#Tim thinks this is it and he’s done for

[jellyfishsthings]

Interrupted Dates

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dividers by @cafekitsune 

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

 “So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

 “NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

  It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly  “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

[pearlfull]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[verekatt]

I love this. Accidental Thrall!Jason my beloved, I'm so sorry poor boy.

Jason immediately calls a code red (or code mind control leading to ally death/disappearance, I'm sure Batman's prepared enough to have a specific code for that).

He recognises logically that he made a mistake, that he's done something unforgivable, but every time he thinks about it, he feels content and accomplished. He knows it's ongoing mind control, he knows that once he snaps out of this he'll be horrified and ashamed, but he can't feel that right now. All he can feel is that he served his King well.

He calls the Bats in. He knows he's compromised. His desire to protect his family, his people, is fighting the compulsion. After enough time in a containment cell, his Obsession wins out. He has to protect his people. He flips from thralldom to full-blown Obsession.

The Bats are trying, but the magic circle Jason used isn't like anything they've ever seen. JL Dark can tell it's sacrificial to the High King of the Infinite Realms, but that doesn't answer why Jason was mind controlled, why Tim was sacrificed, or how to get Tim back. Tim's property of the Crown now, and no one knows how to break that. Constantine warns them against any attempt to enter the Realms, and although every Bat has volunteered to go alone, none are willing to send their family in. It's a suicide mission, and they all know it. The Bat's self-sacrificial argument continues as Jason's Obsession starts rearing it's head.

Jason has instinctual knowledge. He doesn't know how, but he draws a circle in his own blood in his cell while the Bats are fighting outside. By the time they notice, he's gone, a circle of runes in drying blood the only evidence he was ever there.

Tim's gone, Jason's gone and mind controlled, and the Bats have nothing but a deathwish to guide them. Meanwhile, Danny's very distressed about the sacrificial CEO and the furious Revenant who followed. He just wanted a secretary!

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices

Danny gripped his bangs in his fist, staring down at the paperwork before him with endless frustration and not a lick of comprehension.

Why was there so much paperwork, anyway? Pariah Dark hadn't exactly seemed like the type to keep records. Had he done this on purpose? As punishment to whomever wound up taking the throne from him? Danny had to admit, that sounded like a really devious plan. Unless the next ruler had been, like, The Secretary Ghost or something.

… that gave Danny an idea.

Clockwork had told him about this "Kingly Connection" thing he had yet to try out. Supposedly, it made it so that the king could address his subjects all at once, no matter where they may be. In case of an urgent announcement or Realms-threatening danger, or something.

To Danny, it sounded like a really efficient way to send out a 'Help Wanted' ad. Everyone would be able to hear it, and anyone who for some reason didn't could learn about it through word of mouth. Those who felt they were qualified could come see him at the Keep, and those who didn't could just continue on with whatever they'd been doing. It was the perfect plan.

Danny flopped back in his seat, relieved for the reprieve as he shut his tired eyes. He followed the pull, down, down, into his core… and then even further, til the light behind his eyes got brighter, til he reached the power of the KING.

Hey, everyone. This is your King speaking. I need like, a secretary or something. Someone who can help me handle literal millennia of paperwork. So, if y'all could come on down to the Keep, or pass the offer on to the smartest person you know, that'd be dope.

Danny felt as the power pulsed within his chest, sending his message out along the millions of tiny strings tying all Undead souls back to his. He sighed and slouched in his chair, exhaustion finally catching up to him. All he had to do now was wait. A little nap in the meantime couldn't hurt, could it?

— — —

Jason felt simultaneously floaty and more grounded than he had since his mysterious resurrection. All his anger and uncertainty was just gone, replaced by pure drive and direction. He wasn't thinking very deeply, but he knew what he was doing. It was like laying on the surface of a sunlit lake, letting the gentle waves take him wherever they wished.

The Red Hood finished the chalk circle in the middle of the wide, empty warehouse floor and stepped back. The lines and starbursts that decorated it were drawn immaculately, without a single smudge. Now, all he needed was…

… the smartest person you know…

… Where was Tim?

[rainrot4me]

praying for how proxies react to a girlfriend with nipple piercings. casually flashing Jeff because he's trying to start shit

✦ . jeff the killer

You’re both arguing—bickering, really. Something stupid that won’t matter in an hour. Jeff’s sprawled on the couch, flipping a knife between his fingers like it’s the only thing in the world worth his attention. Then—just as he’s about to get another snide comment in—you tug up your shirt and flash him those pretty barbells.

The knife slips. Clatters to the floor.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His voice drops, low and sharp, eyes locked on the metal gleam. “How is this even fair?”

You roll your eyes, tugging you shirt back down. “Finally, you’ve shut up.”

Jeff is up in a second, crossing the room like he’s hunting something down. His hand is gripped tight around your jaw, dragging your attention solely on him as he pushes your shirt back up.

“You think flashing those pretty little things is gonna save you?” He grins, wicked and baring his teeth. “Don’t start crying here in a minute. This is your fault.”

✦ . ticci toby

Toby’s tinkering with his gear, muttering to himself, hoodie sleeves pushed up and goggles on. He’s left you alone all afternoon, too busy making sure his goggles are screwed in tightly. This will get his attention. You step into the room, casually peel your top up, and wait.

His stimming fingers pause. He blinks once, twice.

“O-Oh—What the hell, babe?” He sputters, heat creeping up his neck. “Je-Jesus Christ.” His eyes can’t focus on one, gaze flipping from jewel to jewel.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Thought you liked shiny things.”

He makes a garbled sound in his throat, like his brain just bluescreened. He drops the tools he had in his hands, the objects clattering into the desk and he stumbles from his seat. You start giggling, turning to the door to start running down the hall.

“Ah-ah. Come ba-back, sweet thing. You don’t get to just do that and leave.”

✦ . eyeless jack

You’re perched on the counter while Jack organizes surgical tools—always meticulous, always taking forever. You keep grumbling about being bored, and Jack keeps telling you he’s almost finished. He’s said it five times now. You say nothing back, just lift your shirt slowly and let the light catch the steel.

He stops mid-motion. Silent.

He schools his expression, gaze lingering only for a second, but the subtle shift in his stance says everything.

“…You enjoy tempting me, don’t you?” His voice is deep, almost hoarse.

You smirk. “Guess I wanted to see if the doctor could keep his hands to himself.”

He steps forward, gloved fingers brushing your waist as he lowers your shirt back down. Smirking in response when you gawk.

“I told you I was almost done, didn’t I? Sit still, pet, you’ll get yours eventually.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim’s stressed. You can feel it in the way he paces, muttering under his breath, tension thick in the air. He’s prepping for a mission tomorrow, but he’s supposed to be spending time with you. So, naturally, you break the mood by pulling your hoodie up with a nonchalant yawn.

He freezes, steps faltering until he plants his feet and glares at you.

“What the fuck—are you serious?”

He stares like you just slapped him. Then he drags a hand down his face, groaning.

“You got any idea how hard you’re making this for me right now?”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, I’ve got ideas. Especially ones about making you hard.”

“Get over here. Now.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Brian’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silent as always. You just had an argument, something stupid about not throwing yourself in front of a bullet, it didn’t matter. You approach him slowly, then, with a smirk, lift your shirt just enough to let him see the piercings before dropping it again.

Nothing. No change in posture. No reaction. You roll your eyes, then turn to leave.

Until he steps behind you, lips brushing your ear.

“You don’t get to tease and walk away, sweetheart.”

The quiet threat in his voice makes your skin burn. He takes your hand and guides it to his lips.

“You just volunteered to spend the rest of the night making up for that.”

✦ . kate the chaser

You’re training in the woods, sweat slicking your skin. She’s being so uptight, barking at you to get your steps right and plant your heels when she’s moving toward you. You just can’t seem to catch up, and when you’re sure she’s looking—you tug your shirt up and flash her with a wink.

She stops mid-step. Blinks.

“Seriously? You trying to get your ass kicked or kissed right now?”

You smirk. “Whichever comes first.”

She tackles you to the ground with a grin.

“You’ll get both. Don’t beg me to stop later.”

