower. A certain blonde must feel my wrath.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As Roy laid in bed that night, his thoughts kept wandering back to that moment.

She was so close, her lips were so close, so full, so red. They were drawing him in and if Marinette hadn’t stopped them..

“Ughh,” he buried his red face into his pillow, willing his pounding heart to still.

He rolled over to where his phone sat, the dark screen bugging him. Not a single text from her after they returned, not even one from Marinette or Damian teasing him. Reaching out, he lifted the phone toward his face.

Clicking on his photos, the most recent one lit up his entire screen, sending his heart into another fury. Chloe had borrowed his phone, leaving several adorable selfies that he only found a couple hours later.

Not that he wanted to admit it to anyone, but maybe he could admit to himself that just maybe, he was already head over heels for Chloe Bourgeois.

Just as he moved to place it back onto his charger, a text message pinged.

‘Still awake carrot top?’

Roy couldn’t help the smile that tore across his face.

‘Depends. Whose asking blondie?’

‘You’re ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Now open your window, my arm is getting tired.’

Instantly, Roy shot up as he opened his window. Looking around, he couldn’t find her. He was ready to close it when his instinct told him to look up. Sure enough, Queen Bee sat dangling, motioning for him to move out her way.

With one great heave, Chloe swung into his room, dropping her transformation before her feet even touched the ground.

“Miss me that much?”

The sound of his own voice was foreign as his wide smile was certain to leave his cheeks sore in the morning.

“Oh don’t get full of yourself Harper. I just wanted to thank you for today.”

“Mhmm, this seems mighty personal for a thank you.” He took a step forward, his stomach flipping multiple times.

“I may have also wanted to see you. After all, no text, no call. How is a girl supposed to feel after you almost kiss her?”

She stepped forward closing the gap between them, the smirk on her face as graceful as ever.

“I could say the same thing about you. Running off to another man after spending a day in the city of love with me?”

Hestitanly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, basking in the feeling of how soft her skin felt against his palm.

“Harper, I want to be to future Mrs.Queen, so what do you say? The courthouse is still open in Paris, we can go right now.”

Roy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Gently, he stroked the side of her cheek, admiring her every feature. Leaning forward, he heard her breath hitch in her throat right as their lips were a mere inch apart.

“How about we start with a first date? A real date?”

Chloe’s warm breath tickled his lips as his pounding heart awaited her answer.

“I suppose Mrs. Queen will have to wait, I’ll pick you up, tomorrow Harper. Be ready.”

Just as quickly as he leaned in, she lept back, already calling her transformation. Racing to the window, she looked over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss before slinging away. Hesitantly, he approached the window, watching her retreating figure, his heart still racing a million miles a minute.

It started off a soft chuckle, but it soon grew. With a grand smile, Roy returned to his bed, his thoughts all centered around one blonde. Marriage was sounding less and less like the scary thought he had when he first met her. He wasn’t sure the exact moment that it sounded so good, but he didn’t care.

After all, Chloe Harper-Queen had a nice ring to it.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb

[iphoenixrising]

For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask.  Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

**

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.  

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

**

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.  

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

**

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.  

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah?  Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians.  He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

[fromiftowhen]

Because I want to get to this one before everyone does (and because it's *my* fic lol): blue skies and sunshine guaranteed -- questions 3, 4, and 15!

It IS your fic! It literally wouldn't exist if we hadn't talked about the silly premise.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

But at least they’d always been there. At least she had silly, happy memories like that. She hasn’t pushed, but she doesn’t think there are many similar ones to delve into in Tim’s past. Looking at him now, his hands in his pockets and his silly t-shirt stretched across his chest, watching the Davidson kids laugh at who knows what, she wants nothing more than to give him those same memories, whatever way she can.

AND, bonus, because I can't pick when there are two POVs.

They wait in line for Jungle Cruise and he watches the sunshine on her cheeks, and doesn’t let himself think about how warm her skin would feel under his lips. He tries to not think about how he always feels just slightly better, his world a little less grey-hued, when she smiles, always so bright and inviting and natural on her.

(Apparently? Basically just any narration where Lucy is thinking about how she wants to make things better, happier, easier for Tim, and Tim thinking about how she already does that.)

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Okay, so this was harder than I thought it would be with this fic. I think it probably has to be "It's not every guy that would give up a promotion for you," because it still gives me feelings. But also -- Her skin heats as a smirk spreads slowly across his face. “Doubt that would help me pay attention at all,” he says, slowly.

Mostly because I just want him to flirt with her in the sunshine forever.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

I'm fairly confident I could navigate DisneyLand, a place I've never been, pretty well without a map for how long I studied the map to make sure I wasn't sending them to places that only exist at DisneyWorld haha.

I did a lot of late night deep dives on Wikipedia about Disneyland and its history, and I wish I hadn't read so much late at night, so I remembered more of it.

But mostly, I learned that a random idea/conversation can produce really fun, happy fic, which makes me feel pretty good.

(And shallowly, I learned that the idea of Tim putting his hat on Lucy is almost endlessly more hot to me than any smut I've ever written. It's care and flirting and I think it's easily the part of the fic that got the most feedback, so I'm glad to know I'm not alone in my flailing about it.)

[myteenangstbullshithasabodycount]

Atreyu vs From First To Last

It’s the vicious screamo feud everyone’s talking about. Here’s how it all kicked off.  [transcript under the cut]

    When From First To Last set out on a US tour supporting Atreyu this Autumn, the two bands were firm friends. They seemed like perfect tourmates, both rising to the top of the screamo pack with their similarly intense, dark-hued anthems. They even shared the same manager, and the tour seemed set for success.      Fans were left stunned, then, when From First To Last left the tour amid a war of vicious words. A post on their website bitterly complained of being “kicked off” the tour, claiming, “If we were allowed to be on the rest of the tour we would be.”  Atreyu responded in disbelief, frontman Alex Varkatzas slamming the Orlando, Florida band as “cocky” and “in it for the money”. In a scene where camaraderie is so highly valued, the storm escalating around the two bands was explosive.      The root of the problem goes back to the Warped Tour. From First To Last were forced to drop out of the festival a few dates in because of vocalist Sonny Moore’s escalating throat problems. After undergoing surgery on his throat and resting for the remainder of the summer, the band assumed he was well enough to handle screaming duties again. But by the time the Atreyu tour reached Philadelphia on October 24, 14 days into the 2-date run, Moore tore a vocal chord and was advised by a doctor to completely rest his voice immediately for fear of causing irreversible damage.     “I didn’t recover enough in time,” says Moore. “At the time I was so depressed and bummed out about my voice. I was upset because I let a lot of people down but I didn’t care what we were doing at that point.”     Rather than immediately dropping out, the rest of the band suggested continuing with Craig Owens of Chiodos, also on the tour, handling vocal duties, and Sonny just playing guitar. It’s here, it seems, that the confusion and acrimony began. FFTL apparently expected to be paid the same amount as they would have been with their frontman appearing.     “FFTL were difficult,” explains Varkatzas. “Matt [Good, guitarist] one night poured water in our monitors. Another night he freaked out and kicked one of our guitar rigs. Tha’ts pretty fucked up- but we didn’t do anything about it. Then Sonny, who’s a good guy, comes and tells us he needs to rest his voice. We’re sympathetic dudes and we don’t want to send anyone home so we offer them x amount to stay on the tour- a generous offer. They decided to leave anyway and then they posted on their webpage that they were kicked off the tour and they did everything they could to stay, which is not true. They were on a really expensive bus, they had stage props, were renting lights, renting space in our semi for their gear and they didn’t want to get rid of any of that. It was all about money.”      So, while rumors of a lawsuit from FFTL flew- although both parties now say that no legal action is going to be taken [Varkatzas: I can think of a couple better ways to settle this”]- relations between the two bands completely broke down, FFTL claiming to have been kicked off, Atreyu accusing them of greed. The only person so far stayed out of the fight is Moore, who was preoccupied with his medical problems- a planned UK support slot with Lostprophets has also been cancelled.      “I was kind of on the other end of things so I wasn’t too in the loop,” he says. “I guess MySpace bulletins were posted and things were said that kind of riled each other. It’s just miscommunication. If you read something on the internet, you can’t picture how they’re saying it. It just got out of context. There’s no malicious intent, there’s no fight, everything’s chill.”      Tim Smith, who manages both Atreyu and From First To Last, strikes a similarly reconciliatory note. In an email to Kerrang!, he explained, “The bands have had a rough few weeks, and this has been very trying for both of them. Hopefully, time will heal those wounds and allow both these bands to continue doing what they do- making music.”     For Varkatzas, though, its clear that tempers are still frayed.     “Fuck FFTL except for Sonny,” he states,”They’re not true to themselves, their music or their fans. FFTL fans will hate us because of this and its fine- we know we did the right thing and if anyone’s got anything to say about it they can say it to my face.”

[aoida-blue]

In Need (Jaydick fic)

Jason always helped. 

Not many people knew it. Or maybe, not maybe people trusted it. Perhaps they thought it was an intricate trap. it wouldn’t have been the first of Jason’s. But Dick did. Because it was a truth that ran bone deep in Jason. It was who he was.

Jason helped.

Once Dick had thought he’d grow out of it, hell Dick had been in that phase once, unable to help all those he swore to. Until Batman showed him better. Shown him maybe, or better yet, hold on. Taught him how to use his time efficiently, to save all he could. Even to say no when he couldn’t. When it was impossible. So with Dick it had only been a phase.

With Jason it was like a life motto. 

It was why Dick was about 90% sure that Jason wouldn’t close the door in his pathetic face.

Hopefully.

The door swung open, right before the third knock, and Dick was facing down Jason, with only a fluffy looking towel around his waist and not a scrap else. A faint shimmer of steam rolled off his skin and Jason’s face was already settling into outright-annoyed.

Looked like this would be the test of the help at least. 

“You’re not going suicide-by-cop through me.” Jason told him blandly, eyeing Dick up like he expected his current appearance to be a ruse, and maybe he did, it wouldn’t be entirely unusual considering their uneasy (at the best of times) relationship, “I happen to like not being the most wanted.”

“You’re still wanted.” Dick couldn’t help but point out, smile on autopilot to charm, couldn’t help the flirtatious way it came out.

Jason’s eyes were just as cool as he shrugged, Dick’s words were water washing right over him.

“A guy needs to be loved. “ Jason shifted slightly, hand holding the door like he was debating closing it right now and damned the consequences, “Wanna tell me what kind of mind-sucking horror happened to you?”

Dick shrugged back, mimicking his moves without so much as a thought. The movement hurt his back and Dick winced.

“Not really.” Dick returned, fighting the urge to rub at the particularly bad spot right on his ride side, “You wanna let me in?”

An eyebrow crept up, and Dick knew, knew even if he knew Jason could never say no, that he’d said just enough for Jason to be curious. He be asking himself the questions; first the what’s (what happened, what was that gunk, what about anyone else- injured/dead?), then the how’s (how had Dick ended up here), then the why’s (why was Dick here, why not the batcave, why was he alone).  He’d do it all without saying a damned thing cause it was what Jason did. Its what all the bats did.

“Not really.” Jason sighed, but he still stepped back, holding the door open.

Dick smiled again, this time of his own accord and began the painful limp inside, leg stiff enough he almost had to drag it behind him.

“You get that shit on my furniture you’re buying it.” Jason told him once, locking the door behind him and disappearing to the kitchen, “How likely is that this is fatal?”

He called back like he was asking about the weather. Dick smiled woodenly. Feel the love.  

The apartment was clean, functional, and surprisingly stylish. Dark wood, stainless steel trim, large flat screen, a few mirrors to see every angle in the room, but what Dick found most appealing was the dinner table, not the glass table itself, but the cushy looking dark chairs. He fell into one, letting it scrape across the ground announcing to the entire apartment where’d he chosen to collapse.

“Pretty sure I should be kicking after this, one way or another.” Dick called back, head hitting the table, eyes fluttering, “Nor contagious, if you’re worried.”

Jason was practical. He would have been in a hazmat suit the moment he saw Dick if he thought it was contagious. Meant he already given some thought to the what and come up reasonably close.

So really, stupid point to make there.

“I’m not.” Jason walked back in reaffirming Dick’s thought, first aid kit in his arm, complete with bucket and a tea towel, raised an eyebrow at Dick’s position, set the kit down, “Want to tell me what I’m dealing with?”

That was the million dollar question wasn’t it? Dick sighed, feeling worn and tired, and the gunk sticking all down his skin and suit wasn’t helping matters. It had already done its damage.

Even thinking about it made his body ache, not particularly with any soreness, but rather a bone deep weariness that edged and chipped at him. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep, just sleep.

“The slop,” Dick spoke slowly, feeling tiredness like a tide he had to fight, “is now inert. Previously it was a new form of biotech, sort of like nanites.”

As soon as he’d made the announcement, Jason’s hand was on his shoulder, pulling him back, upright in the chair. He swept the towel over a patch in the suit, right over Dick’s shoulder’s shoulder and a particularly nasty burn. Dick sucked a breath in through clenched teeth.

Jason was efficient. He wasn’t gentle. No reason to be.

“Right so,” Jason worked quickly finding places on Dick’s body that was easy to reach without getting him out of the chair, his eyes were downcast on their work, “that means they’ve already done their work. Again. Mind telling me what I’m dealing with?”

There was a bite in his words, impatience. Dick smiled again, still so much like the kid sometimes.

His smile slipped and Dick scrunched his eyes tight as Jason found the burns on his side. He was more tired than he thought… or… or… Dick thought he had more time.

“Hormone adjustment. Not permeant, but lasts about…” Dick trailed off, trying to think back to the villagers and their wild eyes, “a good two days. And when I say hormones, think Alfa male shtick, too much testosterone and pheromones, blood lust.”

