#kipsnip

[ikiprian]

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!

[ikiprian]

Everything else is a hand-me-down, which is kind of cool, because Tim’s never had a hand-me-down before. All he’s wearing is as tiredly loved as the rest of this place. (wip: ride or die au)

Jason takes a breath, smooths his gait from “passerby” to “predator,” and slinks into the alley. He's ready for a shakedown. (wip: danny tenant au)

“Are you here?” Salem asks. “Where are you? Can you give me a sign?” The questions bounce hollowly between buildings, then drift and fade, like breath on the wind. (wip: scrybaby)

WHEN YOU SEE THIS, SHARE 3 RANDOM LINES FROM 3 WIPS

Superboy doesn't even have his own "real" name, apparently, so Match can't imagine why the idiot cares if he does.

“What are you calling me in your head right now?” the clone asks, and Tim flinches. His jaw tightens. “Never fucking mind.”

At the time, "Robin" is a perfectly normal and unremarkable name to have for a soulmark.

[ikiprian]

happy wips wednesday! i havent actually done much writing lately but have page 1 of a comic im not sure i’ll finish. ao3 batdoption bait trio

[ikiprian]

wip wednesday: damian inherits bruce’s adoption issues au! (wip: one-shot) (1k/3k)

“Damian,” Bruce starts, gently. “How many cats do you have?”

Damian sniffs. Captain Alfred shifts unhappily in his arms, so he readjusts his one-armed hold. “Don’t be foolish, Father. Alfred is known to be the only cat here.”

Behind his back, he used his free hand to signal Return to Base to Silly Alfred. Unfortunately, direct scrutiny limits Damian’s movement and confuses the hand sign. Double unfortunately, Silly Alfred is a master of charisma, not obedience. He continues to bat at the coiled door stopper as if he’s not about to compromise his entire squad.

“That’s a sentence with one too many clauses,” Jason pokes.

“This concerns you, how, Todd?” Damian snaps. “You don’t even live here!”

“Ooh, and there’s a sentence with a few too many claws-es!” Jason’s smirk stretches wide, almost into a proper smile. Clearly, he is enjoying the idea of Damian getting caught. Does he not understand what is at stake?

“Bruce?” comes a tired voice. Tim, the fool, stumbles into the room, apparently done with his weekend-long casework bender. “The computer’s running some numbers— can you make sure nobody touches the program ‘til I wake up?”

In his arms is Friendly Alfred. Hungry Alfred trots after his heels.

Bruce, for all his mastery of deceit and the fine-tuned control of expression that entails, freezes.

[ikiprian]

oh hey when did this happen!! thanks gang, army of alfreds snip be upon ye!

The bowl on the floor is empty.

Inexcusable. If the owner were going to be murdered, he should have gotten an autofeeder first.

While Batman is distracted looking for evidence, Damian quietly stalks through the apartment to the kitchen. The pantry is easy to identify, and the bag of dry food has a scoop already within it. 

He inwardly scoffs at the lack of airtight container. The former resident may have gotten high-end kibble, but didn’t he know how it stales? Didn’t he know how it molds? He continues to find nothing but shortcomings from this man.

Damian fills the creature’s dish anyway, mixes in a little water to ensure proper hydration. The instant the food sifts into the bowl, the cat is sprinting from its laundry fortress and winding its way around Damian’s ankles, meowing piteously.

“Careful now. Hush,” Damian murmurs. If he’s careful, Batman won’t hear him and know he’s taken an unauthorized break. “Hush. I’m helping you. Don’t trip me, or you’ll be eating it off the ground.” 

A smile pushes at his stiff Business Robin expression, as the rest of his concentration goes to keeping his balance. 

Soon as the bowl hits the carpet, the cat is upon it. Its forepaws spread comically, one on either side of its supper, furiously kneading. 

This moment must be preserved. Damian does the rational thing and takes a little video.

omg cute!!! says Grayson, followed by a dozen heart-themed emojis.