✦ . ben drowned

He’s halfway through a game, headset on, trash-talking some poor teenager. You know Ben loves to sit and do nothing for hours, but this is getting a little ridiculous. He barely notices you come into his room when you sneak into frame, lift your shirt, and smile.

His jaw drops. The controller falls.

“YO—what the hell! Babe, I’m streaming!”

You snicker. “And now your viewers know how good you’ve got it.”

He rips off the headset, face red and wild.

“You better run. No one’s gonna save you now.”

✦ . clockwork

You’re chatting in the kitchen, all innocent smiles and soft steps, and then bam—shirt goes up. Piercings out. Nat can barely finish another bite of her sandwich before it’s falling onto the plate.

Natalie goes dead silent.

“…You little brat.”

She’s on you in a second, pushing you back against the fridge, her smile feral.

“You know exactly what that does to me. You want attention that bad? Say please.”

✦ . laughing jack

You flash him mid-sentence—he’s rambling about a new prank idea, barely paying attention to you when you had already asked him to spend time together. You were beginning to feel a little invisible. His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open comically.

“WELL. Aren’t you full of surprises!”

He grabs your hand, spinning you in a little circle like he’s on stage.

“If this is your way of flirting, please never stop. I adore it.”

Then he dips you, dramatic as always.

“Encore, darling. Encore!”

✦ . slenderman

You wait until he’s in his study—quiet, composed, perfectly poised—and simply step in, lift your shirt, and stand there without a word. He knows you’re there, he’s just not giving you the satisfaction of acknowledgment until he’s done filing some news articles.

He doesn’t move. He just finally looks up.

But the air shifts. Thickens. Warps.

“That is not wise,” his voice says, low and heavy in your skull.

You smile. “Isn’t it?”

A tendril wanes from his back, reaching across the room, brushes your cheek. Another traces your spine. Then they’re wrapping around you and pulling you toward him.

“Then allow me to show you the consequences of such… audacity.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[totally-here]

The lock to the cottage is an easy pick. Jason waits for a minute before actually going in, steeling himself for what unseen trap his newest mentor must have to make up for such lackluster security. He makes it to the kitchen unharmed before deciding that whoever this Fenton is, he’s either overconfident or stupid. There’s not even security cameras. 

Fenton’s away right now, so Jason takes the time to do a sweep for any less visible bugs or cameras. He finds nothing unusual other than some unlabeled wine. The cottage is small, and almost eerily idyllic. It’s located in the English countryside, surrounded by woods but close enough to a town to not be completely cut off from civilization. 

Jason has no idea what he’s supposed to learn here. 

Gravel crunches underfoot outside, and Jason turns to watch a man walk up to the front door. His steps only falter slightly when he realizes the door’s unlocked, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees Jason sitting at his dining table, arms crossed over his chest and staring daggers at him. 

“Your security’s shit,” Jason tells him. 

“Um,” Fenton says in reply.The man’s probably late twenties, early thirties and doesn’t have much muscle mass. He’s carrying an honest to God wicker basket filled with miscellaneous plants. His face goes through several emotions, completely unguarded. Fenton’s clearly not an assassin. He finally lands on realization. “Oh! You’re Talia’s kid, right? She called a few weeks ago. Didn’t, uh, say why you’re here, though?” 

Fenton passes Jason to drop his basket off near the sink, putting his back to him while he washes his hands like Jason couldn’t attack him right now. Or that Jason isn’t big enough of a danger to consider a threat. He tries to stomp down the indignant anger that wells up in his throat. Fenton turns around quickly without turning off the faucet. 

He stares at Jason, squinting at his eyes. Jason stares back, showing anger instead of confusion at the sudden tone shift. Fenton tilts his head like a cat getting a new angle. Jason tries not to feel like a bird, but the comparison only stokes his anger instead of anything useful. 

“What?” he snarls out, resisting the urge to just deck this guy for wasting his time and leave. He’s here to train, not get stared at like a caged specimen. 

“...Sorry.” Fenton quits glaring and turns the faucet off without looking behind him. “I think I know why she sent you here… Um, what’s your name?”

Talia hadn’t told him? Not even a first name? “...Bennet.” Clearly she doesn’t fully trust this guy with how in the dark he is, so Jason’s not going to trust him either.

“Alright, Bennet. I’m Danny.” He shuffles around the kitchen for a minute, pulling out one of the unlabelled wine bottles from the back of the cupboard and a plastic cup from a cabinet. He uncorks the bottle, fills the cup, then slides it over to Jason. 

Jason looks from it to Danny, who sits across from him. “I’m not old enough to drink.” 

It’s not something he really cares about anymore, especially with the fluctuating limits across Europe, but it’ll say more about what type of person Danny is if he forces the issue or not. Jason takes note that Danny didn’t take a cup himself. 

“It’s not alcoholic,” Danny says. He keeps the bottle on the table, but recorks it. “So, Bennet, I take it you took a dip in the Lazarus pit?”

“How do you know that,” Jason barks out, uncrossing his arms if only to be in a better position to get to his dagger. There’s no way Talia would have told him that but not his name. 

Fenton shrugs. “I have an eye for that sorta thing.” He sniffles. He looks more tired than he did a minute ago. “Also your eyes are glowing green.”

Jason snaps his eyes down, looking away from Danny’s too calm face. His gaze lands on the cup, and looking for a distraction he holds it in both his hands. The smell is more floral than he expects wine to be, even a non-alcoholic one. 

“How’d you get in? The demon’s head is pretty possessive of his goo.” Fenton fiddles with the bottle, tipping it back and forth by the top. 

“Talia,” Jason grits out, still staring at the table. 

Danny hums. “She threw you in? Must be pretty special for her to break the rules like that.” He pauses, and Jason feels eyes on him. “But I guess the why’s not important. The how, that’s what I want.” He hums again. Fenton lets go of the bottle, and it slams back onto the table. “Lemme guess, head injury?”

Jason grits his teeth against the sudden flash of memories the suggestion pulls, and then against the immediate anger at feeling, at being so weak. He’s alive again, it shouldn’t affect him so much. Jason pulls on that anger as an anchor, lifting his eyes again to glare at Fenton. The man doesn’t react, only looking at him expectantly. Like he thinks he’s owed an answer. Jason doesn’t deign to give him one, pointedly downing his drink instead. 

He immediately regrets it. 

Not even a second after it’s down his throat does the burning start. He lurches forward in his seat before stumbling out of the chair entirely. He has mind enough to fumble over to the sink to blow chunks in it. Instead of this morning’s breakfast, however, nothing but sickly green Lazarus water spews into the sink. He coughs out the last of it, collapsing against the sink’s counter. He tries to move his arms enough to get his dagger out of his boot, but his limbs are lead. 

Jason presses the side of his face against the cool surface of the counter, staring across the room at Fenton, who has the audacity to look sympathetic. “What. Was that.” 

“Blood blossom extract,” Fenton answers while swishing the bottle. He sets it down only to wipe at the stream of blood coming from his nose. “It’s toxic to the undead, but flushes out pit residue.” 

Jason expects the anger that rises in his chest, but he doesn’t expect how quickly it subsides to the fear and coldness that follows. He tries to muster up any rage, just for the heat, but only gets another surge of green he barely shoots up to the sink to get rid of. 

Jason leans over, panting against the countertop. “I’m not undead.” His voice comes out shaky. 

“Yeah, which is why the ectoplasm from the pit keeps trying to fix you the only way it knows how: emotional energy,” Danny explains, “It hits harder than usual with head injuries. Gunk in the gears, you know?” 

Jason does not know. His legs waver and he sinks back down to the floor, back against the counter. Fenton stays where he is. Not close enough to be an immediate threat and making no move to put himself in a more beneficial position. 

“Ectoplasm,” Jason bites out, “like the ghost stuff?” 

“Yeah. I’m kinda an expert. I figure that’s probably what Talia wanted me to teach you about, or, like the pits in general I guess?” He sighs. “I can never tell what she wants.”

Jason ignores the chatter, instead focusing on the important parts. Ectoplasm is ghost stuff, Danny got a nosebleed next to the blood blossom extract, the blood blossom extract is toxic to the undead. Talia sent Jason here to learn about the pits from a ghost that poisoned him. Poisoned him with a bottle that’s easily accessible. 