A lot of blood lust. That town had been decimated; they’d been too late, too late by far. The residents that had survived, well, with the suicide and depression rates they’d halved again by the time they’d left. They could fight bad guys, they couldn’t fight two hundred people’s inner demons.

And Dick had been… yeah.

His arm was wrenched off the table, and Dick felt himself being bodily hauled up. His eyes snapped open, they’d been closed longer than he thought, and watched Jason grit his teeth. Not at the weight, they both lifted far more than the other weighed, but more likely at Dick. Always at Dick.

Dick would bet money he was the bane in Jason’s life. The annoying bane. Bruce may have been the thorn in his side or the annoying collar round Jason’s neck, but Dick was assuredly the bane.

It probably shouldn’t have made him as proud as it did.

“You came here.” Jason grit out, yeah, definitely annoyed, half dragging, half-guiding Dick to what he presumed was the bathroom, “for what? Me to lock you up? Tie you down? Gee, I’m glad you think of me for physical abuse but I thought there were safety measures for this.”

There were. At the Batcave. Where Tim, Bruce and Damian all probably were already getting decontaminated and locked in their special cells by Alfred.

His brothers would be expecting him. Bruce wouldn’t be.

“Will you help?” Dick didn’t want to talk about it, he felt so tired, and if he sounded more plaintive than not, screw it.

Jason manhandled him to the edge of the shower, reaching in yanking on the water and pushed Dick none to gently in. Surprisingly the water was instantly the perfect temperature, and Dick blinked dumbly until he noticed Jason was still only in his towel. Of course, he’d been in the shower when he arrived-

“What do you think?” Jason snapped back, eyes hot on him, making sure he didn’t slip, hands clenched hard on his shoulders.

Yeah, Jason knew he could never say no either. And knew Dick knew.

Dick’s head ached suddenly, a dull throbbing that circled around his eyes and made the world blur strangely. He was tired, couldn’t he just sleep. Jason would let him sleep wouldn’t he?

“No. Not here sunshine.” Jason was moving him again, bundling him in another soft towel and Dick wanted to know where he got them, they were nice and soft and dry and-, “We’re heading out of town if you’re going to be a basket case in a few hours.”

The world blurred and Dick got one look at Jason’s face, blue eyes wide, before everything went dark.

-=-=-

Then there were images, snippets of life in startling clarity in all his senses on overload.

Blood, thick on the ground, a splatter arching out like a hand outstretched and iron curling on his tongue.

Cold.  Desperate, needing grasping a hand in his as he tilted his head and screamed, throat raw. He screamed and screamed and-

Jason.

Jason’s face, creased with an emotion, hands either side of Dick’s head a warm presence speaking in a low hum.

Jason, yes, Jason.

More blood, richer on his mouth and-

Jason.

And.

Darkness.

-=-=-

To say Dick felt like crap when he woke up would be an understatement. A big, huge, fifty miles off target kind of understatement.

Dick’s eyes cracked open, lids sealed with crumbling sleep and squinted into the light. His head ached like an elephant had been let loose in his sleep, let loose and then allowed to rampage down his head to his neck, shoulders and-

Dick’s tongue twitched in his mouth, cotton stuffed but tasting iron.

He swiped his lips, feeling no cuts and felt his chest seize.

Jason.

Had Dick- Had he- Was the blood-

“By your calm freak out, I’d say you were back to being golden boy.” Jason’s voice came out crisp behind and Dick strained against the bonds, triple knots locking him just out of sight, trying to see-

As if he was feeling particularly merciful, Jason walked into view, coffee cup clasped in his hands. He looked tired, deep shadows hung under his eyes, deeper than the fresh face he’d presented when Dick turned up... before Dick.-

Jason’s eyes were bright, still as perceptive as ever, scanning Dick and watching him too closely.

“Are you-“ Dick tried, cutting himself off with horror.

Jason was wearing his jacket, long sleeve jacket and long pants hiding his limbs from sight. He had to be hot in that, Dick could feel the humidity of wherever they were cling to him and he was only wearing light sweats. Jason had to be boiling… But it was deliberate, of course it was.  It was obvious, when Dick saw a flash of a white bandage as Jason took another even sip, a strip of thick bandage right around his neck.

No.

Seeing his expression drain, Jason rolled his eyes. He put the cup in one hand and tucked down his jacket collar with the other, displaying the thick bandage right around his neck like it didn’t matter.

“Yeah so, I wasn’t as careful I should have been.” Jason shrugged, as if it had meant nothing that Dick had bitten him, still had Jason’s blood still lingering on his tongue, “More fool me.”

He’d bitten Jason. He’d come to him to avoid the others after- and he nearly had- if Dick hadn’t been so selfish, if he had just gone back to the cave- but then-

“Wow.” Jason said suddenly, eyeing Dick, “I can feel your angst from here.”

“How bad is it?” Dick croaked out.

The words slipped out before Dick could temper them, before he could make them sound less desperate.

Jason took another sip, expression giving away nothing.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried. It’s nothing more than what you’ve done to me deliberately.” Jason replied airily, eyes too dark.

The hit stung, stung bad. Hurt worse because it was true, but Jason had been fighting then, not helping and-

Dick glanced sharply down at his foot, unable to look at Jason’s expressionless face one moment longer.

“Which, speaking of,” Jason continued smoothly, deridingly, “Can I untie you, or do you feel the urge for another Jay-snack?”

Dick stared stubbornly down at his foot, at the thick rope bindings locking his ankles together. Anything but Jason’s face.

“Its gone.”

The thud of ceramic against wood echoed through the room, Jason’s mug knocking hard on the side table.

“Good.” Jason said chipper enough to be mocking, “Because then you can get the fuck out of here and angst about this somewhere else.”

Dick flinched, eyes sweeping back to Jason.

It hurt. It always hurt when Jason spoke like that. But it was designed to, words cold and unfeeling as possible. Always like he was proving something.

“Jason.” Dick started, unsure what he wanted to say.

Jason’s knife was out in a blink and Dick’s heart racketed in his chest. He was going to use it to cut the ropes, of course he was, but Dick’s mind raced to other possibilities, to places where Jason towered over him, still held captive, knife raised, other places where Jason cut across his neck the same way Bruce had to him, right the place where Dick bit him, a laughing smile across his lips-

The ropes uncoiled around his ankles and wrists and Jason stepped back, knife disappearing back into his holster. The look on his face was ugly.

“Yeah Dick. I did all of that to kill you now.” Jason sneered.

“I didn’t think you were going to kill me.” Dick argued back instinctively, feeling the lie sit hot against his tongue.

Jason’s face was etched in disbelief, one Dick, for once, couldn’t blame him for it.

“Yeah right.” He drawled, and he raised a thumb at the door, “Now leave.”

He could stay. Dick could try to weather out Jason, wait him out. Patience had never been Jason’s strong point, a lesson he’d never learnt as a Robin and not once since. Dick could stay and try to reason with him. Jason wasn’t as lost as he like to pretend he was. His morals weren’t gone, just skewed and this only proved it. Dick could-

The aggression started up in Jason’s pose, shifting from relaxed to fighting in a beat.

No.

Not today

“I’m still a bit muddled… that drug….” Dick tried, letting the words leave softly, “You can’t blame me.”

Jason only tensed further, like he could, like he would.

Dick edged awkwardly to the door, agony in human form, feeling Jason’s weighted gaze on him all the way. There was a set of keys by the door, his own motorcycle, and Dick felt the lump rise in his throat.

“Thank you.” Dick muttered, feeling smaller than he had for many years.

Jason snorted.

“Sort your mess out Dick,” Jason sniped back, as Dick placed a hand over the doorknob, “I won’t answer the door next time for your domestics.”

Even still, Dick knew that was a lie.

Jason always helped

[butwhyduh]

Hair Bows

Roy Harper x batsis!reader

Summary: a date turned into a play date turned into work. Basically Lian taking over Titans tower. And canon has no home here.

“I’m just about to head out the door,” you said over the phone, still doing your hair. Roy wasn’t the most punctual guy and this was your way of coping. If you were also always late, it didn’t bother you as much.

“Wait,” Roy said and you heard a muffled sound like him running his hand down his face. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“My babysitter punked out at the last minute so I can’t leave Lian. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, uhhh, bring her,” you suggested, hopefully sounding casual. You’d met her a few times but nothing big and your date was just a walk in the park. Nothing a kid couldn’t do. And you were hoping to be a little more seriously dating.

“Seriously?... on a date?” He asked.

“Not if you don’t want to. But I just thought we were going to the park and we can let her run around. You know what? Never mind, if you need to stay home it’s cool. I don’t know anything about kids-“

“Hey, it’s a good idea,” he said stopping your ramble. “I just wasn’t expecting it. Most people don’t want someone else’s kid on their date.”

“Most people shouldn’t date people with kids if they can’t be around them,” you answered, finishing up. “Now am I meeting you both at the park or..”

“Now I know why I’m dating you,” Roy said and you could hear the smile through the phone. “I’ll pick you up. Lian’s not a fan of riding in other people’s car so Uber is out.”

“Can’t blame her. See you soon,” you answered.

——————————

You had changed into a slightly less sexy and more family friendly top and sensible shoes by the time Roy picked you up. Can’t chase a kid in heels.

Roy looked nice in a button down and jeans with no holes in them. Not a trucker hat in sight. And of course, Lian was a doll in a spring themed dress and leather bottomed sandals. The first thing she showed you was an impressively high kick.

“And it’s okay because dad makes me wear shorts under it. For taking out punks,” she said knowingly. You nodded.

“For punks. Good idea.”

“In case they get fresh,” Roy said to you as she ran to a slide.

“Fresh? She’s 5. Maybe Lian should teach me that move. I know this guy that’s always trying to get fresh,” you said as he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Hmmm, should I kick his ass,” Roy said playfully.

“I’d pay to see you kick your own ass,” you said with a laugh.

“Ouch, and I thought you liked me,” he said, sounding dramatically wounded. You laughed again.

“The entertainment value tho. Hard to beat.”

“So many ‘hard to beat’ jokes I would make right now,” he whispered in your ear and you pulled out of his arms. You were rolling your eyes but the grin ruined the disapproving air you were trying to have.

“Not that kinda date,” you reminded him and as if on cue, Lian ran over to Roy and grabbed his hand. She started dragging him to a food truck.

“Can we get a funnel cake? Or ice cream? Or a hotdog?” She asked excitedly.

“Hotdog and then ice cream on top of a funnel cake,” he said in a mock serious tone as he bent down beside her. She grinned widely. “We aren’t animals!” She squealed and dragged him to food truck.

You grinned as you watched them. Roy had fucked up a ton but this was not one of those times. Nope, he was a great dad. He looked back at you confused as why you hadn’t joined them and you jogged over to them.

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” you said as they made your food. Roy had a hand casually around your waist as Lian tried to swing on his other arm.

“Bout what?” He asked.

“How good a dad you are,” you admitted. He gave you a shy crooked smile before kissing your forehead.

“You bats are always in your head too damn much. But thanks,” Roy ended softly. He handed Lian a giant hotdog that she promptly started eating before giving you your food and he his. “Let’s find a spot to sit before you drop that giant hotdog.”

As Lian licked sticky sweet ice cream coated funnel cake pieces off of her arm, Roy’s phone went off. He smiled apologetically before getting up to answer it. A few minutes later he came back to the table looking even more apologetic.

“Titans business. I have to go but...” he started, running a hand through his red hair. “I don’t have a babysitter.”

“I could watch her,” you suggested and Lian looked up at him kinda sad. “I could watch her at the tower. You’d be right there but we’d stay out of the way.”

“You sure? That isn’t too much?” He said unsure, looking between you both.

“Yeah, I’ve watched kids before. And I know the tower really well. We’ll watch movies and fall asleep. Do you want a sleep over?”

“Yeah! Go on dad, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand at him. You both laughed. “Dads,” Lian said rolling her eyes playfully. Yep, she’s Roy’s alright. “Do you have popcorn?”

“Yep!”

“Candy?”

“Yep! And I know where my brother Tim keeps the good imported stuff,” you said and she grinned.

“Not too much. Or staying up too late. Or anything scary or too grown up,” Roy said on the way to the tower. “And if anything happens. Anything. Get to the panic room.”

“I know the procedures,” you said putting a hand on his shoulder. “And I can keep her safe. Don’t worry. We’ll have fun.”

“And I can kick punks!” Lian said proudly.

“And she’ll kick punks! I’m hoping she hits Gar first. Did you know he can turn into any animal? He just chooses to be a punk,” You said and she giggled.

“Wow!”

“Alright. No kicking punks unless it’s really important because-“

“My body is a weapon. I know, dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Roy repeated the same sort of things up in the living quarters of the tower before giving you both a kiss. “Stay safe,” he said before going downstairs.

Some of the younger Titan recruits didn’t leave on the mission and were hanging out or training. You walked Lian over to the couch and went to find a movie she might like. You dusted off the dvds they had. Probably hadn’t added any new ones in many years with the extensive funding of Batman giving them every streaming service ever.

“How about this movie,” you asked, holding up a sun bleached dvd case. “Space jam?”

Lian looked at it carefully before nodding. You put it in the player and came back. “What about popcorn? Dad says movies are crap without it.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right. I’ll make some.”

“Popcorn?” Came a voice around the corner before the next you saw was a wind of red. “Hey kiddo,” Bart aka impulse said to Lian before shaking her hand. “Let’s pick a movie. There are some pretty good ones I haven’t seen. I’ve seen 12 movies.”

“Only 12,” she frowned skeptically and you took the opportunity to go in the kitchen and make popcorn.

“Hey, did you let Lian have speedster piggy back rides,” Tim aka Robin said ducking his head in the kitchen.