It’s the correct response.

[ikiprian]

happy wips wednesday, army of alfreds be upon ye (again)!!

“How overrun are they?” he hedges.

Catwoman frowns. “Decently. That’s the way, with no-kill shelters. Not enough resources. They might start redirecting their cats to other places soon, but I’m not sure which ones.”

Damian readjusts the straps of the carrier.

“This cat… may not do so well in a shelter. It is an inside cat, prone to stress without attention. Would you…?”

Catwoman’s shaking her head before he can even finish his request. “Sorry, kitten. But I’m about to go out of town. I don’t have time to socialize them with the rest of the clan, and besides, all of my strays are outdoors more than they’re in.”

“Oh.” He clutches the straps closer.

Catwoman gives him a look, consideration melting into mischief.

“You know…” she says, “this kitty looks an awful lot like the one you’ve got at home, doesn’t it?”

Damian doesn’t know how she knows what Alfred looks like, but he’s certain the fault lies with one of his brothers.

“It does,” he admits. “It’s perhaps a bit larger, but the markings are similar.” And striking. Again, it is a very cute cat.

“I’ll bet in a house that big,” says Selina, “with so many hiding spots, you’d be hard-pressed to find them in a room together. Who knows how many Alfreds you can collect before you get caught?”

Damian balks at the thought. “I will not lie to Father!”

“Wasn’t saying you should,” she responds, hands up easily. She starts backing up to the ledge. “I’m just saying, what the Bat doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Damian pulls out a Batarang, more out of habit than anything, and Catwoman laughs as she flips off the roof to dodge it.

[ikiprian]

can i see some of your wips 🤩

aaaa i forgot to check my inbox sorry for the wait!! here is some Ride or Die AU!

Tim’s so busy with his numbers, with mush and mud and pristinely fraying sleeves, he doesn’t realize the door’s open ‘til it slams shut.

He freezes-- It’s Batman, it’s the police, it’s Dad--, terror spearing him from all directions until the intruder starts to coo. 

“Hi, Ma,” says a soft voice. “How are ya? Hey, Timmy, how--”

The shuffle-clatter of a grocery bag hitting the floor. The urgent, uncertain reel of footsteps. “Timmy? Tim, where are you, bud?”

“Here,” Tim croaks. He wiggles out of his hiding space, collecting debris on his sweater like he doesn’t care that it had been loved. “Here, I’m here.”

Jason’s whole body slumps over itself in relief. “Oh, Christ,” he says. Then he brightens. “Hey, you’re talkin’ again!”

“Was I not before?” Tim wonders. Then he thinks about it-- thinks about last night, and this morning, and realizes, yeah. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”

“C’mere,” and Jason pulls him up to his feet. His palms are dry, but warm. His grip is strong.

For no reason at all, he starts brushing Tim down with his hands, knocking dirt from his clothes. “You’re covered in dust bunnies!”

[ikiprian]

kip wip of ur choice? :3🤲

DAISY DAISY I LOVE YOU IM SORRY I FORGOT TO ANSWER!!! i forgot. that inbox is a thing i need to check. have longish oc brainrot, salem & angel, big cousin & baby cousin beloveds <3

Angel knows Salem better than he would probably like. In the cracks of his kind-compassionate-confident facade lies something neglected, dust swirling through the open air, stirring wildly with the heave of his lungs. He crumbles and rots, desperately splashes fresh paint over the decay, and it says something about their family that she knows the whys of it better through news articles than first person accounts.

Angel’s a good cousin, though. Her role is easy: she’ll lean in close, mirror his fear, let him comfort her like she’s much younger than she is so he may draw his own safety from the action.

Here, with his face tucked into her hair, she doesn’t even have to exaggerate her expression. She curls herself small and does her best to fit into the hollow space beneath his ribcage.