Fine. Not like he expected this to go any different from any of his other mentors. Jason’ll learn everything there is about the pits, then he’ll kill the bastard.

[slipstreamborne]

Holy crap, AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING! Thank you!!! And hilariously, I just logged on to share my own just-discovered links because this morning I decided to dig out a box of papers and sketchbooks from middle and high school to see if I had done any angsty fic-inspired doodles (as was my wont) that I could glean more clues from, and guess what I apparently printed out IN FULL in 2001 and have had SITTING IN A CLOSET this ENTIRE goddamn time????!!!??!?!

--

"In the Blood" by Benway (aka Dr. Benway)

Originally published in 2001 on the Outside the Lines mailing list, winner of the 2002 Comic Book Fan-Fiction Awards for "Best Gotham" fic. 

Full compiled fic (publishing dates indicate chapter breaks):  [here]

Backup chapter by chapter links (via Wayback Machine):  [Notes] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

CONTENT WARNING: This is a R/M-rated darkfic with mature themes, including drug use, sexual content (characters are 18+), eugenics, and references to off-screen incest. Chapters 7 and 8 also include some homophobic language, and Tim’s narration consistently misgenders and deadnames two genderqueer drag performers (one of whom does explicitly correct him).

--

Having now reread it AT LAST, I’m struck by how different the tone, themes, and characterization are from pretty much every modern Bat-fic I’ve read (no affirming if complicated found family here; this pre-dates Jason Todd's resurrection, for starters, and in-canon Cassandra had only just started to learn to talk and was often treated with mistrust), and just how VERY rooted in the early ‘00s the real-world details of the story are:

There's a plot point that Tim was conceived 5 years after the first successful IVF transfer (1978), making Tim's birth year 1983 (elder millenial Robin!)

Pre-cellphone communication logistics, like having to leave people notes, messages on answering machines, and Tim's identity being discovered because he didn't think Stephanie would have caller ID

The transition from analog to digital media. Older records are on microfiche or hand-written in notebooks, phone directories are physical books kept in libraries, the yellow pages are still an important data source but are now online, Yahoo is Tim's search engine of choice...

Holy opiate crisis Batman, Tim casually keeps oxycodone in his utility belt and takes them for a (grantedly bad) headache.

Queer culture depicted through a VERY 00's-tinted lens. Some fun details (like the reference to the bizarre popularity of monastic chanting), but others that definitely read differently now. It really highlights how much things have changed for the better.

That said if anyone was into the Batman fandom circa 1998-2002 and remembers a drama/mystery/angst fic where Robin found out that his dad was infertile and he was conceived via IVF using donor sperm, began to suspect that he was Bruce's biological son (at the same time wondering if he himself could be the father of Stephanie's baby), and later discovered that his bio-father was actually the JOKER, Bruce had known the entire goddamn time, AND Bruce had been the one to arrange for the sperm donor samples to be swapped in the first place in a fucked up "nature vs nurture" experiment...

Please please please PLEASE pass along any links or other details you recall because I am desperate to read it again.

Writer's pen name may have been Jack something? They had a very direct, Hemmingway-esque writing style that was all simple sentences, that blew baby me away. Didn't use quotation marks for dialogue, and included all these small but grimly practical details that really sold the Gothic realism of the story, like Stephanie wearing a dental bridge because she's had some teeth knocked out in a fight.

[quinnsdesk]

QUINN DOES TIM GET JEALOUS? maybe more in a protective and possessive way OOOO

Ahhhh yes yes yes I love this!

I'm thinking Tim definitely gets jealous, while you're his patrol partner it's totally protective but when you're finally his AH HE'S SO POSSESIVE!

all x fem!reader || mdni under the cut ✭

Before you two start dating:

✭ Tim Bradford definitely gets jealous, but not in the obvious way. Not at first. While you're just his patrol partner, it manifests as protectiveness. He's territorial about your safety, your reputation, and your performance. He says it's just because you're a fellow officer, just part of the job, but it’s more than that.

✭ I can totally imagine him, when he was your T.O, not liking it when other officers call you “boot” like they own the word. He gets weirdly stiff when you share inside jokes with anyone else.

✭ If another cop tries to flirt with you at roll call, Tim's standing closer than usual, shoulder brushing yours, cutting in before the conversation can go anywhere. "It's called professionalism," he says when you tease him about it later. "You're my responsibility out there."

✭ Oh and when you're on patrol and a drunken civilian makes a comment about how he's always had a thing for ladies in uniform? "Damn, girl, I never knew cops could be so sexy." Tim lights up in flames, internally. "Watch it." He demands before positioning himself between you and the suspect in a protective manner. "It's not 'girl'. It's officer to you." He barks before cuffing the man and being a little too rough when putting him in the shop.

✭ When Nyla and Angela finally notices how Tim gives Aaron death stares as you and Aaron talk about the latest ClipTalk trend they confront him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I look out for all my rookies like this. Even though she's P2 now." Man is lying through his teeth; he's never done such.

✭ And when he's really pissed, he'll channel out all his frustrations in the shower. Tim's got a large ego, so he can't help himself but to run his hand over his hard length imagining you and your wide, beautiful eyes. You're in the bathroom of the bar, your "date" only a few feet away, as you take his cock like the perfect girl you are. Only for Tim to open his eyes to be disappointed once he cums in his fist, he misses your touch.

✭ When you're in interrogation, a guy who may be connected to Elijah Stone can't help but glance down at your chest every once in a while, before asking for a glass of water. You happily leave, leaving Tim and the suspect alone in the room. "When she gets back you better talk to me and not her chest, or else I'll cut your eyes out and feed them to my dog, Kojo." The man is understandably terrified.

✭ I see him never letting you approach a hostile suspect alone. "Tim, I'm not your rookie anymore." You whine in protest, "I don't care, stay behind me." His voice deep, a raspy, sending shivers down your spine.

✭ Tim absolutely hates it if anyone, even Grey, raises their voice at you. A detective was just about to chew you out for not firing your weapon at an unarmed suspect who in turn got away. "Hey! You got a problem with my partner? She did her job the way I trained her, so if you got a problem with her, you got a problem with me." The detective shuts up leaving both you and Tim in an awkward silence.

✭ If you're searching an apartment and the suspect checks you out. Tim will wait for you to leave the room before grabbing the guy's collar. "I will blow your fucking brains out. Try me." Before letting him go and waiting 2 minutes before turning his body cam back on.

✭ "Who's that?" He asks pointing to your date who's picking you up at the station. "Oh that's just Jake, my date." You smile watching the hair on the back of Tim's neck stand up. He waits for you to go clock out before walking over to him, gripping his hand a little too hard when he goes for a shake. "Take care of her. I don't want to have to console her when they take you away in a body bag." The man gulps as Tim smiles before you walk back and say goodbye to him.

✭ "Officer Pretty." The words clung to Tim's thoughts like a leech as you bandaged his knuckles, "You really need to start boxing with gloves." You chuckled, of course he felt bad for lying to you, but you can't know how he puts he career at risk every day when a suspect calls you hot.

When you guys are finally together:

✭ Tim sees a guy look at you too long at a bar and suddenly his arm is around your waist, voice low in your ear: “You want me to handle that or are you gonna smile and let him keep staring?” You smile at him teasingly before he grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a deep and possessive kiss right in the middle of the bar, making the man's mouth go dry.

✭ The phrase “You’re mine” gets a lot more airtime when he’s feeling jealous. It’s not even meant to be sexy sometimes, it’s territorial. "I was wondering if I could get your number?" A rookie from another division asks. Tim walks over, his metro shirt clinging to his chest, "She's got my number and that's all she needs." He barks before giving the rookie his signature death glare. "You know you don't need to be so possessive over me?" You kiss him on the cheek. "Everyone is this station needs to know who you belong to."

✭ No more then 5 minutes later he has you bent over his desk in his office, the sweet squelching noises of your pussy making you whine as he rams himself into you. "That clown thinks he can make you feel this good? Tell me who you belong to." He grunts with each thrust. "Yo- You Seargeant Bradford." You gasp as a sharp stinging sensation forms on your ass cheek. "That's right. You're mine, pretty girl."