“No,” you said quickly running in the living area quickly. “Okay, enough of that. I don’t think her dad would be cool with this,” you said pulling her off of him. She pouted a little.

“Why does it smell like fire,” Cassie asked from the hall and you hurried back in the kitchen to see a flaming bag turning in the microwave. Before you could do it say anything, Bart opened the microwave and tossed the bag into the sink where the sponge lit on fire. Lian shrieked and you jumped up turn on the water to put them both out.

“That popcorn smells ewwie,” Lian noted. You sighed and pinched your brow. This is fine.

“I’ll make more and you go pick out a movie. And nothing else,” you emphasized.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bart said with a salute. Tim winced.

“Sorry, he’s a lot.”

“One minor kitchen fire is not too bad. Have you heard from the mission?” You asked as you cooked the popcorn.

“Not yet. But no news is usually good news,” he reminded you and you nodded. That’s what Roy always said. You grabbed the bag and went in the living room to see an entire hot pink tackle box filled with every kind of hair tie and bows and baubles. Bart was sitting on the floor and Lian was currently tying a bright yellow bow in his huge mass of red hair.

“She wanted to do his hair so I got my stuff,” Cassie said.

“She’s a natural. She doesn’t rip out half as much hair as Cassie,” Bart said with a grin. You sat on the couch near them and started the movie as the popcorn passed around.

Halfway through the movie, Tim’s phone goes off. He looks at it and frowns. “Alright guys, we got to suit up.” They grumble but get up. Bart does a quick shake that reminds you of a dog and all the bows vibrated out of his hair. Lian laughed and tried to catch them as they fell out.

“Lian, give me just a minute to talk to Tim,” you told her and she nodded before putting a red barrette in Cassie’s hair. You walked in the kitchen with Tim.

“Is everything okay? Dick? Roy?” You asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. We’re just being called in. I’ll try and let you know more,” he said. You nodded and hugged your baby brother.

“Be safe out there.”

“Always.”

Lian was sitting on the couch as the cartoon played and she had moved on to putting bows on the fuzzy blanket on the couch. She yawned as she put bows in your hair and you looked at the time. It was probably close to bed time for her.

“Lian, do you want to lay down while watching your movie?”

She yawned again and nodded. “Yeah, dad will be home late again, hu? Work?” She was pretty used to his hero duty.

“Yeah, but I’m here.”

“Yeah, you’re here,” she said before laying on you. You froze for a second before feeling your heart warmed. She rubbed her popcorn greasy face into your shirt before getting comfortable. After a short while she was asleep and you pulled out your phone to take her photo.

You wanted to send Roy the photo but didn’t dare disturb him. You kept worrying about him and Dick and now even Tim as they fought. Why had they needed the back up? Were they hurt? In too deep? You had a hard time doing anything but worry.

Lian turned in her sleep and all but pinned you to the couch with her little fists gripping your shirt. You pulled the blanket over her. You tried to stay awake but once it hit 2 am and you were trapped on a couch with no lights on, you fell asleep.

Around 4 am, the team wandered in the tower slowly. They hushed one another as they saw you and Lian on the couch. Roy came in and stopped to look. He took out his phone and took a bunch of pictures of you both with a smile before he hobbled to the medical bay to be cleaned and patched up.

“Hey,” he whispered while gently tapping your shoulder a little while later. You woke up blinking in the light. “I’m going to carry her to the car. Are you coming?”

“Oh, yeah,” you whispered back. Roy carefully pulled the little girl off of you and she clung to his shirt in sleep. He grabbed his bag of gear as you got up with a stretch. You waved bye to everyone before leaving.

Halfway down the road, Roy turned to you. “She really seemed comfortable on you.”

“Yeah, she climbed up herself. I was a little surprised. I guess I didn’t mess up tonight,” you said with a little self deprecating laugh.

“Nah, you did great. I had to hear all about it from the kid heroes on the way back. The hair bows was genius,” he said. The car quietly pulled in his driveway.

“That was Cassie. And when Lian saw all of Bart’s hair her eyes went wide like a cat at a ball of yarn,” you laughed.

“Yeah, she’s a fan of long red hair. Ask me how I know,” he said shaking his hair and you laughed. Lian moved in her sleep.

“So she ripped out your hair so Bart’s could survive,” you said quietly.

“Something like that. Can you get the door,” he said before scooping Lian out of her car seat. You held the door as he carried her to her room and laid her in her toddler bed that currently had a Superboy blanket. She had just about any hero you could image in some product or another.

Roy met you in the kitchen. “Thanks, you know. For watching her today. I appreciate that,” he said. You tossed him a water bottle.

“Yeah, she’s awesome. We had fun,” you said, leaning on the counter with your elbows. Roy came up behind you and rubbed your shoulders.

“Not everyone is cool with dating a dad so thanks,” he said. You turned your head to look at him.

“Well, they are missing out. Got my own DILF,” you teased.

“Oh god, I’m a DILF,” Roy said with a hint of horror in his voice. “Speaking of ILF... I know someone I’d like to ILF,” he said kissing your neck and pressing himself against your back. His hands moved under your shirt and up to your chest. “Wanna take it to my room?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1259

Monday, April 29, 2019

 I was at a birthday party for a 7-year-old on the weekend and while I was holding his baby brother I couldn't help but wonder what kind of world will they be living in when they are my age. I worry about their future. The flooding in the National Capital Region is predicted to be worse than it was only two years ago when we had the highest water levels in a century. It's going to exceed that when waters crest in the next couple of days. I can't imagine what property owners are going through trying to save their homes and cottages. I don't understand how some people can deny climate change when the evidence of the harm that we humans have had on the environment is smacking them right in the face. I'm afraid things are going to get worse without it getting any better.

 War of the Realms #2 - Jason Aaron (writer) Russell Dauterman (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This issue has the first major death of a character. Not an A-lister but I will still mourn their passing.

 Spider-Man Life Story #2 The '70s - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Mark Bagley (pencils) Drew Hennessy (inks) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). Now I'm more than convinced that this is a series of what if stories. There are so many deviations from canon in this issue that it's inconceivable that these events are "real". I'm still going to keep reading because these changes are cool.

 Naomi #4 - Brian Michael Bendis & David F. Walker (writers) Jamal Campbell (art) Wes Abbott (letters). Naomi's origin story begins at last. She's not an Earthling.

 Daredevil #4 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Marco Checchetto (art) Sunny Gho (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). The Punisher and Daredevil have a debate about vigilantism. I like Frank's arguments. Meanwhile, Mayor Kingpin tries to get his hooks into Detective North. I wonder if the bigger man will get to the big man. One thing that bothered me about this issue is that Matt left Frank tied up for the cops. Not very nice since Frank saved his ass from them.

 Thor #12 - Jason Aaron (writer) Mike del Mundo (art) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). "The War of the Lokis" features Loki as he travels down the gullet of his father Laufey. Don't tell me you didn't read the last issue. Get thee hence and do so forthwith.

 West Coast Avengers #10 - Kelly Thompson (writer) Moy R. (art) Triona Farrell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This is the last issue and that makes me have a sad face. I really liked this silly crazy team. If Kelly Thompson ever writes a Kid Omega/Quentin Quire and Gwenpool comic book I will definitely read it.

 Avengers LGY #717: No Road Home #10 - Mark Waid, Jim Zub & Al Ewing (writers) Sean Izaakse (art) Marcio Menyz & Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). When this 10-issue weekly started it looked like this was an adventure for Hercules's team of Avengers and it ultimately was. The end result is that the good guys win again and Nyx is defeated. Hercules wasn't the hero of this story and schmaltzy as the way the actual hero wins, it still made me cheer. So all this was so Marvel could revamp the Gods of Olympus and Hercules's costume. I chuckled when they revealed what that house was about. I thought that it was the House of Mystery but that belongs to the Distinguished Competition.

 The Amazing Spider-Man #19.HU - Nick Spencer (writer) Chris Bachalo (pencils) Wayne Faucher, Livesay, Jaime Mendoza, Victor Olazaba, Tim Townsend & Al Vey (inks) Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The Lizard is featured in this "Hunted" tie-in. It's nice to see Chris Bachalo's art back on the racks.

 Action Comics #1010 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Steve Epting (art) Brad Anderson (colours) Josh Reed (letters). Leviathan Rises part 4. I like this spy story. Lois and Clark go undercover as Chaz and Andi to find out what Leviathan is. There's a great teaser for an old Checkmate story that had me going there. I would love to see that organisation again. Next issue promises Leviathan Revealed! I can't wait.

 The Avant-Guards #4 - Carly Usdin (writer) Noah Hayes (art) Rebecca Nalty (colours) Ed Dukeshire (letters). I like this rom-com centered around an arts college basketball team. It reminds me of a lighter "The L Word".

 Black Widow #4 - Jen & Sylvia Soska (writers) Flaviano (art) Veronica Gandini (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). There's a double-cross that surprised me and a cliffhanger ending that makes waiting for the next issue torture. Appropriate for a story where Nat takes down an extremely violent website.

 Doctor Strange #13 - Mark Waid (writer) Barry Kitson (pencils) Scott Koblish & Scott Hanna (inks) Brian Reber (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Herald Supreme part 2. I liked the surprise guest star.

 Hulkverines #3 - Greg Pak (writer) Ario Anindito (art) Morry Hollowell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Okay, this Hulkverine, Hulk and Wolverine team-up was fun but the end made me roll my eyes and groan big time. Ugh.

 Ironheart #5 - Eve L. Ewing (writer) Luciano Vecchio (art) Geoffo (layouts) Matt Milla (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). This issue finishes the first story arc involving the super villain Midnight's Fire. It was good enough that I enjoyed what I read but not good enough to make me keep this book on my "must read" list. I wish RiRi well. I was excited by an ad for a new Black Cat comic book coming out in June though.

 Thanos #1 - Tini Howard (writer) Ariel Olivetti (art) Antonio Fabela (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This 6-issue story will tell us how Gamora came to be adopted by Thanos. I only picked this up because I really like Ariel Olivetti's art. I don't care much for the two main characters so I might not continue with the rest. Fans of Thanos and Gamora will enjoy this I'm sure.

 Runaways #20 - Rainbow Rowell (writer) Andres Genolet (art) Triona Farrell (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). I found this issue to be a big drag. The last page is too depressing for words. Plus the new artist didn't wow me. Something needs to happen next issue for me to want to keep reading.

 War of the Realms: The Punisher #1 - Gerry Duggan (writer) Marcelo Ferreira (pencils) Roberto Poggi (inks) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). It's Frank versus Dark Elves and Frost Giants. They won't know what hit them. This is typical Punisher fare for those into explosive action. Frank leads a band of ex-cons armed with swords through the Lincoln Tunnel to help evacuate a hospital to safety. I miss reading a good Punisher story so this is a welcome sight on the racks.

 War of the Realms: War Scrolls #1 - This anthology book has four short stories all lettered by VC's Joe Sabino.

 "The God Without Fear part 1" by Jason Aaron (writer) Andrea Sorrentino (art) & Matthew Wilson (colours) features Daredevil fighting in Hell's Kitchen.

 "The Warriors Three (Or Four)" by Josh Trujillo (writer) Ricardo Lopez Ortiz (art) Felipe Sobreiro (colours) features Fandral, Hogun and Hildegarde filling in for the unconscious Volstagg teaming up with Cloak and Dagger.

 "Nice Shot, Frank" by Ram V (writer) Cafu (art) Brian Reber (colours) has the Punisher and Wolverine doing what they do best.

 "Waugh of the Realms" by Chip Zdarsky (writer) Joe Quinones (art) Joe Rivera (ink assist) Rico Renzi (colours) has Howard "The Duck" Duckson hired to find a lost dog. This last one was gross.

 This is for fans who want to collect ALL the War of the Realms comic books. Otherwise you can probably give it a pass.

 Batman #69 - Tom King (writer) Yanick Paquette (art) Nathan Fairbairn (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). Knightmares finale. This issue is called "The Last Dance" and I don't know what song Batman and Catwoman are dancing to but I am singing the Etta James ballad "At Last" in my head. After many issues of dream sequences Batman is going to finally awaken. I did appreciate the explanation of how he got into his predicament. Now it's time to deal with Bane and Bruce's "father".

 Blossoms 666 #3 - Cullen Bunn (writer) Laura Braga (art) Matt Herms (colours) Jack Morelli (letters). One of the three Blossoms is going to become the anti-christ. Yeah, you heard me. Cheryl and Jason were born as triplets. Their older brother Julian was whisked away at birth by the Order of Abaddon. Ooo, scary.

 Ascender #1 - Jeff Lemire (writer) Dustin Nguyen (art) Steve Wands (letters). I never did finish reading Descender so I don't know if this is a sequel but it really looked familiar. I didn't feel like I was missing anything in this new story and I liked the mix of magic and technology. The villain reminded me of Emperor Palpatine but her empire is all based on magic. The hero is a spunky girl named Mila and I want to see where she goes from here.

 Guardians of the Galaxy #4 - Donny Cates (writer) Geoff Shaw (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The good guys find Gamora, followed by the bad guys. Expect to see a big battle. The main reason I'm reading this book again is because Groot is talking in whole sentences now.

 Detective Comics #1002 - Peter J. Tomasi (writer) Brad Walker (pencils) Andrew Hennessy (inks) Nathan Fairbairn (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Don't believe the hype. It's not a "duel to the death with Arkham Knight" but it is a pretty good fight. I was happy to see Damian play a bigger role in this issue. I'm sticking around for the bad guy's origin story.

 Fantastic Four #9 - Dan Slott (writer) Aaron Kuder, Stefano Caselli & Paco Medina (art) Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The FF escape, Galactus is freed and Doctor Doom's power mad plans are thwarted. Boy that was fun. I hope they don't leave Aunt Petunia's before telling us about Franklin's new friend Wendy.