She wonders if Sam used to fit here, so perfectly, or if he’d chafed within Salem’s frantic hold. She doesn’t remember a lot— a cheeky smile, a hand-me-down toy chest, the punchline of a joke— but she knows they used to fight. Salem would never let family do stupid shit alone, and Sam had been desperate to establish himself as an individual, to split the set.

(This deduction had been extrapolated from stories stolen across the hall, nights when the grownups cracked open their beers and let themselves laugh and grieve. Angel often wonders why she’s not invited. Hadn’t Sam been her family, too? Hadn’t Tito James and Tita Teres?)

(Maybe this is why Salem moved out. He can’t stand their silence, either.)

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Salem hums, haltingly. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Angel sniffs and pushes herself against him again, slides a hand around his back as if to cling. With practiced hands she shores up damaged frames.

There’s more, she sees, to unpack. She’s read all the articles he’s ever texted her. Probably, she could pass a college-level abnormal psych exam without even studying. But he’s not her client, and she’s not trying to be his therapist. What she is is his beloved cousin, and what he is is falling apart. She’ll hold up what she can, whenever he’ll allow it, and in return he’ll spoil and impress her with his gifts and time and advice. They’ll pretend this is a one-way street, this giving, and leave it at that.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he repeats, barely a murmur. He holds her tight, and every time his grip loosens, it trembles. She notices that he doesn’t let it loose often.

You’re here, Angel thinks back. Maybe she’ll develop her own superpowers. Contact-based telepathy. The only way to get it through his thick skull.

She thinks it as hard and she can while he leans on her.

You’re here. It’s okay.

[ikiprian]

happy wips wednesday! dc oc brainrot!! no punchy dialogue today (soz), just atmosphere

December seeps into Salem’s bones and settles there, past layers of wool and goose-pimpled skin.

“Are you here?” he asks. “Where are you? Can you give me a sign?”

The questions bounce hollowly between buildings, then drift and fade, like breath on the wind.

He tries another, just for surety’s sake: “Are you here?”

Static spits and crackles out the machine in his unsteady grip. No response comes. Not from the machine, and certainly not from the empty alley he sits in. Just sputtering snow, ricocheting in Salem’s head without voice.

He sighs. Tilts his head back ‘til his neck cracks and the stair behind him digs into his back. With a stiff thumb, he flicks the spirit box off.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs. He tucks his chin down to his chest, crosses his arms. It’ll be a while— best to hunker down now, and conserve his warmth. “Take your time. I know it’s hard. I’m here when you need me.”

Salem doesn’t know how long he’s expected to be out here. He’d smoke, if he thought his fingers could work a lighter. But he can barely pry them open, fisted tight around the box still, so instead he sits in the darkness, on the steps of St. Padre’s, and waits for a sign.

It’s cold as hell tonight.

[ikiprian]

Donate eSims for Gaza!

Howdy! I'm Kip Ikiprian (they/them) and I like superheroes! You can find me on my main @bandanabiel but I'm not gonna lie, that's all reblog central, baby. This blog is for organizing my writing and brainrot!

Tag Guide:

"#kipwrite" — prompts & published pieces

"#kipthought" — HC's, vibes, & vague ideas

"#kipsnip" — sneak peeks of WIPs

"#kiptalk" — just chattin'

"#kipanswer" — asks & answers

Current WIPS:

Ride or Die AU (Batman) (Jason Todd & Tim Drake) (???) (3k/15k)

Army of Alfreds (Batman) (Damian Wayne & Alfred the Cat) (one-shot) (2k/4k)

Misunderstood Mentor AU (DPxDC) (Tim Drake & Danny Fenton) (one-shot) (1.1k/5k)

Ask about my WIPs for free snippets! Let's be friends!

[kawaiikenna]

I just imagine the two of them screaming and fanning themselves before clasping hands and jumping up and down like some fucking white girls at a sleepover bs. Hilarious. XD Like they’re just screaming over how they’re so similar and Jason’s just in the background being all ‘wtf?????’ as RR and Phantom are just like ‘shut up, no way! Omg, no way me too!!!!’

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!