✭ Tim will see you talking to other male officers, but he wouldn't mind. Knowing that your panties are in his pocket will give him a peace of mind. He knows you're uncomfortable, your thighs are sticky, leaking of his cum but he loves it. You glance over to him watching his hand remain in his pocket, fiddling with the fragile fabric before running that exact hand over his face. You knew what he was doing. Reminding you who you belong to. That fucker.

✭ Oh he gets so pissy when you call another guy handsome even as a joke. "Can he fuck you like I do? Huh?" He groans into your neck with each thrust, "Fuck you so good, you can't even form a coherent reply." He mocks as you whimper. He places your hand on your lower belly where you feel his cock ramming in and out of you. "Feel that? That's me baby, not him." He spits before speeding up.

✭ Imagine you spotted your ex at the precinct’s fundraiser. It was harmless, just small talk. But the second Tim noticed, you felt his energy shift across the room. His jaw clenched, drink forgotten on the nearest table as he stalked over like he owned the place. “Hey,” your ex said, smiling politely. “Didn’t know you’d be here tonight.” Before you could reply, a hand found the small of your back. “She is,” Tim said, stepping up beside you. His voice was calm, but cool enough to make someone freeze. “With me.” Your ex extended a hand. “Tim, right? Good to finally meet you.” Tim didn't take it, he just looked at him. You tried to cut the tension. “We were just catching up. It’s not a big deal.” Tim didn’t take his eyes off him. “No, of course not." Tim smiles, but it's not genuine, it's cocky, egotistical, rude even. Your ex coughed awkwardly. “Right. Uh… well, good seeing you." As he walked away, Tim leaned in, voice low against your ear. “He doesn’t get to look at you like that anymore.”

@sleepymissy @whatasadlittlelife @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @winchestersbgirl @vinos-things

[pinkmom3]

Part 4

More than a month has passed since I threw my panties to Adam. I have continued leaving my used panties for him under his pillow, usually after my workout.

And I have, of course, continued my teasing of him and his friends. Why just last weekend he had friends over, first use of the pool this year, and I paid them a visit just before bedtime. I had showered and was now dressed comfortably in a pink tanktop and panties,  when I entered Adam's room where they were playing games on their phones.

Adam and Tim were in their boxers, not uncommon, while Kevin was in basketball shorts and a tshirt.

I almost always check in with Adam and his friends before heading to bed so its no surprise on this night. However, on this occasion I have pulled my tanktop down in the front exposing a copious amount of sideboob for the boys. I ask the polite questions of how their night is going and I get the polite answers. Then I ask, "What do you boys want to eat in the morning?"

I get noncommital answers like, "Anything mom, or Ms Linda I like all your cooking."

I reply, "Ok how about biscuits and gravy?"

Enthusiastic answers all around. I turn to leave and at the door I say quietly, "I hoped you all would say 'Me.'" I giggle and close the door behind me.

And I wait.

Then I clearly hear, "Dude, your mom is so hot. If I didnt respect her and you so much I'd chase that."

"Yeah, me too."

"Careful guys, although if she weren't my mom, I might do her too."

They laugh.

My little heart is happy.

In the kitchen the next morning Kevin and I are talking and drinking coffee while I make breakfast. Adam and Tim often sleep in since they stay up really late. Kevin, however, has almost always been an early riser. I'm not so provocatively dressed this morning in Lt Grey cotton shorts, white cotton tshirt, and barefoot. For those that need to know, I believe my panties were pink, also cotton, and no bra.

As we talked, I could see Kevin watching my breasts swaying and move beneath the thin cotton shirt I had on which, is light enough I believe to show my dark nipples.

Eggs, biscuits, and sausage done, I suggest that Kevin wake up the others via text or call. I begin making the gravy, which requires intensive whisking to keep lumps from forming. Kevin's eyes fairly bulge as he watches my boobs move rapidly back and forth.  I'm sure I can see a bulge forming in his shorts as well. These boys are so good for my ego. Gravy simmering, its time to set the dishes and flatware out. I make a conscious show of bending over to get things out of the dishwasher.  I know without looking that Kevin is taking it all in. I ask, "Thinking about what you would do to me, Kevin?"

"Uh, yeah...I mean no, Ms Linda.... I mean no disrespect."

"Its ok, Kev. I don't feel disrespected."

"Good, the last thing I want is to be uninvited."

"Attraction is a natural, normal thing. I might feel more disrespected if you weren't getting hard." I chuckle as poor Kevin turns beet red.

We can hear the other boys coming down the back stairs. Knowing the dangers of being between teenage boys and food, I grab my coffee and head to the table as I yell out, "Plates on the island and food on the stove."

I settle in at the head of the table as the boys fill their plates and sit to eat. As I listen, I learn about cool new games coming out, the game consoles, and Bryce's new girlfriend, hence his absence this weekend. I ask these boys when they will be pairing off with girls of their own. Of the various answers, Tim's is my favorite.

"When we can get girls like you, Ms Linda."

"If y'all find girls like me, you are all in trouble."

"True, they'd wear us out," says Kevin.

"Whatever they'd do, you would like."

Once done eating, my sweet boys know to rinse and put their dishes in the dishwasher, then they head off to the media room for video games until it warms up enough for the pool. I put the left overs away and tidy the kitchen, listening to my boys chatter and laugh in the other room.

[welcome-tothe-mystery-shack]

DP x DC Prompt: Single Mom Who Works Too Hard

Ship: Spirit Halloween (Danny Fenton/Bruce Wayne)

(If this ends up on Tiktok, I don't consent to it!)

We've all seen the DeAged Danny raised by Jazz trope, but how about a little something of the reverse end?

---

Danny's the Ghost King and has been for almost a thousand years at this point. He's also grown into his role as the Ancient of Space, working alongside his ghostly adoptive father, Clockwork, to ensure that the fabric of existence itself doesn't tear into pieces, mending reality wear it frays and making sure that troublemakers are taken care of, one way or another.

Jazz has been his confidant and head advisor ever since she became a ghost, with many joking about how she's his mom. Well apparently, word of this got back to one of said trouble makers, whom then misinterpreted the joke to be literal. Said troublemaker attacked Jazz while Danny was busy and she was travelling to a meeting with one of the more violent sub-kingdoms.

The attack was brutal and swift, and while she managed to escape to safety, the damage had been done and she was Fading. In a last ditch effort to save her, Frostbite offered to help Danny absorb her core so that he may incubate it until she was ready to reform anew. The problem is that, since Danny is a Halfa, Jazz's ghostly biology would be forced to adapt and she wouldn't reform as a full ghost, but instead as a Halfa like him, and would essentially become his daughter.

As such, she would be reborn as a baby. Whether or not she would retain her memories, or if they would return with time, or to what degree, was a mystery.

With no other choice other than to let her End, he agreed and the procedure is performed. After which, since the Realms are too dangerous at the moment to raise a new princess, Danny decides to take a brief sabbatical in a Mortal Realm. This way he could safely reform Jazz and raise her until she's old enough to defend herself. So with some help from Clockwork and Frostbite, he found a suitable dimension to do so. It was also dangerous, yes, but there were already plenty of heroes and it would have plenty of ectoplasm to sustain them.

Once some steps were put into place to keep the Realms running without him, leaving his (now elder) daughter Ellie in charge in his abscence (mostly, he still had to do paperwork), he slipped into the new dimension and found himself in a gloomy city called Gotham. It didn't take him long to get himself set up, using programs custom made by Technus and Tucker to put him into records, he gets an apartment and settles in.

Things are mostly quiet for the next year, as Jazz safely reforms as a newborn baby girl, looking almost exactly as she had in life, save for her new starlike silver freckles and lightly tapered ears, just like Danny's human form had. Learning to be a parent to a baby Halfa ended up being harder than he expected, as her cries would echo through the complex and her unchecked ghostly aura led to things becoming too much for their mortal neighbors as more and more moved out. Eventually, the building was almost empty, and Danny ended up having to buy the whole thing when the owner was thinking of demolishing it, which would've been a real hassle.

With most of the tenants gone already, Danny took the opportunity to do renovations, moving him and Jazz to the penthouse to get easy roof access and made a ton of modifications to minimize the effect that Jazz had on the mortal humans. He then started renting out to people in desperate need, offering cheap rent with generous leeway on payments since he didn't really need the money, and what he did get went to maintenance for the building, hiring staff and feeding him and Jazz.