 Dial H for Hero #2 - Sam Humphries (writer) Joe Quinones (art) Jordan Gibson (colours) Dave Sharpe (letters). Seems like the H-Dial is a drug with lots of addicts looking for a fix. The potential for zany super powers is huge. I liked how they introduced the good versus evil theme in this issue.

 Avengers #18/LGY #718 - Jason Aaron (writer) Ed McGuinness (pencils) Mark Morales (inks) Justin Ponsor (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Not an Avenger in sight this whole issue but you've got an Agent Coulson controlled Squadron Supreme instead. What made me groan a little was the big villain reveal at the end. I hope it's not a convenient deus ex machina.

 Heroes in Crisis #8 - Tom King (writer) Mitch Gerads (art pages 1, 6-20) Ryan Sook (art pages 2-5) Mitch Gerads (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). I still don't see the ;point of this story with one issue left. I think the killer confesses here but I'm not sure. I'm waiting for the consequences to hit the fan and hope something is resolved in the last issue.

 The Amazing Spider-Man #20 - Nick Spencer (writer) Humberto Ramos (pencils) Victor Olazaba (inks) Edgar Delgado & Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Hunted part 4. A surprise twist turns the tables giving Spider-Man even more incentive to confront Kraven. Meanwhile the son turns on the father as Kraven's son joins the hunt.

 The Superior Spider-Man #5 - Christos Gage (writer) Mike Hawthorne (pencils) Wade von Grawbadger & Andy Owens (inks) Jordie Bellaire (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). I don't know who created the super villain Master Pandemonium but they must have been on crack. This guy has demons for arms and a hole in his stomach that's a gateway to hell. Time for Doctor Octopus to call in a consult. The team-up with Doctor Strange is a clash of science and magic. Let's see who's the better doctor.

 Miles Morales: Spider-Man #5 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Garron (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Speculator alert! It's the first appearance of a new super hero.  Too bad they're named after unwelcome guests to our bird feeders. It's gang wars across Brooklyn and Miles is trying to prevent the death of innocent victims. The surprise appearance  happens when Miles goes to confront Tombstone about his incursions into other gangs' territories. I noticed some changes in Miles this issue that didn't appeal to me. I think he's acting way too confident and macho now. His maturing has happened way too fast and might turn me off the character. If the art wasn't so impressive I might bench this book now.

 Spider-Man City at War #2 - Dennis "Hopeless" Hallum (writer) Michele Bandini (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). I get a kick from noting the differences between these Gamerverse versions and the MU versions. This issue features Miles Morales and I prefer this Miles to the one in the comic book that I just finished. Peter and Miles meet for the first time but it's not in a friendly neighbourhood.

[democratsunited-blog]

Virginia Primary Puts Democrats’ Spirit of ’17 to the Test

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=3467

Virginia Primary Puts Democrats’ Spirit of ’17 to the Test

MIDLOTHIAN, Va. — For Democrats in Virginia, the legend of last year’s general election, when the party romped statewide, has been burnished to a golden glow. If there is a blue wave nationally in the midterms, many will look back to Virginia in 2017 as an early sign.

But the state is going to the polls again for primaries on Tuesday, at a moment when some analysts suggest that the wave could be flattening to a ripple. President Trump’s job approval rating has ticked up and the unemployment rate is the lowest in nearly two decades.

Whether Democrats’ zeal to rebuke Mr. Trump remains strong will be closely scrutinized as Virginians vote in contested primaries for nine of the state’s 11 congressional seats. The Center for Politics at the University of Virginia calls it the busiest federal Primary Day in the state’s modern history.

The results will be sifted for hints of what to expect in this state and across the country in November, when Democrats hope to win control of the House of Representatives as a check on what they see as an increasingly reckless White House.

“I know a lot of people are engaged, excited and want to fight back against Trump,” Jennifer T. Wexton, a state senator who is running for Congress in Northern Virginia, told campaign volunteers on Saturday.

At least three Republican-held House seats in Virginia are likely to be in play in the fall, which should energize Democratic turnout on Tuesday.

For Republicans, the main event in the state is a United States Senate primary with three candidates each vying to be the most conservative. The winner will face Senator Tim Kaine, the Democratic candidate for vice president in 2016.

Virginia Democrats insist that enthusiasm remains as high today as last year, when the party swept statewide offices and nearly flipped control of the House of Delegates. That contention is supported by the party’s strong fund-raising totals in many races, by its armies of volunteer doorknockers and by some of the limited amount of public polling.

“People are on fire down here,” State Delegate Schuyler T. VanValkenburg said during a house party in Midlothian on Saturday evening for Abigail Spanberger, one of the two Democrats competing to challenge Representative Dave Brat, a Republican, in the Richmond suburbs.

Mr. Brat’s congressional district, the Seventh, was long thought to be impregnable to Democrats. But today, shifting demographics have made it a little less of a fortress.

Ms. Spanberger, 38, is typical of the youthful candidates Democrats have fielded in Republican-held districts around the country who appeal to voters’ patriotism. She gives equal billing on her résumé to her work overseas for the C.I.A. fighting terrorism and to starting her daughter’s Girl Scout troop.

“Historically, this has been an unwinnable district,” she said, “but it’s a different place now, there’s a different energy here.”

Republicans make the case that in the three targeted House districts, their incumbents won in 2016 even though Mr. Trump lost Virginia, and that Democratic gains in 2017 came almost entirely in parts of the state that Hillary Clinton had won.

“I have a hard time believing the Democratic spin, if their high-water mark was 2017,” said Matt Gorman, communications director of the National Republican Congressional Committee.

Besides Mr. Brat, Democrats believe they can unseat Representatives Scott Taylor and Barbara Comstock.

Mr. Taylor’s district — the Second, centered on Virginia Beach — was carried last year by Gov. Ralph Northam. Of the two Democrats in the primary this year, the national party is supporting Elaine Luria, a retired Navy commander.

Ms. Comstock is viewed as one of the most vulnerable Republicans in the country. Her district, the 10th, covers a swath of wealthy Washington suburbs and more rural enclaves that Mrs. Clinton won by 10 percentage points in 2016. Still, Ms. Comstock is a hard-working campaigner who has won twice before in an increasingly blue-hued district.

A poll of the state in March by Christopher Newport University found that Democrats enjoyed a large “enthusiasm gap” over Republicans. Driven by antipathy for Mr. Trump, 60 percent of the Democrats who responded said they were “very enthusiastic” about voting in the midterms, compared with 45 percent of the Republican respondents.

“The gap emerged pretty dramatically in 2016, and it hasn’t really disappeared,” said Quentin Kidd, director of the university’s Wason Center for Public Policy, which conducted the survey.

Tom Davis, a former Republican congressman from Virginia who has led his party’s congressional election strategy, fretted that Republican turnout on Tuesday and in the fall could be dampened by the lack of a centrist candidate in the party’s marquee race, the Senate primary.

“I worry about, when everybody in the Republican Party is running to show how conservative they are, moderates don’t show up at all,” he said.

The contest features three hard-right candidates. The top two are Corey Stewart, who promises a “vicious and ruthless” fall campaign against Mr. Kaine, and Nick Freitas, a state delegate who has attacked Mr. Stewart for his associations with white supremacists.

Mr. Stewart, who nearly won the G.O.P. nomination for governor in 2017, held an event last year with one of the men who went on to lead the white nationalist marches in Charlottesville that ended in deadly violence.

Mr. Freitas, a former Green Beret, drew national attention for a fiery speech he gave after the mass shooting at a high school in Parkland, Fla., in which he defended gun rights and said abortion was to blame for societal breakdown.

Virginia Republicans have not won a statewide race in Virginia since 2009, and centrists like Mr. Davis point to the Senate primary field to explain why.

[Here’s what’s coming up next on the primary calendar.]

There is no question that the most closely watched race on Tuesday will be the Democratic primary to face Ms. Comstock.

Ms. Wexton, the state senator, who is seen as the front-runner, is a former prosecutor from Loudoun County, which is also Ms. Comstock’s base. That is one reason the governor and other Democratic officials are backing Ms. Wexton, 50, as someone who might finally unseat Ms. Comstock.

Still, in the crowded field of six Democrats, four have raised more than $1 million and can also claim substantial grass-roots enthusiasm. Some 200 people came out in a road-flooding downpour last week for a rally for Lindsey Davis Stover in the western part of the district.

At a house party in McLean on Friday evening, also for Ms. Davis Stover, about 30 parents from a private elementary school — the men in blazers and the women in heels, though one wore hospital scrubs — listened to the candidate contrast herself with Ms. Wexton.

Ms. Davis Stover, 40, who has worked as a senior aide on Capitol Hill and at the Department of Veterans Affairs, criticized Ms. Wexton for voting in the State Senate to allow concealed-carry permit holders from other states to carry hidden handguns in Virginia. “It adds guns to the streets of Virginia,” she said. “Under no circumstances would I have ever voted for that.”

The issue has surfaced in the final stretch of the primary race as Ms. Wexton’s rivals have tried to chip away at her.

The Wexton campaign added a new script over the weekend for doorknockers going house to house to address the issue. The script explains that the law in question, passed in 2016, was the product of a deal struck by Terry McAuliffe, the Democratic governor at the time, and the Republicans who controlled the legislature. Though it includes the concealed-carry provision, the law also allows guns to be taken away from domestic abusers and partly closes a loophole for sales at gun shows.

Speaking in her campaign headquarters on the third floor of a building in an office park, Ms. Wexton charged up her volunteers.

“Who’s ready to repeal and replace Barbara Comstock?” she shouted.

“I can and I will,” she said. “Let’s go knock some doors.”

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page A15 of the New York edition with the headline: Virginia Primary to Test Zeal of Democrats. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

Read full story here

[sbknews]

New Post has been published on Superbike News

New Post has been published on http://superbike-news.co.uk/wordpress/cairoli-seewer-win-mxgp-germany/

Cairoli and Seewer Win the MXGP of Germany

The MXGP of Germany concluded today on the technical Teutschenthal surface. Riding through the rutted soil, in a veteran performance, Red Bull KTM Factory Racing’s Antonio Cairoli took his 80th career GP overall keeping the red Plate for France, while Suzuki World MX2’s Jeremy Seewer edged out the competition with his second career MX2 overall.

MXGP Red Bull KTM Factory Racing’s Antonio Cairoli’s fight back to the top of MXGP is one he is winning, scoring his 80th victory of his career today, Cairoli extended his championship lead to 44 points. To start both races Cairoli took the FOX Holeshot but in the first half of race one he lost the lead after struggling to find the fast lines and he finished second. Cairoli knew coming into race 2 if he would win the race than the overall was his and that is exactly what he did finishing nearly 6 seconds ahead of 2nd place. Cairoli in the press conference said, “I got really good starts today and this is what we have been working on. I’m really happy with the GP win and also extending the points lead this is very good. It’s a very special track for me I’m very happy to race here in Germany and Teutschenthal is one of my favorite hard pack tracks, it is similar soil to the track I train on… I’m already looking forward to the next GP in France there is always so many fans and it’s a nice track.”

The “Bullet”, Red Bull KTM Factory Racing’s Jeffrey Herlings, came out with a bang in race 1 as he passed Cairoli early and led through to the checkered flag. Herlings season is starting to come around but one thing that plagued him early this year was his starts and in race 2 a start outside the top 5 hindered him once again. Making his way forward and into second took much longer in race 2 and Herlings was unable to close the gap Cairoli had built. Herlings in the post race press conference said, “In the first race I was in second pretty quick but in the second one I was around 10th on the first turn and had to work my up to second, I burned to much energy. He (Cairoli) is the eight-time champ for a reason, he’s a great rider and I just couldn’t close the gap.”

Another rider who challenged Herlings in Teutschenthal was Rockstar Energy Husqvarna Factory Racing’s Gautier Paulin. Paulin fought for position with Herlings in both races but in race 2 put in a late charge to catch the #84 but by the end it was too little too late for Paulin. Two third place finishes placed the Frenchman back on the podium before heading to his home GP next weekend. Paulin in the press conference stated, “Third and third today is consistent but we didn’t put everything together so we need to keep working to get better.”

Monster Energy Kawasaki Racing Team’s Clement Desalle is becoming a consistent face in the top 5 of MXGP. Desalle had another good weekend of racing as he went 4-4, placing fourth overall and scoring 36 championship points. The number 25 is also 4th in the championship standings coming out of Germany and into France.

Behind Desalle was the second French rider in the top 5, Monster Energy Yamaha Factory Racing’s Romain Febvre who has struggled so far this season but triumphed this weekend comparatively with 7-5 finishes. Febvre showed speed both days qualifying 5th and battling with team mate Jeremy Van Horebeek among others. Van Horebeek who is 5th in the championship standings finished 5th in race 1 and he was in the same position in race 2 until he fell picking himself up 20th and finishing 15th for 10th overall.

Team HRC rider Tim Gajser showed some serious determination and toughness fighting through pain today. The 20 year old Slovenian’s qualifying crash aggravated his already sore body. Gajser after the race said, “This has been a tough weekend. Thinking about it, it has probably been one of the toughest weekends I have ever had.” With the championship in mind Gajser pushed his way to 11th overall with 12-10 finishes.

German rider, Rockstar Energy Husqvarna Factory Racing’s Max Nagl, was motivated by his home GP fans and after a 10th in race 1 the hometown hero improved his start and finished 8th in race 2 for 8th overall.