Eventually word got back to Bruce about this single dad running an almost suspiciously affordable apartment complex and he decided to investigate it, just in case. He set Oracle to check out its virtual footprint and then sent Tim to act like he was interested in investing in the complex. If it turned out to be legit, then great, they would support it. If not, then they'd take care of it.

But then one day he just happened to bump into the (surprisingly attractive, boy did the pictures NOT do him justice) guy while out at a store so he decided to take the opportunity to try to get some answers from him himself, and the adorable baby girl in his arms.

She didn't look much like her father, aside from the freckles and the ears. Metas perhaps? That would be unfortunate, since Metas tended to be targeted and/or ended up getting pulled into villainy whether or not it was a willing decision. But that being said, nothing about the young family was immediately suspicious, and Bruce found himself actually enjoying the conversation.

After Tim and Babs both gave their reports that they'd found nothing immediately suspicious of the man, Bruce began to tentatively send people in need towards the complex, knowing that Danny would give them a good deal for a decent apartment. He would also begin to meet up with the man to discuss further expansions of actually affordable apartments, with Danny taking charge to ensure that his tenants were living in good conditions, even when it would keep him up later then he already did with a young toddler to raise.

The more that they interact, the more the two find themselves talking longer, about deeper topics, or even just sitting together in silence while Jazz played with her toys. And whenever Danny happened to nod off, exhausted, Bruce would make sure that the toddler was looked after just to give the poor man a break. After all, Bruce knew how hard it could be to balance so much on a plate.

(Feel free to expand from here however you wish!)

[yall-batman-fanfic]

They're Doing it Again! | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: Batfamily fluff! Valerie helps her mom with her makeup.

Note: Part of the Continuity or the Original Storyline of Bruce Wayne /Batman x Vivian Pryor

Is it a good idea to let a seven-year-old do your make-up? No, not really, but ever since she was little, Valerie has watched her mother apply makeup before going to work and for galas and has been practicing with her dolls. Her first attempt made the entire family shudder because her doll looked like Joker ("You see it, right?" Jason whispered to Tim, "I swear all it needs is his fucking green hair."). The next attempt was a little better but it was still messy, and when dolls were not enough for her she would drag her siblings to practice. Luckily, Bruce got her a child-safe makeup kit to practice.

It was Jason, Tim, and Damian who are mostly thr victims of her practice sessions, Duke, Steph and Cass would willingly go to the manor just to play with her and show her how to apply makeup, and Dick... he was probably the only one of their brothers who was willing to be a practice canvas and walk around wearing Valerie's work.

It took her months to get the hang of precise application and blending, and finally, after seeing her latest work on Dick, Valerie was good enough to help her mom with her makeup. But to be safe, Vivian would only let her daughter do her makeup when it's a casual day for them going out. Just like now.

"What color do you want, Momma?" Valerie asked as they looked at the five shades of lipstick on the vanity.

"I was thinking something a little light since your Dad and I are just going to that club."

Valerie giggled. "The Snobs Club."

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone what we call it," Vivian laughed.

"I don't like the smell in those rooms. It always makes me dizzy."

She meant the cigars. There was a time when they brought Valerie to one of those private clubs for a family friendly birthday party, and in one of the rooms she wandered into the old men were smoking those large cigars. Luckily Bruce founder her and took her out of that room. 

"Okay, Momma, hold still," Valerie opened the lipstick that they chose and gently applied on Vivian's lips. "Momma, don't laugh or you'll ruin it."

Vivian forced herself to stay still by focusing on her daughter. It's always a sight to see Valerie do new things and excel in them, and watching her now brings her both joy and sadness because it just shows how mucb Val was growing up and she's grown so independent that she rarely ask for help for anything.

"Doing your Mom's makeup?" Bruce walked in the room and stood behind his daughter. 

"Dad, don't hover," Valerie told him.

Bruce chuckled and stepped back a little. "Sorry, I shouldn't disturb the artist in her work."

"Sorry," Vivian winced.

Vivian chuckled.

"Momma!"

"Okay, I'm done!" Val closed the lipstick. "What do tou think?"

Vivian turned to the mirror, but it still needed more work and wasn't the right one for the type of crowd they would go to.

"You forgot something, Val," Bruce said.

"Perfect," Vivian said, and then turned to Bruce for help.

Bruce sent her a look that says: you owe me.

"What?" She already got down her stool but ran to the mirror to see what she forgot.

"You forgot to blot."

Vivian turned to her husband with raised brows. "And how do you know that?" She asked him just as Val asked, "What's that?"

"You need to remove the excess off the lips."

"How?"

"Your Mom has her ways of doing it, but I prefer this one," Bruce leaned down and kissed Vivian on the lips, smudging the lipstick and getting it on him.

"Dad!" Valerie pouted as she saw the lipstick smudge and get on her father.

"Sorry, Val," Bruce chuckled. "But you did a very good job with your Mom that I can't stop myself."

That earned a playful punch at the shoulder from his wife. But he kissed her again, ignoring Vivian telling him their daughter was there, and between kisses, she whispered: "thanks, Batman."

But Val knew that this wasn't going to stop. Her Dad had a tendency to eat her Mom's face all the time. So, Valerie walked out of her parents' bedroom and closed the door after her.

"So, you done dressing up Ma?" Jason asked, walking out of his room.

Valerie sighed and said, "they're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Damian asked, joining them at the hall with Dick.

"What Moms and Dads always do."

"Oh," Dick snickered while Jason groaned and hit his head at the doorframe.

"What's taking everyone so long? We're ready downstairs," Tim joined them.

"Bruce and Viv are having a quickie," Dick mused.

"Ew," Tim, Damian, and Jason said.

Valerie tugged on her eldest brother's arm and asked. "What's a quickie?"

Silence came to the four Robins and everyone was just looking at Valerie.

"Nice going, Dick!" Jason exclaimed. 

"What? What is it?" Valerie pouted at her brothers.

"It's like playtime for adults," Jason answered.

"Dude!" Tim scolded him.

"What? What do you want me to say?"

"When I grow up do I get to play that too?" Valerie asked.

Her brothers looked at her with a horrified look and exclaimed: "NO, NEVER!"

[fluentmoviequoter]

in the lyrics

a social media AU: Tim Bradford x fem!singer!reader

yourusername added to their story

caption: and away we go stateside🫶🏼

aaronthorsen replied: still waiting on my VIP pass

-> yourusername: you can afford one

-> aaronthorsen: you know they're sold out... please?

-> yourusername: no :)

fan625 replied: I CANNOT wait to see you in L.A.😭

fanattics replied: Add a Louisiana show and my first baby is yours

sumerianrecords

sumerianrecords: @/yourusername turned London red last week♥️ you ready, America?

1.3mil likes, comments on this post have been limited

ii_sleeptoken: 🥁

-> yourusername: I think my next album needs more standard paradiddles... thoughts?

-> iii_sleeptoken: @/yourusername 🤺

-> yourusername: @/iii_sleeptoken we can share🥹

-> iv_sleeptoken: @/yourusername 🎸

lauv: what I'd give for a piece of that confetti

-> yourusername: come to the next show and I'll give you some👀

yourprivateusername made a post

yourprivateusername: memories from tour💕

1k likes, 44 comments

aaronthorsen: you're welcome for the last slide. where's my ticket?

-> yourprivateusername: notice it wasn't first

-> lucychen: @/aaronthorsen you're not her favorite, move aside

-> yourprivateusername: @/lucychen 😘

timbradford: Don't come home

-> yourprivateusername: k. @/angelalopez have an extra room?

-> timbradford: why are you like this?

aaronthorsen

caption: @/yourusername was the perfect end to a busy week

tagged: @/yourusername, @/wesleyeversla, @/angelalopez, @/timbradford, @/lucychen, @/celinajuarez, @/nylaharper, @/wadegrey, @/johnnolan

❤️ by @/yourusername, @/lucychen, and 23k others

lucychen: we need to do this every week

user99: I'm so jealous you got tickets

grumpycop: is Tim Bradford single? asking for a friend

-> user12: wouldn't he be cute with @/yourusername?

-> yourfan1: @/user12 WAIT OML

lunagrey: a whole wall of shirts yet I didn't get one

-> wadegrey: I left it in Tim's car

-> angelalopez: he did, I'll be his alibi. I also helped him pick it

ultimatefanofyours posted a poll:

Are 'Red' and 'Man in Black' about the same guy?

Vote: yes or no

15k votes

comments

pianokeys: better question is WHO is the guy

user5: I have a feeling she's dating someone we know about

-> fan14: the fun part is that it's none of our business babe

-> userloser: I've been saying Oli Sykes for years but no one listens to me

-> firstfan: @/userloser I was wondering if he was British too! weird that she's never done a US tour before now

fanzfan: listen to the lines in 'sleeping on the phone' and 'siren lights' then tell me she's not dating a cop

-> rosefan: she is friends with Aaron Thorsen

-> user12: I've been summoned. Now, I will present my essay on why Tim Bradford - a cop Aaron Thorsen knows - and our queen would be the perfect pair...

-> fanzfan: @/user12 fam where's the essay

yourusername posted to their story

sumerianrecords posted to their story

caption: @/yourusername and @/badomens sharing a studio?

user73 replied: I'll die if it's a duet do you want that on your conscience admin??

drumeo replied: us next?

-> sumerianrecords: I'll pass the message along!

fan100: takeover when???

timbradford posted to their story

lucychen replied: Tim you can't just post that

yourusername replied: I stand by what I said but I don't know why you're bringing it up

-> timbradford: you called me weird. YOU... called me... weird. and a pretty girl

-> yourusername: I'm dropping your name in the sumerian live and letting people doxx you

-> timbradford: weird

-> yourusername: I love you🤍

-> timbradford: I love you too but just text me I hate this app

-> yourusername: YOU STARTED- nvm whatever you want handsome

sumerianrecords started a live video: Hang with @/yourusername

comments:

-> fan40oz: oh to be as pretty as @/yourusername

-> user12: are you dating @/timbradford? would you?

-> fan1234: Is the Bad Omens collab really happening?

-> noahsvoiceiniv: knowing that you're friends with Noah makes me happy every time I remember it

-> user12: are red, man in black, siren lights, and sleeping on the phone about your s/o????

-> ii_sleeptoken: 🥁

-> fan1: oh he's back

-> iii_sleeptoken: 🎸

-> user6: she's collecting british metal bands like infinity stones😭

-> bringmethehorizon: are we gonna have a problem?

-> badomens: no tea and biscuits here fellas

yourprivateusername added to their story

caption: someone get these men out of the comment section or I'm going to lose it on live

timbradford replied: just tell them you're taken

-> yourprivateusername: you'd be the riot control babe

-> timbradford: never mind

-> timbradford: unless you want to

-> yourprivateusername: really?

-> timbradford: I've never cared

-> yourprivateusername: can we talk tonight?

-> timbradford: we can always talk

yourprivateusername added to their story

caption: I survived the sumerian live, someone reward me

aaronthorsen replied: sounds like tim's job

lucychen replied: you did so well!! I loved watching

yourusername

yourusername: the man in the lyrics, the man in my heart, the man whose hand fits perfectly in mine🤍

tagged: @/timbradford

2.2m likes, 6.4k comments

user12: I TOLD YOU PEOPLE BUT DID ANYONE LISTEN TO ME

-> fanzfan: I've believed you all along

-> yourusername: why am I shipping 2 strangers in my comment section?? ❤️ by user12, fanzfan, lucychen, and 112 more

fan23: can he fight?

-> fan901: can SHE fight?

-> aaronthorsen: yes and yes

kikehndez: that's not Dodgers stadium

-> yourusername: maybe you could hook us up then🙏

-> kikehndez: @/yourusername only if you agree to sing when we win

yourprivateusername added to their story

caption: someone asked if I'm *committed* to my boyfriend... look at these pictures. would someone who isn't in love keep these?

timbradford replied: yes. because you hate me

-> yourusername: *love

lucychen replied: umm... can I ss these?

aaronthorsen replied: You really know how to pick them

aaronthorsen replied: Please don't tell him I said that

memesaboutyourmusic

memesaboutyourmusic: not a meme, just the vibe I get from queen's boyfriend

❤️ by @/yourusername, @/carpartz, and 20k more

user12: and I love them for that

fan-8: listening to the older songs is so much more emotional now knowing she was talking about him😭 esp 'failed justice'

-> user4: RIGHT?! the 'oceans between us and my tears only flooded them' what happened to those babies????

-> fan27: @/user4 that was written during her Australia tour three years ago so they must’ve been dating or married but long distance

lucychen: @/yourusername

-> fan12: hi Lucy can I send you my pitch to be adopted by @/yourusername and the man she keeps posting pictures of

-> lucychen: @/fan12 that's the exact amount of respect he deserves and I appreciate it so yeah send it over

-> yourusername: @/lucychen who let you out?

-> lucychen: @/yourusername it's my enrichment time

yourusername: accurate, but he's the neck-breaking husband

-> fan12: WHAT

-> user4: WHAT

-> noahsvoiceiniv: WHAT

-> aaronthorsen: WHAT

-> timbradford: Why?

-> yourusername: @/timbradford because there's love in me <3 ❤️ by @/lucychen, and 120k others

2 weeks later...

sumerianrecords, badomens, and yourusername

sumerianrecords: 'because there's love in me' by @/yourusername and co-written by @/badomens is out this Friday

1.8m likes, 11k comments

fan12: we honestly should have realized it was a song reference

badomens: 🖤

yourusername: admin did you forget something?

-> sumerianrecords: that's up to you princess

-> fan40oz: @/sumerianrecords admin her husband might kill you

-> fan1: I'm scared

yourusername

yourusername: I flew to Virginia as soon as the American tour ended. In the past few weeks, I've learned a lot, written more, and made some friendships that will stand the tests of time and trials. Forgive me for being absent, but thank you to those of you who came out to the shows, those that have made my husband feel welcome, and those who made funny memes that brought me and my friends laughter until it was way too late and suddenly everything was funny. My new single 'because there's love in me' comes out this Friday, but if you don't want to listen to it, that's okay. Next Friday, another version will be released, but until then, I've got a flight to catch and sleep to catch up on. lots of love💗

3mil likes, comments on this post have been limited

sumerianrecords: a view almost as pretty as its photographer

lucychen: so excited to see you

fan12: both versions will be on repeat!! get the rest you need🤍

ii_sleeptoken: 🥁

-> yourusername: 🥁

-> timbradford: 🥁

[lemotmo]

They do seem so excited!

Q. I mostly just wonder what kinds of storylines they're going to be able to tell without Bobby/Peter. And how successfully they'll be able to tell them. It feels like it will be a big change.

A. The fact that you're even remotely worried about them not being able to tell decent storylines without Bobby kind of proves there was a problem though, don't you agree? I would also argue that they weren't necessarily doing a very good job of telling compelling storylines with Bobby either. Before I go further I will say that we don't know they aren't still trying to work something out with Peter. I'm currently operating under the belief that he's gone, but Peter is not a television actor who is going to stay unemployed long, and the fact that he's not attached to another project yet does give me pause. Okay moving on. What's the last really good storyline they told? I genuinely am struggling to come up with one. The opening arc of season 8 was great, but it wasn't a storyline. It was an opening disaster story arc.

The Eddie storyline this season was beautifully done initially, and was shaping up to be amazing, but they derailed it to do the lab/Bobby stuff. Maddie's kidnapping storyline was good, but it certainly wasn't great, and didn't really serve any actual story purpose. It was just something for her to do for a couple of episodes. Tim has become much more interested in big disaster episodes and the show has suffered as a result. The show needs a reset back to the basics. Tell actual character driven storylines. That's what the audience seems to want. That shouldn't be that hard to do. I also want to add that compared to the hiatus between seasons 7 and 8, the cast seems genuinely excited about season 9. Oliver actually stayed in L.A, and stayed engaged. That's a big deal. For now Kenny seems to be sticking to the Peter/Bobby stuff, but the rest of them seem genuinely excited about what's to come. I love this show. And I love these characters. Change is of course scary, but can be a much needed reset sometimes. We just have to see. We don't know anything for certain. It would be nice if people would wait to judge things until we actually get something to judge.