MXGP Race 1 Top Ten: 1. Jeffrey Herlings (NED, KTM), 35:19.364; 2. Antonio Cairoli (ITA, KTM), +0:01.872; 3. Gautier Paulin (FRA, Husqvarna), +0:23.634; 4. Clement Desalle (BEL, Kawasaki), +0:25.211; 5. Jeremy Van Horebeek (BEL, Yamaha), +0:29.976; 6. Glenn Coldenhoff (NED, KTM), +0:34.390; 7. Romain Febvre (FRA, Yamaha), +0:39.939; 8. Max Anstie (GBR, Husqvarna), +0:46.754; 9. Arnaud Tonus (SUI, Yamaha), +0:47.075; 10. Maximilian Nagl (GER, Husqvarna), +0:57.503.

MXGP Race 2 Top Ten: 1. Antonio Cairoli (ITA, KTM), 35:28.768; 2. Jeffrey Herlings (NED, KTM), +0:05.978; 3. Gautier Paulin (FRA, Husqvarna), +0:09.350; 4. Clement Desalle (BEL, Kawasaki), +0:14.689; 5. Romain Febvre (FRA, Yamaha), +0:21.857; 6. Max Anstie (GBR, Husqvarna), +0:26.104; 7. Glenn Coldenhoff (NED, KTM), +0:38.006; 8. Maximilian Nagl (GER, Husqvarna), +0:42.990; 9. Arminas Jasikonis (LTU, Suzuki), +1:04.821; 10. Tim Gajser (SLO, Honda), +1:10.288.

MXGP Overall Top Ten: 1. Antonio Cairoli (ITA, KTM), 47 points; 2. Jeffrey Herlings (NED, KTM), 47 p.; 3. Gautier Paulin (FRA, HUS), 40 p.; 4. Clement Desalle (BEL, KAW), 36 p.; 5. Romain Febvre (FRA, YAM), 30 p.; 6. Glenn Coldenhoff (NED, KTM), 29 p.; 7. Max Anstie (GBR, HUS), 28 p.; 8. Maximilian Nagl (GER, HUS), 24 p.; 9. Arminas Jasikonis (LTU, SUZ), 22 p.; 10. Jeremy Van Horebeek (BEL, YAM), 22 p.

MXGP Championship Top Ten: 1. Antonio Cairoli (ITA, KTM), 305 points; 2. Tim Gajser (SLO, HON), 261 p.; 3. Gautier Paulin (FRA, HUS), 260 p.; 4. Clement Desalle (BEL, KAW), 246 p.; 5. Jeremy Van Horebeek (BEL, YAM), 226 p.; 6. Jeffrey Herlings (NED, KTM), 221 p.; 7. Evgeny Bobryshev (RUS, HON), 214 p.; 8. Romain Febvre (FRA, YAM), 177 p.; 9. Maximilian Nagl (GER, HUS), 163 p.; 10. Glenn Coldenhoff (NED, KTM), 153 p

MXGP Manufacturers: 1. KTM, 332 points; 2. Honda, 295 p.; 3. Yamaha, 272 p.; 4. Husqvarna, 269 p.; 5. Kawasaki, 246 p.; 6. Suzuki, 174 p.

MX2 Team Suzuki World MX2’s Jeremy Seewer has struggled with mistakes the past few races but he has had the speed and today it showed as he won his second career overall, the first in Europe. Seewer was 5th on the first lap of race 1 and he came out on a mission passing one competitor after another including his title rival in straight up racing fashion. In race 2 the Swiss rider nearly went down after landing on the back tire of Red Bull KTM Factory Racing’s Jorge Prado Garcia. Seewer in the press conference said, “It feels great to win in normal conditions, especially the first race I could make it happen pretty well. In the second race I was really lucky on the first lap with Jorge (Prado) I’m sorry for that but it was just a race incident, I nearly crashed and lost some spots… I recovered well and managed to win the GP. I’m looking forward already for the next races, also Ernèe, I like that track, I’ve raced there twice and did well.”

A new Suzuki rider found his way to the podium today, Seewer’s Suzuki World MX2 team mate Hunter Lawrence. Lawrence won here last year in EMX250 and he rode the best ever in his MX2 career on his way to 2nd overall today. 4th in race 1 and 3rd in race 2 he battled throughout both consistently moving forward without error. Lawrence in the press conference stated: “It is cool to have a 1-2 for Suzuki, that is awesome for the team and also for myself as a refreshment for all the hard work.”

Rounding out the MX2 podium was red plate holder and Red Bull KTM Factory Racing rider Pauls Jonass. Jonass clearly has his starts dialed, he took both Fox Holeshots, but he struggled to find rhythm or comfort on today’s rutted circuit. Falling off the lead pace both races finishing 2nd and then 5th, the Latvian was surprised he reached the podium. Jonass in the press conference said: “I was really surprised I was still on the podium after the second race because it didn’t go as I wanted. It’s pretty good to get some decent points and the championship still looks pretty good. We will make some improvements this week.”

The two Rockstar Energy Husqvarna Factory Racing riders of Thomas Covington and Thomas Kjer Olsen swapped luck in Germany. In race 1 it was Covington who faced adversity starting 31st and clawing his way through the pack to 14th. In race 2 Olsen would crash and salvage a 12th place. While race 1 was bad for Covington it was good to Olsen as he took third. The yin and yang continued when Covington charged into the lead and won race 2. After the drama was all said and done Covington took fourth overall while Olsen took 5th.

It was also an up and down story for Husqvarna Maurer-GEP Racing’s Brian Hsu who at his home GP finished 5th in race 1 but 30th in race 2 for 13th overall.

HRC MX2’s Michele Cervellin had one of the best weekends of his career, he qualified fourth yesterday and followed it up with two top five starts and 6-8 finishes today for 7th overall.

MX2 Race 1 Top Ten: 1. Jeremy Seewer (SUI, Suzuki), 33:54.226; 2. Pauls Jonass (LAT, KTM), +0:02.337; 3. Thomas Kjer Olsen (DEN, Husqvarna), +0:03.596; 4. Hunter Lawrence (AUS, Suzuki), +0:04.452; 5. Brian Hsu (GER, Husqvarna), +0:22.865; 6. Michele Cervellin (ITA, Honda), +0:26.631; 7. Brian Bogers (NED, KTM), +0:27.754; 8. Henry Jacobi (GER, Husqvarna), +0:28.026; 9. Darian Sanayei (USA, Kawasaki), +0:31.982; 10. Julien Lieber (BEL, KTM), +0:41.40

MX2 Race 2 Top Ten: 1. Thomas Covington (USA, Husqvarna), 34:26.321; 2. Benoit Paturel (FRA, Yamaha), +0:02.124; 3. Hunter Lawrence (AUS, Suzuki), +0:03.834; 4. Jeremy Seewer (SUI, Suzuki), +0:07.585; 5. Pauls Jonass (LAT, KTM), +0:26.607; 6. Julien Lieber (BEL, KTM), +0:29.456; 7. Brian Bogers (NED, KTM), +0:30.650; 8. Michele Cervellin (ITA, Honda), +0:30.732; 9. Darian Sanayei (USA, Kawasaki), +0:45.179; 10. Jorge Prado Garcia (ESP, KTM), +0:48.821.

MX2 Overall Top Ten: 1. Jeremy Seewer (SUI, SUZ), 43 points; 2. Hunter Lawrence (AUS, SUZ), 38 p.; 3. Pauls Jonass (LAT, KTM), 38 p.; 4. Thomas Covington (USA, HUS), 32 p.; 5. Thomas Kjer Olsen (DEN, HUS), 29 p.; 6. Brian Bogers (NED, KTM), 28 p.; 7. Michele Cervellin (ITA, HON), 28 p.; 8. Julien Lieber (BEL, KTM), 26 p.; 9. Darian Sanayei (USA, KAW), 24 p.; 10. Benoit Paturel (FRA, YAM), 22 p.

MX2 Championship Top Ten: 1. Pauls Jonass (LAT, KTM), 325 points; 2. Jeremy Seewer (SUI, SUZ), 288 p.; 3. Thomas Kjer Olsen (DEN, HUS), 264 p.; 4. Julien Lieber (BEL, KTM), 249 p.; 5. Benoit Paturel (FRA, YAM), 220 p.; 6. Thomas Covington (USA, HUS), 184 p.; 7. Jorge Prado Garcia (ESP, KTM), 175 p.; 8. Brent Van doninck (BEL, YAM), 174 p.; 9. Darian Sanayei (USA, KAW), 142 p.; 10. Michele Cervellin (ITA, HON), 139 p.

MX2 Manufacturers: 1. KTM, 367 points; 2. Husqvarna, 308 p.; 3. Suzuki, 299 p.; 4. Yamaha, 259 p.; 5. Kawasaki, 216 p.; 6. Honda, 142 p.; 7. TM, 111 p

[iphoenixrising]

Dr. Tim Drabble: The Joker

This was a little hard to write >.< but if you do read it, please be careful. There’s not anything obviously triggering but it is a little dark. It takes place about a year after Tim’s been the pet doctor for N and Hood, but before they get together.

**

As he’s come to learn in the last year of being the go-to physician for a series of scary, self-sacrificing vigilantes, trouble can strike from all possible directions. Really, it’s literally Bat-credo.

Of course, it doesn’t apply to the helpful civilians that might just want to make Gotham’s protectors stay above the game (well, unless you count scaling tall buildings with literally a doctor’s bag and a prayer since some people just have to be ten stories up with massive internal bleeding--Hood), and since he’s the guy that comes in after all the dangerous crime fighting goes down for some very necessary snatch-and-stitch, the criminals are normally pretty well underway to unconscious city when he hits the scene. It’s nice he’s not trying to keep either one of them from bleeding out while dealing with a terrible bad guy monologue-- he’s pretty sure none of them would appreciate his brand of heckling while the details of this week master plan are laid out.

Scarecrow probably wouldn’t appreciate his version of ‘Name that Chemical.’

But since his luck runs about 60/40 most days, he really shouldn’t be shocked when he finally gets out of Mercy for the night, earbuds in so he can calm down from the rigorous pace set by the slew of second-rate thugs baring very distinctive injuries (obviously corresponding from a run-in with one or multiple aforementioned vigilantes), and a jarring amount of victims come through the ER doors with a well-known condition recognizable at first-glance by anyone that’s ever spent time in Gotham. A condition that shakes apart even his calm, cool, and collected when it becomes very obvious what he’s looking at:

Leukoderma: loss of pigmentation in the skin

Myoparalysis of the orbicularis oris: paralysis of the mouth muscles

Symptoms of Pseudobulbar Effect because the only sounds the patients can make are laughing or sobbing.

Everyone in the ER knows it’s time for shit to get real once more than one patient comes in displaying the same characteristics like this. It’s one of the few times he goes balls to the wall in the cramped lab with blood samples and trying to make his hands stop shaking long enough to starting working on a counter-agent to the chemical cocktail making ordinary, perfectly healthy people start showing signs just like these.

It means the Joker is back in Gotham.

Subsequently, it also means he’s running the path between the lab and ER like his ass is on fire to help strap down the most out-of-control victims, treat the injured, run tests on this version of toxin, synthesize a cure as fast as he possibly can with shitty, outdated equipment and a computer system slower than Steph getting out of bed in the morning. On nights like these, he and the rest of the staff at Mercy General’s ER do the best damn job they can to keep themselves sane enough to be the ones taking care of both sides of the equation.

The GCPD usually meandering around watching the fast-and-furious pace with tired eyes and hollow expressions talk loud enough between themselves to give updates so the staff know how the night could possibly end for them:

“That fucking clown managed to get away from the capes.”

“Yeah, but you know ‘em. He won’t be on the run for long. The Bat has it out for the asshole’s blood.”

Great. There’s probably going to be some vigilante owfuck on his fire escape later tonight.

He tries soothing a terrified child who is staring at his mom strapped down to a gurney and laughing while tears roll down her face and the husband is gripping her hand. He’s reeling from the unintended back-hand when one of the thugs gets a hand free and flails. He’s yelling obscenities in the cramped lab when his first try at the antidote completely fucking fails. He’s moving with the new one rolling in through the double doors already in cardiac arrest, the toxin mixing with a pre-existing condition. He’s talking it out with a haggard Steph when the composition finally, finally breaks down the sample of toxin and they’ve hit the fucking jackpot.

By the time the wave is over and the catastrophe calmed as much as possible, the next shift is in and briefed on what they’ve got, which patients have a positive prognosis, which patients are still in distress, what resources they have, and Doctor Drake is almost unconscious on his feet. He might register a few back-slaps on his way out while he’s shrugging into his hoodie, and he probably slurred something acceptable in response since no one is making him take at least a nap in one of the storage rooms before he goes home.

He’s tired enough to be surprised it’s daylight and pulls out his phone just to double-check no messages from bleeding, busted-up vigilantes or anything (but really, if either of them are that bad, they’re probably already on his couch eating cereal and watching The Ranch because Hood has terrible taste in TV shows).

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to put together the sound of the humming engine until the sound of a door to an inconspicuous van sliding back jars him enough to look up--

At plastic clown masks covering faces, faces inside a van, faces with grabbing hands that pull him right the hell in.

**

The hard fact is, as much as he followed the Dynamic Duo back before his parents died, as much as he believed (and still does) in what they were doing, as much as he wanted to help them even as a kid, as much as he could see how he could lend his skills to their mission, he’s never been or going to be one of them.

He’s never going to be Robin.

It’s a fact that exists in the very back of his brain pan and comes to the fore in instances like, well, this.

Because the owfuck right now, is real, and someday, someday, he’s going to learn that not everyone can appreciate his own brand of witty comebacks. Or the fact that, while he is pretty badass in his own right as a civilian, he’s never going to be able to take down five heavily muscled goons without taking a serious beating.

Which, he obviously has since the right side of his jaw and cheekbone are a hot, searing agony from the first few blows. His knee feels like someone kicked it (oh wait, someone did); his lower back is protesting the fact he still has kidneys because damn, right now he could be missing a semi-crucial body part and not feel at all bad about it.