Thank you Nonny! Much appreciated, as usual!

Yeah, I do agree. There was a problem with the storylines, both in season 7 and 8. It already started well into season 6, but those were the FOX days, so let's focus on 7 and 8 for this.

A few of the storylines were really botched. There were some good elements there as well, but most storylines of season 8 weren't memorable. And that is a problem for a show like 911. If you want to remain popular it's imperative that you create compelling storylines that people want to watch.

Season 8 had enough highlights to have people come back for season 9, but they need to up their game in this new season. A few good storylines, episodes, highlights during a season isn't enough.

They need to go back to basics and create complete story arcs for their characters. They need to think about where the characters start (A) in season 9 and where do they see them at the end (B) of season 9. Then they need to start filling in their storylines for the season, figure out how to logically get them from point A to B.

All the while staying true to their character as well. I feel like some characters made decisions or did things that go completely against the core of who they truly are in season 7 and 8.

But I am hopeful that ABC has finally stepped in and told Tim in no uncertain terms that he has to step up his game this season. Both Ryan and Oliver seem very relaxed and happy these days. They are also getting a lot of exposure, which is very interesting. 🤔

Kenny and Aisha have been around as well, posting some stuff here and there. They all look more at ease somehow.

As for Peter/Bobby? As I said before two posts back: for now I'm choosing to believe he's really dead to preserve my sanity. I am not expecting to see him back on season 9. But if he ever were to come back? I wouldn't be disappointed at all. On the contrary. 😋

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[azzifudd10]

Somewhere To Land

Chapter 24: My Baby

Tuesday Night – Azzi’s Apartment

The letter sat untouched on the counter, but its presence filled every corner of the apartment like a storm cloud.

Azzi sat on the floor beside the playpen, Eli resting against her chest in his footie pajamas, milk-drunk and sleepy. Her hand gently smoothed his curls as she swayed in place.

“Today was hard, baby,” she whispered into the top of his head. “Not because you cried, not because you made a mess, not even because Mommy had to carry groceries and you at the same time.”

Her voice broke a little.

“Today was hard because someone who didn’t care about you… suddenly decided they might want to take you away.”

Eli sighed sleepily, his fingers gripping the neckline of her t-shirt.

“I don’t think you’ll ever understand how fast I loved you,” Azzi whispered, “but it was immediate. The second Tasha handed you to me in that hospital room, you were mine. You’re mine now. And I don’t care what papers they file — I will fight with everything I have to keep you.”

She kissed his temple, slowly and reverently.

“Even if I have to fall apart doing it.”

Wednesday Morning – Katie & Tim’s Airbnb

Azzi arrived with Eli tucked in his wrap carrier, his tiny fists balled against her chest. Her eyes were tired, her lips pressed in a tense, polite line.

Katie opened the door before she even knocked.

“Come in, baby.”

She stepped aside, and Azzi walked in slowly, setting her keys on the table before sinking into the armchair. Eli shifted sleepily against her.

Tim walked in from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder, face lined with concern.

“I got a letter,” Azzi said, her voice thin. “From Tasha’s parents.”

Katie sat on the couch across from her. “What kind of letter?”

“They’re trying to get custody of Eli.”

Silence fell like a hammer.

Tim’s jaw clenched. “After all this time?”

“They never came to the hearing,” Azzi said. “They didn’t even call. And now they want to… discuss terms? Like he’s a business deal?”

She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Tim sat beside her slowly, placing a hand on her knee.

“You do what you’ve always done,” he said. “You fight. And you do it surrounded by people who’ll fight with you.”

Azzi looked at him, her eyes glistening. “But what if they win?”

Katie leaned forward. “Azzi. Look at me. You are his mother. Not by blood — but in every way that counts. You’ve raised him. Loved him. Protected him. That’s what courts care about. You’re not alone in this.”

Azzi reached for her mom’s hand, and Katie squeezed it tightly.

“We will be right beside you.”

Later That Day – Paige’s Apartment

Paige stood by the window when Azzi knocked softly and stepped inside. She didn’t have to say anything — Paige had already packed her bag and put on her hoodie.

“You ready?” she asked.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah.”

“I called ahead. The firm said they could squeeze us in.”

They didn’t say anything more as they walked to the elevator — but Paige reached for her hand, and Azzi didn’t let go.

Law Office – Midtown Dallas

The lawyer’s name was Elena Ford — mid-thirties, sharp eyes, a calm but commanding presence. She welcomed them into her glass-walled office and motioned for them to sit.

“So,” Elena said, folding her hands, “I read the preliminary file Paige sent me. Azzi — you were granted legal custody following the death of your friend, correct?”

Azzi nodded.

“And there was no contest from the biological grandparents at the time?”

“None,” she said. “They didn’t even show up.”

Elena nodded. “That strengthens your case considerably. Courts generally do not remove a child from a stable, loving, consistent environment unless there is overwhelming cause. Their sudden interest, after months of silence, will be a red flag.”

Paige leaned forward slightly. “What if they try to argue biological connection?”

“They can argue it all they want,” Elena said smoothly. “But unless they can prove neglect or an inability to provide for Eli’s best interests, the law favors what’s called status quo stability. And you two have given him that.”

Azzi let out a long breath.

Elena added, “That said — we should prepare for a fight. And that means documentation. Photos. Medical records. Childcare payments. Proof that you’ve been his primary caregiver. And emotional testimony, if it comes to that.”

Paige reached over and placed a steadying hand on Azzi’s thigh.

“We’ve got all of that,” Paige said. “And more.”

Elena gave a small smile. “Then you’re already ahead.”

That Night – Azzi’s Apartment

Eli was snuggled in Azzi’s arms again, winding down from the day. Paige sat across the room on the floor, back against the couch, watching Azzi like she was her whole world.

Azzi looked down at Eli and began to hum softly, then whisper:

“Today, we talked to a woman who might help keep you with me. With us. And I know you don’t get it yet, but one day, maybe you’ll read this in my journal or hear it  and realize — i  never once hesitated.”

She kissed his forehead.

“I love you so much, it’s terrifying. But I’d do it all again a hundred times if it meant being your mom.”

Eli blinked up at her, lips pursed in that familiar little way of his.

“I know shes just Paige,” Azzi murmured with a quiet smile, “but you should’ve seen the way she stood beside me today. Like a shield.”

Across the room, Paige’s cheeks flushed, her throat tightening with emotion.

“She’s not trying to replace anyone,” Azzi said softly. “She just wants to love you — and protect you — and be part of your world, if you let her.”

Azzi swayed slowly.

“And I think you already have.”

 Azzi’s Front Door, 11:36 p.m.

A knock.

Soft. Then louder.

Paige, who’d stayed over and was asleep on the couch, stirred as Azzi padded barefoot to the door. She peered through the peephole.

Two people. Mid-fifties. Serious expressions. One of them — the woman — wore a pearl necklace.

Azzi opened the door slowly.

“Azzi Fudd?” the woman asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m Sharon Wright,” she said, stepping forward. “This is my husband, Edward. We’re Elijah’s grandparents.”

Azzi froze.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Sharon said, voice oddly calm. “But we’d like to discuss custody. In person.”

Azzi stepped back instinctively.

Paige appeared behind her, sleep-tousled and fierce-eyed. “I think you should leave.”

Edward spoke up. “We’re his family. We deserve a chance to raise him.”

Azzi’s voice trembled. “He already has a family.”

Sharon’s mouth tightened. “That’s not up to you anymore.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Phantom Grin

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Bruce Wayne visits his son’s grave on the night of his resurrection. Will it change Jason’s fate, or is it all simply inevitable?

Chapters: 20/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd is Disabled, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Resurrected Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Get Along

Chapter Twenty: Conduit

Jason curled up in Bruce’s chair while Barbara talked to Dick, Bruce, and Helena about a few of the missing person’s cases around the same time Jason was buried. Bruce glanced at Jason, who seemed worse for wear. “Are you okay with listening to this part?” Bruce asked. Jason nodded.