But, at least the clown thugs are smart enough to realize he would need his hands for whatever reason they picked him up off the street. That knowledge doesn’t help the rest of his body when he finally comes to on cold, unforgivable cement, blinking blood out of his eyes and taking stock of what kind of injuries are in this little package of surprise.

His shoulder throbs when his muscles tighten only minutely before he forces himself to relax, to look like he’s still out cold. If he plays possum long enough, maybe some random vigilantes will figure out he isn’t at the hospital or his penthouse. Vigilantes with detective skills would really be nice right about--

“Well, well, well. What do we have here, boys?”

Oh...fuck...

“It’s a little birdy.”

--now. Holy shit, now, now. Right now would be a GREAT TIME--

Footsteps, sharp-looking spats enter his line of sight, and the hard intake of breath makes his everything hurt even more, but it’s not important, it’s not--it’s not-- Oh God. Oh God, it’s him.

Bending at the waist, a face comes in his line of sight, so close, too close.

“Trying to put one over on me, eh? That’s not very smart, kiddo, since I have a tendency to be a little, well, impatient.”

And the mouth twists more, sharp upward curves as the splitting sound of a sharp chuckle makes his blood run fucking cold.

“Get it, Doc? Impatient! Ahaa Ha ha ha, ha. Ah-haaa, ha, ha, ha, ha. Oohwah, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HAA.”

While he’s frozen in terror, staring at the face of Gotham’s most dangerous criminal, the arrant thought flittering across his brain pan is something to the effect that he hopes like fuck Hood and N figure out he’s missing a hell of a lot sooner rather than later.

**

**

Sometimes

You’ve gotta roll with the punches, see?

Can’t let a few bumps in the road stop ya from trying to make the perfect joke.

It’s aaaallllll about the

Punch

Line

Baby

Gets ‘em every time.

And the good people of Gotham know how to take a joke. That’s why he loves this dirty, rat-infested shithole of a city. It’s why he started his career in petty larceny only to take a little dip in the toxic sludge bath to become his

New

and

Improved

(Ha-ha-heh-ha-ha)

And, well, since he’s all shiny, he needed a new gimmic. A new image. Something so dastardly evil it would scare the pants off any inmate in Arkham. Something to get him some respect around this dump.

(hu-hu-hu-hooo)

And that’s when the Joker was born.

It was easy getting the thugs to fall in line when he needed bodies to carry out a little poisoning of Gotham’s water supply--because everyone should wake up with a smile. All he had to do was rip out a few vital organs of their last boss with his bare hands to make sure they all

Got

The

Joke

(A-ha-a-ha-aha-ha)

But that meddling caped crime fighter came right in and ruined the

Punch

Line

right as the water tanks were ready for his special little toxin.

The most beautiful moment of his grand plan ruined by a man dressed like a flying rodent.

Since then, he’s been playing such a game, matching wits and fists off and on for years. Pushing and pulling at everything that makes the Bat tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Wouldn’t it be funny to see the Bat finally break? Oh. Oh. To see him finally snap. (He-he-ha-ha)

To see him lose everything in his little arsenal of trick and traps, to see him get what he deserves.

Killing that little fucking brat was supposed to be enough.

Was supposed to drive ole’ Bats right into the next belfrey, put him next to all his buddies in Arkham, to drive him to the brink. Push him right over the edge of sanity with that little double-whammy.

Poor Batsy. Where’s your little Robin now?

(A-ha-a-ha-ha-ha over there, and a piece over there, ooh, there’s an arm! Isn’t that handy. AH-HA-HA-HA-HA)

It was back to their old fun and games again without the Brat-Wonder pulling Batsy back from the brink. If that new little brat hadn’t come on the scene, he might just have succeeded in having the

Very

Last

Laugh

But there’s always next time, isn’t there Batsy? The game just keeps going and they’ll get on and off this little merry-go-round until it’s all

Broken

Down

**

Leukoderma

Myoparalysis of the orbicularis oris

He gets more of an up close and personal look than he definitely would have liked.

The thugs on either side of him are half-restraining, half-carrying him because a bucket full of hurt, and showing off the hideout of the night is pretty standard protocol for bad guys (or so he’s heard Hood and N bitch about). Between limping steps, memorizing the layout, and hoping the psychopath leading them isn’t going to randomly turn around and beat him with a crowbar.

(“That sick son-uh-va-bitch, Timmy. You don’t want no piece of ‘im.”)

Since, you know, that’s one of his things.

Instead, they’re lead to what seems to be an impromptu emergency set-up with a blonde woman laying on a makeshift gurney, pale and obviously in distress.

Shit.

Now the bad guys want him to play Pet Doctor.

(Oh right. This is his life.)

“My poor, widdle Harl, here had an accident--”

But Tim is already pulling out of the hold and walking his ass right past the talking villain, unzipping his hoody and tossing it in one of the broken chairs in the corner. He’s still in scrubs, so the irony isn’t lost here. Just, can they get him a name tag or something?

Before he even starts with the ABCDEs, he takes in a deep, deep breath and feverently hopes he’s not going to get himself killed in a horrific way.

“Hi,” he starts out and moves, “it’s okay, I’m a doctor. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

He focuses on assessing her belly, pulling the dirty blanket off her costumed abdomen and sees the gunshot wound gushing blood. The next steps are running through his head in a calm collection of needs.

“S-shot me. The p-police.” And she’s obviously pale, in pain, maybe even scared (though with the company she keeps, he’s really not sure about that).

“Okay, okay. I’m going to help you. I just need to scrub my hands and get supplies. I want you to let me know if you feel like you’re losing consciousness.”

Sharply, he turns to the thugs and mad man over his shoulder (and he knows it’s a bad thing that the clown masks really aren’t that odd), faces them determined she isn’t going to bleed out, “I need a sink to scrub up. I need gloves, sterile gloves…” he goes on with the necessaries, and the list isn’t extensive, things they could find at Walgreens or Rite-Aid.

The thugs turn to the silently smiling villain, his back straight, with hands clasps behind him and narrow, assessing eyes.

Tim very, very much doesn’t want to know what’s going through that twisted mind right this moment.

The small lean forward, the tiny movement, makes his heart beat painfully hard in fear.

“A new nurse was doing rounds and overheard the surgeon yelling, ‘Typhoid! Tetanus! Measles!’ Curious, she asks another nurse, ‘Why does Doctor So-and-so he keep doing that?’ The colleague replies, ‘Doctor So-and-so likes to call the shots around here.’ Hu-hu-hu, get it, Doc?”

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t crack a smile because, honestly, that was worse than Superman’s travelling salesman jokes.

But whatever the Joker had been waiting for must have happened because the villain leans back, grinning horribly, “you heard the nice Doctor, boys! Get him what he needs.”

The woman, Harly Quinn, behind him on the gurney sighs in relief, but Tim is the only one that hears.

**

“What did the Doctor say when he removed the patient’s appendix?”

“What?”

“That’s enough outta you!”

His eyes roll up to that maniacally grinning face and back down to the forceps, gingerly pulling another piece of bullet fragment out of the patient’s side.

“What do you call a diseased criminal?”

“A good start?” He tries absently while working.

“A leper-con!”

The wound looks good, clean, no sign of infection.

With a shitty mask and his hair still hanging in his face, the conditions are not ideal. It’s fine. He’s worked in a hell of a lot worse (don’t think of Hood in Crime Alley with a few stab wounds), just with, you know, a little less crazy.

“The patient tells the doctor, ‘I think it’s curtains for me!’ The doctor says, ‘pull yourself together.’”

He sighs a little and starts to close, feeling better about Dr. Quinn’s chances. The two thugs immediately beside him haven’t budged in the last two hours, so some serious dedication there.

The Joker remains directly across from him, leaning over the unconscious patient with his never-ending slew of terrible jokes.

“What do you do for a poor, sick, little bird?”

And that? Is utterly terrifying.

“Give him proper tweet-meant. Aha-ah-ahahaha.”

Tim suppress the shudder of fear working up his spine, refusing to think about the Red Hood and the Robin he was before this, refuses to think about the next second that could be horrendously painful torture or death.

When he finally tapes on gauze pads, the thugs beside him seems to ease down as well. When he moves to check the IVs, thug number one moves without comment, letting him check the bags and pull the cheap stethoscope from around his neck to take her vitals again.

“A kid is in an accident, gets brought to the Emergency Room. The doc says, ‘I can’t work on him, he’s my son!’ The doctor wasn’t the boy’s father, how could that be?”

Tim’s eyes narrow on the Joker’s grinning face, “wait a minute, I thought the other guy told the riddles.”

He doesn’t jump when the Joker’s open hands slam down on the makeshift gurney around the patient’s inert form, the sound snapping off walls. He doesn’t jump, but damn it’s a stretch.

His hand steady regardless of how fucking terrified he is, Tim pulls the mask down under his chin, and leans forward this time to sneer, “the doctor was the boy’s mother. Satisfied?”

But he gets a string of that bone-chilling laughter, catching hints of a very, very big gun holstered in the purple jacket.

“Oh,” the Joker leans in to meet him, those eyes wide and full of unpredictable crazy, “oh, I think I like you, kiddo. You’re good for a laugh, hu-hu-hu.”

He opens his mouth, just about to say something probably unerringly stupid to a mad man with guns and thugs--

When the skyline crashes in on itself to rain glittering glass all over the place, and dark shadows drop down from the sky.

The Batman end up crouching on the gurney, feet braced around the patient, and looking like a whole lot of doom come to call. The thugs are immediately taken down by Nightwing and Robin (and even though they don’t know he knows, he gets why the Red Hood is missing on this little ride), who have no qualms pulling him back from the fast and furious fight about to take place.

When it’s Nightwing’s hands on his biceps, pulling him away from danger, out of that big room and into the fallen night, he lets himself shake in the vigilante’s hold, staring up wide-eyed at the domino and whiteouts.

“Oh...oh my God, N--”

“Are you hurt? Timmy, did he hurt you?” Is the immediate question cutting into his breathless babbling. Then hands are moving over him, Nightwing moving slightly to make sure there’s no visible wounds on him. His face is held between gloved hands, the bruises and busted lip probably terribly purple and black.

“I’m...I’m o...I’m okay,” he manages to rasp, both hands coming up to grip Nightwing’s arms tight while he is definitely not shaking like a leaf. Nope, all good. Nothing to see here.

Which is totally believable until his knees give out and Nightwing is basically holding him up in a stupid princess carry like he’s four or something, and the grip around him is just as tight, Nightwing blowing out a deep breath against his hair.

“You scared the crap out of us. We’ve been tracking you the moment you didn’t make it back to your place.”

What? The hope they might have noticed him missing was really induced by a whole lot of fear and possible I really don’t want this guy to be the one to kill me. There’s better villains out there.

“O-oh, I see. H-hey there, N. Hi. Seriously, thanks for r-riding to the rescue because that was not on my to-do list for today, and-and,”

“There he is,” the modified voice proves he was apparently wrong about the sitch because landing beside them, the Red Hood is already looking him over, a gloved hand under his chin to tilt his face into the soft street light.

“H-Hood? You too? M-must be a light on crime tonight?”

But his eyes are stupidly getting wet and hot, making him blink rapidly because fuck, is he relieved.

“Don’t get snatched, Timmers. Not ever again. Me and Big Wing gonna rip this fuckin’ ‘Burg ta shreds, you feel me?”

The loud clattering and breaking going on inside the abandoned cat food warehouse is getting louder, meaning the fight with the psycho has moved into the next room. The helmet snaps that way, and Hood’s muscles get obviously tight at the faint sounds of laughter.

“Hood,” N quickly delegates, stepping up to lay Tim in Hood’s arms, “get him out of here. He’s hurt. I’ll go help B and Rob.”

The helmet jerks back to him and whatever damage is done to his face, and the Red Hood takes him in the same hold, hoisting Tim up high against his chest, only needing one arms to keep him secured. He’s already got a grapple in the other hand, ready to fly.

“Kick that fucking clown in the nuts f’ me, Big Wing. Get it?”

But Nightwing just smirks and takes off back inside to join the fight.

And Tim grips the Red Hood’s jacket with both hands, not at all disturbed when the helmet stays pointed right at his face even when the grapple fires and they’re off into the night.

**

The next morning, his door and window are like replaced without him even knowing. The reinforced glass and locks are, well, thoughtful? Maybe?

Even better, he gets an ice pack for his face and another for his swollen knee. He also gets masked vigilantes in sweats and t-shirts making food, watching Netflix with him, and seemingly unwilling to leave him alone.

Hood literally carries him from the couch to the table instead of watch him limp his hurt ass twenty feet away, and N is no better, hoisting him up on the kitchen counter when he makes the best smelling chicken parm on the planet.

By nightfall, they’ve told him how they tracked his movements and had a good friend searching through the traffic cams outside the hospital and his penthouse until they knew what happened and tracked the unmarked van down.

It’s...odd to be taken care of and strangely nice at the same time. He lets Nightwing re-wrap his knee and watches those hands work around the pulled muscle carefully, knowledgeably while the whiteout are up and those blue, blue eyes look at him fondly.

He argues with Hood on how Chaucer was just a poser over a game of chess, already planning out the winning moves.

He still amazed at their duck and dodge skills when Steph practically barrels into his apartment and throws her arms around him, sobbing with relief. His eyes roll up to Nightwing bracing all fours on his ceiling, grinning like an idiot before he swings gracefully, silently behind them to disappear again while the Red Hood hiding behind his couch joins him down the hall.

And when she leaves and night falls, they argue with him and each other about leaving him to his lonesome to patrol the city against other crazies that probably have sharp, pointy things and chemical bombs for something different thrown in.