“I’m okay now… I wanna see this through,” Jason whispered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Lucia Arevalo. Fifteen-year-old exchange student. She fell from the bell tower of St. Peter’s. She’d been strangled prior to falling, and a witness on the scene said he could hear her reciting a prayer. He didn’t see in time to tell if she was pushed—.” Jason glanced up at the crime scene photo on the screen, and Barbara hesitated. 

“She climbed up there to get away from him, and he forced her to pray before he shoved her. She thought that it would buy her time. He’s a ritual killer, so she didn’t think he’d push her. She knew people would be in the bell tower soon after she climbed over, and he pushed her anyway to cover up his crime. I was still able to taste the communion wafer she ate before she died,” Jason explained. Everyone stared at him, silently horrified by Jason’s answer. 

Barbara cleared her throat to break the silence. “J.D. Christensen. Twenty-year-old Gotham-U student went missing after her niece’s christening. The main suspect was her boyfriend at the time, but with no body or blood, they let him go,” Barbara described. Jason swallowed hard as he looked at her university ID picture. 

“Abandoned apartment building. Tied to a radiator and beaten before he stabbed her in the chest, dragged her to the bathtub, and let her bleed out while he washed up. She thought about her dad… He um—. She thought of her dad surprising her on Christmas. He lied and said he was on a business trip, and he met her outside her apartment. She jumped into his arms… It was the last time she felt truly safe,” Jason forced the words out. He turned his head away to regain his composure. “I don’t know where he put her… I’m sorry. I didn’t—. I couldn’t stay in the—.” Jason couldn’t catch his breath long enough to think. 

“You’re doing fine,” Bruce reassured him, “This is all great. We know who did it, we know what happened to an extent, and we have insight on where to look because of you.” 

Jason ran a hand over his face. “They need to dig up some of the graves in the cemetery I was buried in,” Jason stated. 

“What’s eating at you?” Dick asked. 

“We can’t prove that it’s him unless we catch him in the act,” Jason replied. 

Tim entered the cave, looking at his phone. “I can go undercover with Cass and Steph,” Tim volunteered. 

“He targets women, Tim,” Jason replied. He didn’t mean to sound exasperated, but he was tired and achy and reliving three different girls’ trauma all at once. 

“I know… I can go undercover as a girl, too,” Tim answered. Jason looked at Dick. Dick shrugged. 

“It wouldn’t be the craziest thing Tim’s done to break a case… And we’ve got better chances of him attacking one of three girls,” Dick suggested. 

“Which one of the Powerpuff Girls are you?” Jason asked, half-amused. 

“I’m Blossom for sure,” Tim answered. Jason chuckled. “Laugh now… Wait until you see what I look like in a wig and kitten heel.” 

Jason’s shoulders raised as he thought about it. “No thanks. I’m already in therapy, Tim,” Jason joked. “And thanks for offering to help. Do you even know what—?”

“I’ve been listening in on comms this entire time,” Tim interrupted, “Gonna get Cass and Steph… We’ll get our cover stories together. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve got it from here.” 

**

Jason sat across from Bruce at his desk a few days later, feeling on edge. Bruce ate his pasta quietly while he searched for a neutral conversation topic. “Dad,” Jason mumbled. Bruce looked up. “Can I try yours?” Bruce passed his container to Jason, and Jason gave Bruce his plate. 

“Veal’s good. We should do catering days at the office more often. You were so right,” Bruce whispered. 

Jason smiled weakly as he picked over Bruce’s spaghetti. He saw how hard Bruce tried to help him, and he wanted to give him more energy. It felt like too much of an effort. “I love you,” Jason whispered. 

Bruce’s eyes widened. “I love you too, Jason… Are you feeling okay?” Bruce asked. Jason took a sip of his juice before lowering his turtleneck to reveal handprints. “Does it hurt?”

“It hurts to swallow… But it’s not as bad as it was this morning. I feel like I’m using the missing person’s cases like a checklist. I’ve re-lived him killing three girls, and it’s only been a few days. Three. Has he photographed any of them yet?” Jason replied. 

“All three of them,” Bruce smiled. “Tim can be a very nice young lady in the right wig.” Jason chuckled. 

“Mr. Wayne, Veronica’s here to talk about the details of your date tonight,” Bruce’s assistant announced. “Oh… I—. Hello, Jason.” 

“Hi, Corcoran. Have you eaten lunch yet?” Jason asked. Corcoran hesitated. “Grab some pasta and sit down. I wanna hear about your day.”

“It hasn’t been that interesting,” Corcoran replied. 

**

Bruce gently parted Jason’s bangs with his knuckle as Jason slept at his desk. Jason jerked awake, looking around before meeting eyes with Bruce. “I’m sorry—.” 

“There’s another one… When I came back—. It’s all jumbled and broken… I couldn’t see very well. I—. If she—.” 

Bruce opened his arms, and Jason hugged him. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Okay? We’ll figure it out,” Bruce reassured him. “I’ll have Barbara look into the night you came back… And—.” 

Jason’s phone rang. “It’s Dick. He promised to pick me up, so we can get something to eat,” Jason whispered. Bruce tensed up. “If I can control it, I won’t wander off. I just want to eat. That’s all.”

“Jason, please be careful. Promise you’ll try,” Bruce whispered. 

“With everything in my spirit, Dad. I love you… Will you walk me out?” Jason requested. 

“Of course,” Bruce smiled as he escorted Jason to the elevator. 

**

Dick looked Jason in the eyes and snapped twice. “What’s on your mind?” Dick asked. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it… I um—. I want this to be over soon,” Jason replied as he closed his eyes. “This is taking so much out of me… I don’t know how much more I can take.” 

Dick pushed Jason’s hair out of his face. “Stay with me. We’re gonna figure this out,” Dick whispered. “We’re gonna get some burgers and fries. You’re gonna get a milkshake, and—.” 

Jason turned toward the window and pressed his palms to his eyelids. “I don’t want this… I don’t want to carry all of this inside me,” Jason cried. 

“Jason, did something else happen?” Dick questioned. 

“No… Yes? I don’t know. I think I remembered something from the night I came back, and I—. What if I were walking through the cemetery during a girl’s last moments? I can’t—. I can’t carry that. I feel horrible. I was already gone. I could’ve died again, and it wouldn’t have meant a thing. I—.” 

“Jason, you can’t make yourself responsible for her death. You weren’t in any condition to fight,” Dick reassured him. “Collapsed lung, broken limbs, orbital bone fracture, severe brain damage—.”

“It would’ve given her time… If only I could’ve seen her running,” Jason wept.

“We’d have two victims that night instead of one,” Dick explained. “You’re doing everything you can.”

“I want to do more… I feel like I’m being punished for not doing enough,” Jason whispered. 

“You’re doing enough… It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna find those girls. Okay?” Dick reassured him.

[its-a-pain-having-a-name]

So Tim is an avatar of the stranger effected by the desolation? Martin never left the lonely. Sasha is Not!Sasha whos masquerading as an eye avatar? And what happened to Jon, he sort of already had his worse case scenario in cannon given he tried in vein to stop everyone dying by trying to know everything, as he was scarred by the web and never wanted his control due to lack of knowledge getting someone killed or being manipulated by anyone again only for this path to directly get everyone he tried to protect killed and him being manipulated fully by the web by his search for the knowledge he didn't have. So like how can he get it worse?? Or does he survive fully knowing he is a puppet, does he still crave knowledge or has he give up now? Does he know that none of his colleagues are who they are anyone? Does he know why Martin isolates himself, does Martin even have any control or is he the predicable lonely puppet of the web too?? Do you think the web likes lonely avatars as they have no support network to verify what's true? Do they like how lost they get? How entrenched in routines they get? Does it like how it can essentially put them back in their box again once they are done with them, and how they don't really do much outside of what they are made to?

Happy Pride with the WCS gang! Remind me to stop drawing stuff with the season one gang because Sasha’s design is stupidly detailed.

pose reference by @albanenechi

[ghost-bxrd]

You guys ever think about an AU where Jason goes to hound Tim through Titans Tower, and, mid pursuit—while Tim is screaming at him about the second Robin being his hero, tryin to crawl away in a trail of blood—realizes he’s become an even worse version of his own mother, who sold him out to the Joker?

Because I do.