He leaves the window cracked and gets ready for bed, shivering slightly at the cool sheets and the feel of their hands lingering on him in concern and (what he might call) affection. He thinks he might have to whack himself in the head a few times before he sees them again because, seriously, he’s a civilian, not one of them, just an ordinary guy that happens to patch them up from time-to-time. They might even be friends at this juncture since they like to crash at his place after bad injuries and hard nights, they like to eat his food and listen to how his day went, they like to talk haltingly about what minor crooks they stopped that night, and general information about their real lives without giving anything away.

They’re…

They’re…

His heart picks up, beating faster when he realizes how screwed he really is.

[viralhottopics]

13 Awesome Shows and Movies Coming to Netflix in February

For the superstitious folks out there, 13 is an unlucky number. But for the more rational Netflix viewer, its a very fortuitous figure indeed: It’s the total number of must-watch movies and TV shows coming to the streaming service next month.

So what good fortune hath Netflix brought? Well, weve got President-Trump-approved movies about forgetful fish, a wonderful documentary about drag culture in 1980s New York, and a charming Channing Tatum dancing for his dinner. Are you trying to tell us you dont want to get lucky with Magic Mike? No, of course youre not. Heres everything you should plan on watching on Netflix in February.

February 1

Contact (1997)

Based on the work of Carl Sagan, Contact is about what happens when a young scientist (Jodie Foster) picks up an alien message and then has to be the voice of reason once all the government suits get involved. Its like Arrival, but without all the arriving. Want to see a different woman stress the importance of communication and diplomacy in the face of paranoia? This movie is for you.

Based on the work of Carl Sagan, Contact is about what happens when a young scientist (Jodie Foster) picks up an alien message and then has to be the voice of reason once all the government suits get involved. Its like Arrival, but without all the arriving. Want to see a different woman stress the importance of communication and diplomacy in the face of paranoia? This movie is for you.

Finding Dory (2016)

OK, so the sequel wasnt quite as good as Finding Nemo, but dammit Ellen DeGeneres wanted to make one and you all owe it to her to watch it. Whereas forgetful fish Dory (DeGeneres) helped Nemo get home in the first installment, its Nemo and his dad who help Dory find her missing parents in this chapter. Same story (pretty much), same amnesia jokes, same tears. Watch this with a loved one close by.

OK, so the sequel wasnt quite as good as Finding Nemo, but dammit Ellen DeGeneres wanted to make one and you all owe it to her to watch it. Whereas forgetful fish Dory (DeGeneres) helped Nemo get home in the first installment, its Nemo and his dad who help Dory find her missing parents in this chapter. Same story (pretty much), same amnesia jokes, same tears. Watch this with a loved one close by.

Magic Mike (2012)

If you can get past Alex Pettyfer looking as lost on a movie set as the n00b male stripper hes playing does on stage, this hazy-hued Steven Soderbergh flick about an exotic dancer (Channing Tatum) trying to get his furniture business off the ground is gold. Its also a lot smarter than most people give it credit for. If youve never seen it, watch it ASAPyoull never hear“Pony” the same way again.

If you can get past Alex Pettyfer looking as lost on a movie set as the n00b male stripper hes playing does on stage, this hazy-hued Steven Soderbergh flick about an exotic dancer (Channing Tatum) trying to get his furniture business off the ground is gold. Its also a lot smarter than most people give it credit for. If youve never seen it, watch it ASAPyoull never hear“Pony” the same way again.

Paris Is Burning (1990)

If your ears were functioning in 1990, then youve heard “Vogue” by Madonna. What you might not know, though, is where voguing comes from. Brush up with this Jennie Livingston documentary about ball culture in New York in the 1980s. Not only will you learn the real meaning behind “reading” and “throwing shade,” youll also get a harrowing glimpse into a drag scene being deeply impacted by the AIDS epidemic.

If your ears were functioning in 1990, then youve heard “Vogue” by Madonna. What you might not know, though, is where voguing comes from. Brush up with this Jennie Livingston documentary about ball culture in New York in the 1980s. Not only will you learn the real meaning behind “reading” and “throwing shade,” youll also get a harrowing glimpse into a drag scene being deeply impacted by the AIDS epidemic.

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

Granted, this movie will never be as horrifying as it was when we still didnt know what was real and what wasnt, but its still pretty damn scary. Plus its got all the snot-faced crying close-ups you can handle.

Granted, this movie will never be as horrifying as it was when we still didnt know what was real and what wasnt, but its still pretty damn scary. Plus its got all the snot-faced crying close-ups you can handle.

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

Some are Halloween people; others are Christmas folk. Very few are both. Jack Skellington, king of Halloween Town, would like to change that. Can he succeed? Youll have to watch to find out, but rest assured anyone armed with direction from 1990s Tim Burton and music from Danny Elfman has a better shot than most.

Some are Halloween people; others are Christmas folk. Very few are both. Jack Skellington, king of Halloween Town, would like to change that. Can he succeed? Youll have to watch to find out, but rest assured anyone armed with direction from 1990s Tim Burton and music from Danny Elfman has a better shot than most.

February 2

American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson (2016)

Easily one of the best miniseries of last year, Ryan Murphys dramatic recreation of the O.J. Simpson murder trial is just really damn good TV. From Sarah Paulson as Marcia Clark to Courtney B. Vance as Johnnie Cochran, the cast is flawless. Sure, you know how this one ends, but watch it anyway.

Easily one of the best miniseries of last year, Ryan Murphys dramatic recreation of the O.J. Simpson murder trial is just really damn good TV. From Sarah Paulson as Marcia Clark to Courtney B. Vance as Johnnie Cochran, the cast is flawless. Sure, you know how this one ends, but watch it anyway.

February 3

Santa Clarita Diet (2017)

Drew Barrymore is a zombie. If youre not already sold on Netflixs new show, we really dont know what to say to you.

Drew Barrymore is a zombie. If youre not already sold on Netflixs new show, we really dont know what to say to you.

February 4

Superbad (2007)

This movie is funny and all, but at this point its just about watching Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, and Emma Stone when they were super young. (OK, Michael Cera looks pretty much the same now.) Also, the sight gags in this one are top notch.

This movie is funny and all, but at this point its just about watching Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, and Emma Stone when they were super young. (OK, Michael Cera looks pretty much the same now.) Also, the sight gags in this one are top notch.

February 10

Abstract: The Art of Design

What can we say? Were fans of this one.

What can we say? Were fans of this one.

February 11

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend: Season 2

Rachel Blooms occasionally musical, always hilarious comedy got even better in its second season. Catch up now.

Rachel Blooms occasionally musical, always hilarious comedy got even better in its second season. Catch up now.

February 12

Clouds of Sils Maria (2014)

Want to know why people say Kristen Stewart is a great actress? Skip Twilight, which also hits Netflix this month, and watch this instead. Up againstJuliette Binoche in this Olivier Assayas film, she is measured, confident, and vulnerable all at once. Shes even a little funny. Love, jealousy, and emotional hand-wringing has never looked so inviting.

Want to know why people say Kristen Stewart is a great actress? Skip Twilight, which also hits Netflix this month, and watch this instead. Up againstJuliette Binoche in this Olivier Assayas film, she is measured, confident, and vulnerable all at once. Shes even a little funny. Love, jealousy, and emotional hand-wringing has never looked so inviting.

February 23

Sausage Party (2016)

If you want to get stoned, but dont want to get the munchies, watch this. It has all the humor youre looking for and itll make snacking feel like murder. (How could you possibly eat a hot dog when one is smiling at you right there?)

If you want to get stoned, but dont want to get the munchies, watch this. It has all the humor youre looking for and itll make snacking feel like murder. (How could you possibly eat a hot dog when one is smiling at you right there?)

February 24

I Dont Feel at Home in This World Anymore (2017)

This flick about a young woman (Melanie Lynskey) who gets robbed and decides shes not going to put up with any more crap was one of our favorites at the Sundance Film Festival this year. And now that Netflix rules Sundance, you can stream it just a month after its debut. Whee!

This flick about a young woman (Melanie Lynskey) who gets robbed and decides shes not going to put up with any more crap was one of our favorites at the Sundance Film Festival this year. And now that Netflix rules Sundance, you can stream it just a month after its debut. Whee!

{ "@context": "http:\/\/schema.org", "@type": "ItemList", "itemListOrder": "http:\/\/schema.org\/ItemListUnordered", "itemListElement": [ { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 1, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=hN4WQYm6KPw", "name": "<em>Contact<\/em> (1997) ", "description": "Based on the work of Carl Sagan, Contact is about what happens when a young scientist (Jodie Foster) picks up an alien message and then has to be the voice of reason once all the government suits get involved. It\u2019s like Arrival, but without all the arriving. Want to see a different woman stress the importance of communication and diplomacy in the face of paranoia? This movie is for you.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=hN4WQYm6KPw", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 2, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=3JNLwlcPBPI", "name": "<em>Finding Dory<\/em> (2016)", "description": "OK, so the sequel wasn\u2019t quite as good as Finding Nemo, but dammit Ellen DeGeneres wanted to make one and you all owe it to her to watch it. Whereas forgetful fish Dory (DeGeneres) helped Nemo get home in the first installment, it\u2019s Nemo and his dad who help Dory find her missing parents in this chapter. Same story (pretty much), same amnesia jokes, same tears. Watch this with a loved one close by.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=3JNLwlcPBPI", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 3, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=j4eqIV-XMnA", "name": "<em>Magic Mike<\/em> (2012)", "description": "If you can get past Alex Pettyfer looking as lost on a movie set as the n00b male stripper he\u2019s playing does on stage, this hazy-hued Steven Soderbergh flick about an exotic dancer (Channing Tatum) trying to get his furniture business off the ground is gold. It\u2019s also a lot smarter than most people give it credit for. If you\u2019ve never seen it, watch it ASAP\u2014you\u2019ll never hear\u00a0\"Pony\" the same way again.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=j4eqIV-XMnA", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 4, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=78TAbjx43rk", "name": "<em>Paris Is Burning<\/em> (1990)", "description": "If your ears were functioning in 1990, then you\u2019ve heard \"Vogue\" by Madonna. What you might not know, though, is where voguing comes from. Brush up with this Jennie Livingston documentary about ball culture in New York in the 1980s. Not only will you learn the real meaning behind \"reading\" and \"throwing shade,\" you\u2019ll also get a harrowing glimpse into a drag scene being deeply impacted by the AIDS epidemic.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=78TAbjx43rk", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 5, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=a_Hw4bAUj8A", "name": "<em>The Blair Witch Project<\/em> (1999) ", "description": "Granted, this movie will never be as horrifying as it was when we still didn\u2019t know what was real and what wasn\u2019t, but it\u2019s still pretty damn scary. Plus it\u2019s got all the snot-faced crying close-ups you can handle.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=a_Hw4bAUj8A", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 6, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=wr6N_hZyBCk", "name": "<em>The Nightmare Before Christmas<\/em> (1993) ", "description": "Some are Halloween people; others are Christmas folk. Very few are both. Jack Skellington, king of Halloween Town, would like to change that. Can he succeed? You\u2019ll have to watch to find out, but rest assured anyone armed with direction from 1990s Tim Burton and music from Danny Elfman has a better shot than most.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=wr6N_hZyBCk", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 7, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=nAyn1gDBc7s", "name": "<em>American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson<\/em> (2016)", "description": "Easily one of the best miniseries of last year, Ryan Murphy\u2019s dramatic recreation of the O.J. Simpson murder trial is just really damn good TV. From Sarah Paulson as Marcia Clark to Courtney B. Vance as Johnnie Cochran, the cast is flawless. Sure, you know how this one ends, but watch it anyway.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=nAyn1gDBc7s", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 8, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=xjRnbOgoAUQ", "name": "<em>Santa Clarita Diet<\/em> (2017) ", "description": "Drew Barrymore is a zombie. If you\u2019re not already sold on Netflix\u2019s new show, we really don\u2019t know what to say to you.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=xjRnbOgoAUQ", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 9, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=q3UFV1in5Qk", "name": "<em>Superbad<\/em> (2007)", "description": "This movie is funny and all, but at this point it\u2019s just about watching Jonah Hill, Michael Cera, and Emma Stone when they were super young. (OK, Michael Cera looks pretty much the same now.) Also, the sight gags in this one are top notch.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=q3UFV1in5Qk", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 10, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=DYaq2sWTWAA", "name": "<em>Abstract: The Art of Design<\/em>", "description": "What can we say? We\u2019re fans of this one.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=DYaq2sWTWAA", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 11, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/youtu.be\/fXc7p3d8THs", "name": "<em>Crazy Ex-Girlfriend<\/em>: Season 2", "description": "Rachel Bloom\u2019s occasionally musical, always hilarious comedy got even better in its second season. Catch up now.", "@id": "https:\/\/youtu.be\/fXc7p3d8THs", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 12, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=PbVHlm7RcDs", "name": "<em>Clouds of Sils Maria<\/em> (2014) ", "description": "Want to know why people say Kristen Stewart is a great actress? Skip Twilight, which also hits Netflix this month, and watch this instead. Up against\u00a0Juliette Binoche in this Olivier Assayas film, she is measured, confident, and vulnerable all at once. She\u2019s even a little funny. Love, jealousy, and emotional hand-wringing has never looked so inviting.", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=PbVHlm7RcDs", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 13, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=c7fP9q_LyDc", "name": "<em>Sausage Party<\/em> (2016)", "description": "If you want to get stoned, but don\u2019t want to get the munchies, watch this. It has all the humor you\u2019re looking for and it\u2019ll make snacking feel like murder. (How could you possibly eat a hot dog when one is smiling at you right there?)", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.youtube.com\/watch?v=c7fP9q_LyDc", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } }, { "@type": "ListItem", "position": 14, "item": { "image": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/01\/IDontFeelAtHomeHP.jpg", "name": "<em>I Don\u2019t Feel at Home in This World Anymore<\/em> (2017)", "description": "This flick about a young woman (Melanie Lynskey) who gets robbed and decides she\u2019s not going to put up with any more crap was one of our favorites at the Sundance Film Festival this year. And now that Netflix rules Sundance, you can stream it just a month after its debut. Whee!", "@id": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/01\/IDontFeelAtHomeHP.jpg", "url": "https:\/\/http://www.wired.com\/2017\/01\/new-netflix-february-2017\/" } } ], "name": "13 Awesome Shows and Movies Coming to Netflix in February" }</\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>\em>

Read more: http://bit.ly/2kV7dRC

from 13 Awesome Shows and Movies Coming to Netflix in February

[butwhyduh]

Ghosts

Tim Drake x reader

Warning: grief, maladaptive grieving strategies, alcohol, smut, ghosts

I wrote this probably 3 months ago and just now edited it.

You met Tim Drake at the graveyard. It was a blustery early February day. The snow was on the ground but hadn’t snowed in a few days. A short dry blessing for Gotham. Graveyards were the few places that were treated as sanctuaries that they were. Most people in Gotham knew more than their fair share of loved ones residing in multiple across the city.

You walked down the stone path. In the summer the lazy shade of oak trees covered the path but right now, the bare branches just hung mockingly as they protected only a little from Gotham’s frequently bad winds.

You pulled your coat a little tighter and wished you had grabbed a scarf too. Nevermind, your visit was going to be short. You moved with practiced ease through the tombstones. You knew exactly were they were buried. A delicate iron fence surrounded a small spattering of stones. His family plot.

You walked through the gate to a grave on the right side. A small stone vase was attached to the tombstone. You placed a single white daffodil before standing silently. You had nothing to say. Funny when you miss a final goodbye, you often run out of things to say afterwards. You couldn’t cry. It was too stiff. Too odd. All you could do is sigh deeply before walking out of the yard.

You swiftly walked down the path as you hoped to escape the place that caused so much pain. In your hast, you hadn’t bothered watching for others. People very rarely visited on such cold days. You ran into someone.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasped. You’d ran into a man that was clearly grieving. How terribly rude.

“I’m okay,” he said steadying you with a hand on your elbow.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I’ll let you be,” you said, flushing even in the cold weather.

“Are you alright?” He asked looking at you carefully. You nodded but didn’t move. “Grief is odd, isn’t it? I had to come down here but feel nothing. Not a damn thing.”

You froze. Most people weren’t this honest. “I get it. Grieving sucks. And it never makes any sense, hu?”

“No. It really doesn’t. I think that I’ll come down here and have a deep conversation with him but nothing comes out. I get over here and feel silly talking to a stone,” he said with a sigh. You looked at him. He was about your age and wore a long black peakcoat and a red scarf that whipped in the wind. His clothes were impeccably tailored but looked almost too mature for him. Something a man closer to 30 would wear rather than a guy around 20. Black hair, icy blue eyes. A little bit of a natural sarcastic smile.

“Sometimes the words come when I sit for a while,” you offered.

“Do you- do you mind if I ask who you were visiting? Not their name but who they were to you? You don’t have to. I just wonder,” he said. You hesitated before speaking.

“My boyfriend. He was my boyfriend. And you?”

“My best friend,” he said. “I don’t visit enough. Not near enough.”

“I understand. I’ll let you be then. So you can talk to them instead,” you said carefully. Most people wanted quiet alone time with their dead loved ones. Unlike you. You felt a sense of relief. At least your ghosts weren’t speaking to you when there was someone there.

“Please don’t,” he said quickly. Perhaps not. Maybe you weren’t the only one haunted by ghosts, even if his was more metaphorical. “I just hate being here alone. You don’t have to stay. I’m just a weirdo asking you to hang around a random grave.”

“It’s okay. I really hate being here alone too,” you said barely over a whisper. He nodded. “Do you- do you want to talk about them?”

“Him. Not really. He was just so young. To be dead already,” he said. You looked at the headstone. Yes 22 was far too young to be in the ground. You didn’t say anything.

“I’ll wake up and forget he’s dead sometimes,” he said playing with his fingers roughly. “And it’s like he dies all over again.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll have a dream so vivid that it’s like he’s back. Sleeping can be so cruel, can’t it?” You said, feeling your throat tighten a little.

“It’s the worst. I just see his death over and over. I think my mind hates me sometime,” he admitted before gulping. You nodded again. You didn’t trust your voice not to break and you could bear to cry.

“You’re freezing,” he said suddenly, looking at you. “Here,” he offered you his scarf and put it around your neck before you could truly protest. His soft cologne invaded your senses. “Do you want get a drink? Or a coffee?”

“I could use a drink,” you answered and he nodded. He kicked the dirt with the tip of his shoes.

“There’s a little pub around the corner. They play cliche Irish music but it’s pretty quiet with good drinks,” he said.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Tim. Yours?” He asked back and you told him your first name. “Drinks? It’s cool if not.”

“Yes. I’m half frozen at this point,” you admitted.

“I can tell. You need to wear more layers,” Tim said with a small smirk.

“Is that Gotham’s version of ‘you’re not from around here?’” You asked. He huffed in amusement.

“Basically. You’re from somewhere warmer,” he said. You shrugged in agreement. “Let’s get going before you freeze.”

“It would be the most ironic place to die,” you responded. He shook his head but didn’t seem upset at your dark humor.

The pub was Irish themed in a way that made you wonder if they did anymore research besides the color green and putting on Flogging Molly which isn’t really Irish anyways. But it was warm and smelled like fried food. You sat in a cramped booth in the back and you couldn’t help but notice just how out of place Tim looked. Everything about him screamed rich and this was a working class bar. Tim didn’t seem to mind though.

“Are you hungry,” he asked and you realized you had a rumbling in your stomach. When was the last time you ate?

“Yeah. I wasn’t hungry until just now,” you commented.

“Yeah I usually force myself to eat,” he said waving over the waiter, a tall skinny guy that looked about 14 with almost white blond hair wet with sweat. You both ordered food and drinks.

“What do you do for a living,” you asked Tim as the food arrived. You were finally warm.

“My job is really boring. I work in investment in a technological corporation,” he said and your eyebrows rose. Tim shedded his coat. “I told you, boring.”

“Sounds... serious,” you said with a little smile and he chuckled. His smile was handsome and he had pretty blue eyes.

“Well, yeah. What do you do? Is your job fun?” He asked in a teasing voice. Even as you smiled back at him, you felt guilty. How could you be happy right now?

“I’m a painter. Or I’d like to be. I mainly design advertisements for companies right now,” you said.

“Painting? That actually sounds fun,” he said a little surprised. “Sorry. I haven’t really been around people since...”

“Yeah. It’s hard to be there when their happy and you’re...” you said. Great. You just made it dark again.

“Yeah...”

“Hey pretty lady,” a drunk man said, sitting next to you in the booth, pushing you closer to the wall. “Have I seen an angel on a star, or whatever.”

“Okay, let’s get going,” Tim said standing up and putting his hand on the guy’s shoulder and the guy shrugged him off. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“How do you know, rich boy? Maybe she wants to talk to a real man,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t,” you breathed as he leaned towards you. You pulled back against the wall. Tim pulled the man out of the booth. The guy growled and sized Tim up. He must have thought he had a good chance, being at least 4-5 inches taller and 50 lbs or more heavier.

He took a drunken swing at Tim who easily deflected away from him. The man didn’t stop but tried to punch Tim again. When he deflected another attack, the man grew even more red faced and tried to tackle Tim against the table. Before the gasp you made could fully come out, Tim had slipped out of the way and grabbed the back of the man’s neck and popped his face on the table. The man slid down unconscious to lay on the floor.

You stared with your mouth slightly agape. What the hell just happened??

“Are you okay?” Tim asked and you stuttered before assuring him you were. “Then we should probably get going. The bar won’t like this.”

“It’s a pub,” you corrected.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said and you snapped out of it as he grabbed your hand and left out the building before the owner could throw you out. He instead screamed out the door that neither of you could come back. You and Tim ran down the street before stopping at the next block. You laughed loudly and after a confused second, Tim joined. He was still holding your hand.

“That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” you said loudly before Tim shushed you. “How did you? He didn’t even get one hit in,” you breathed.

“Luck I guess?”

“Not a chance. You do karate or something,” you said, standing way too close to him. He grinned at you.

“Some Krav Maga. A little Jui Jitsu,” Tim said almost shyly and you nodded.

“I’ll pretend to know know what those are,” you said and he chuckled. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Tim said staring at you. You caught him looking down at your lips. He was really handsome and had just saved you. Cliche? Totally. Did you care? No.

You put your arm on his other shoulder, Tim’s free hand slid to hold your waist. He bent until he was just short of kissing you. All you had to do was lean up to kiss him.

“Can I?” He breathed.

“Yes,” you whispered. He pressed his lips against yours. The kiss started gentle but before long Tim’s hand held your jaw as he pushed his tongue in your mouth. You made a little breathy moan. Tim pulled back to catch a breath but still rested his forehead against yours. You grabbed his collar and pulled him back in. He grasped your back and pressed your body against his. You were panting when you finally pulled your lips apart.

“My place is a few blocks away,” you breathed. He gave you a questioning look. “If you, if you wanna come back.” He nodded before giving you a dizzying kiss. “Through this alley and we’ll be there in 2 minutes.”

“You shouldn’t walk through alleys,” he said before giving you another kiss. You pulled him along.

“I think I’m fine with you.” You said kissing him before walking some more.

“Okay but still. Alleys are dangerous.” He answered before you placed another kiss on his lips.

“Yeah, and we’re out of the alley now,” you said. “And here’s my building,” you said suddenly shy. You didn’t want your neighbors seeing you kissing some random guy. Especially one obviously rich like Tim. He probably didn’t even know he stuck out. You pulled away from him.

You unlocked the door and quietly offered for him to walk in. Where did your boldness go? Tim stepped in and you thanked your stars that you had cleaned up that morning.

“Do you want a drink?” You asked as you shut the door. Tim hung his coat on a coat rack that had come with the places. He shook his head and walked over to you. His eyes looked over your body like he wanted to eat you.

“What do you want?” You whispered. He looked down at you with dark eyes. His lips were red from your kissing.

“You?” He said more as a question. Can I have you?

“Hmm,” you said with a little smirk before pulling him down by the collar to kiss more. Tim’s hands roamed your body, gentle at first and then more aggressive.

You knew you shouldn’t bring a man home. Not a one night stand. Especially because you were grieving. Emotional. But as dusk fell outside your window and his hands held you firmly, you couldn’t help but be grateful that he was chasing your ghosts away. He leaned over your in bed, his lips pressed against your collarbone as he fingered you.

“Do you have condoms?” He breathed against your skin in a rough voice.

“Bedside table, top drawer,” you answered. Tim reached over to grab one. “Are you sure? Do you want this?” He asked, holding it in hand.

“Yes,” you said taking the condom to roll it on yourself. Tim breathed out quickly as you jerked a few times before sliding it on. He leaned over you and carefully looked over your face before sliding in.

You arched into his touch as he moved. His touch was soft, sweet, cautious. But not in the way anyone in your life treated you. There was no pity. You weren’t a broken doll to be tiptoed around. He was grieving too. His movement sped up as you both got closer and you got out of your head.

You softly moaned his name as you came. Tim groaned before resting his forehead against yours as he finished. He pulled out and threw the condom away. He pulled on his boxers but didn’t seem to know what to do next.

“Stay,” you said and he looked at you surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Just-just tonight. I hate sleeping alone,” you said, feeling small. The idea of him leaving had the place feel colder, darker. Tim seemed to deliberate in his head before nodding.

“I can stay just tonight,” he said and you weren’t quite sure if he was telling you or himself. He climbed in bed and you scooted closer. He laid on his side and you slid closer to spoon. It was comforting to hear another heartbeat and feel the warmth of a body. It’d been months since you’d had that. Even if it was just one night, you didn’t feel alone. It felt secure and you quickly fell asleep.

You woke up to the unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of laying on a man’s chest wrapped up tight in blankets. A steady heartbeat and warm skin was soothing in the early morning light. You almost drifted off to sleep to the sounds of his breathing when you saw her.

A ghost. A woman in her late 30s or early 40s in conservative upper class women clothing that wasn’t too out of date. She had her arms crossed over her chest and she looked down at you both in disapproval. Her nose looked like Tim’s and she had the same black straight hair as he did.

You gulped and tried to blink her away. That worked some times. Not today. It was weird to see her anyways. Wasn’t it his make best friend that died? Who was she? She stepped closer and you stiffened. She was self-aware and was trying to speak to you. A very determined ghost indeed.

Tim moved in his sleep as if he could sense her presence. She reached out her hand as if she wanted to push the hair back on his forehead. You gasped as she moved closer. What kind of fucking ghost...? Tim woke up and she disappeared with a pop.

“You okay? You look scared or something,” he said in a rough pretty morning voice. You debated answering him truthfully that he was haunted by a mean looking woman but decided against it. He was a one night thing right?

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” you said and he nuzzled closer.

“Hmm I’d rather have breakfast,” he muttered kissing your neck. You flushed. You hadn’t bothered shopping in a while.

“I don’t really- my fridge is-“

“Not the kind I’m talking about,” Tim said gently pushing you to your back.

“Oh,” you said as he slid beneath the sheets. You certainly weren’t complaining as he kissed down your body. He was good at it but it was also a great tactile distraction. Ghosts weren’t there when you were far to busy to see them.

It’s a little different so let me know what you think.