#we are scared of Tim Drake

[heroesriseandfall]

Honestly it’s actually kinda impressive how out of character people can write Janet Drake given that she has less than 30 comic appearances.

[starrykitty013]

Timmy shreddin 🛹

[amaraudermind]

Anyway right now there are currently two(2) writers I respect-

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Dreams

A/N: 829 words of older!Damian x reader fluff inspired by one of my absolute favorite poems in the entire universe. I hope it’s alright!

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. 

- “Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” from The Wind Among the Reeds, W.B. Yeats, 1899. 

Heaven, Damian muses, must be woven into the thick fabric of this blanket and the soft serenity of this Saturday evening. The lighting is dim, flickering candles and a rerun of your favorite sitcom dragging shadows across your face, but you still glow with an ethereal sort of softness.  

Damian had strongly suggested an early bedtime, but you wholeheartedly disagreed. Your adamant protests and persistent sulking were eventually met with an exasperated sigh of resignation. When you snickered and told him he sighed like his father, the same tiny, distinctly Wayne crinkle forming between his eyebrows, Damian grumbled and hurled an orange slice at you. 

After, you had spent a fair amount of time kissing away the agitated groove on his forehead, lips like fluttering petals across heated skin until he melted, clutching at your waist and sighing again; this time, in smug, saccharine satisfaction – true Damian Wayne fashion. 

It’s barely 11pm and you are absolutely knocked out; but not without good reason. To be fair, Damian had dragged you away from the sweet throes of slumber and out of bed before 8am. The two of you had spent over an hour in the car, bickering over Beethoven and ranting about the pharmaceutical industry, before you pulled up to the wildlife conservatory. The building possesses the same earthy tones as many of the creatures it houses, towering above the trees and adorned with various fences and netted enclosures. Your Boy Wonder headed straight for the aviary.

Damian, heavily accustomed to maintaining impassivity, startled when you poked his side and scolded him. “Let yourself smile, will you, Dami?” 

His instinctive reaction consisted of snarky comments and an eye roll, but the sense of patience and anticipation reflected in your soulful gaze killed the retort on his tongue. Rather than ruffle your feathers, he admired a cardinal and turned back to you. The smile on his face was boyish and wholesome.

His voice was low and bashful. “Thank you for reminding me, Y/N.” 

Damian watches you now, warmth pooling in his chest, and a smile grows on his face with the same organic exaltation. You’ve seemingly always had this effect on him, easily threading simple reverence into his complicated soul. You remind him that it’s okay to stop and smell the roses – and if he doesn’t listen in the moment, you leave the flower on his pillow for when he can appreciate her sweet fragrance and rich color. You remind him to breathe, especially when the dark chaos of his world constricts around his throat and threatens to overwhelm him. Perhaps most importantly, you remind him to dream. 

Dreaming is a newly acquired skill for Damian, one that has required slightly more effort than his aptitude for combat. Dreaming is floating in the air, inhaling impossibilities and exhaling probabilities. Dreaming evoked a sense of unease in Damian, something seemingly nonexistent until you showed up at Gotham academy one fall. With your charming antics and insightful observations, you pulled Damian up and away from the certainty of the ground and into the clouds where he found himself wondering about your kisses and if you’d hyphenate your last name. 

He spent a lot of his life under the impression that dreams did not exist; they were only thwarted, indefinite incarnations of reality, either overly optimistic or hauntingly unnerving, and they only unraveled and marred the truth – until he met you. Somehow, you became his only truth and his biggest dream.

You help him discover more dreams, buried deep beneath steel and fire and the weight of his last name. He’s taking classes at Gotham University on physiology and chemistry and animal behavior, investigating veterinary medicine programs. He’s growing into his own hero, operating more independent missions. He’s even embraced his role as an uncle, offering to babysit Dick’s kids. Damian knows life is a myriad of uncertainty and beauty; every day, beneath scarlet sunrises and white noise, he tries to decide what he dreams of getting out of it. 

It scares him more than he could ever voice aloud, the ambiguity and vulnerability of dreaming. You scare him too: he dreams of you, because of you. He knows you would never hurt him, but it’s a frightening thing to leave your most intimate aspirations exposed. You’ve helped Damian weave an intricate quilt of dreams and you wrap it around him tenderly when he wakes from a nightmare. 

Your head lolls to the side and you’re sliding toward his shoulder when you abruptly jerk awake. 

A tiny smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth, warmth dripping from his coniferous eyes, and he shifts his body to face you.

Your eyes are wide open for a moment before you blink sleepily and shoot him a drowsy smile.

“How long was I out?” 

“Long enough.”

You lean back against the couch and tuck your legs under your chin. 

“What were you dreaming about?” His question sharpens your smile, the curve of your mouth adorned with secrets and sunlight. 

“You.”

[dreamingaboutsakuratrees]

I always see people saying that Bart Allen is the social butterfly and Tim Drake is the socially awkward one. And while I do not know enough about Bart to have an opinion on him, y'all are so wrong about Tim.

Ma boi was raised by Jack and Janet Drake. People who can afford to buy the manor next to the Wayne's. They own a multi-million company. They're old money.

What I'm trying to say is, Tim is a socialite kid. He knows what to do, how to talk, what smiles to give to old ladies in diamond earrings and the strength with which to shake possible investor's hands so they don't feel threatened or underwhelmed.

Just like Bruce has his Brucie Wayne persona, Tim has Timothy Drake, good convertionalist, straight-A student, the perfect heir and eventually the perfect CEO/shareholder/whatever he is to WE because at this point I've lost track.

Also I love the idea of Damian seeing this at their first gala together finding it absolutely bewildering, because as a person Tim is barely a functional human being and as a vigilante RR has the social skills of a wet paper bag unless dealing with victims, but as Timothy he is this smooth talking, charming bastard who can win everyone's heart at a gala in a couple hours. Damian had gone into that gala expecting his brother to make a fool of himself over and over again, maybe even make it to the magazine covers for falling into the chocolate fountain or something. But for the first time in years, Damian is scared because it has to be some sort of witchcraft to change personalities so easily and Father, run a tox screen on Drake because there is clearly something wrong with him–

Just. Socially competent Tim Drake + little gremlin Damian who is in awe.

[ruenii]

i had this idea where Tim has cuteness aggression and is just so bad at conveying it (well not like batman level but you get the point) that sometimes people mistake his cuteness aggression face as a 'im gonna punt you six feet under' face and tim is confused when his brothers or his friends get scared when he just wants to squish em cause they're sososo cute.

his family (except for dick and cass) doesn't know about this so they just think that 'oh god-- oh myfucking gofd-- tim is glaring at me again what the fuck-- what did i do???' and is just scared of what they did to cause tim, THE CALM ONE, to glare at them.

but tim is just:

tim, [on the inside]: awWWWW lOOK AT MY BABY BROTHERS!!! THEY'RE SO CUTE!! I WANNA PAT THEM ON THE HEAD!!! I WANNA SPOIL THEM I WANNA BITE THEIR CHEEKS LOOK AT THEM AWWWEEE I WANNA SQUISH THEM SO HARDD!! NO-- NO THEY WON'T LIKE THAT I HAVE TO STAY CALM!! ENDURE THE URGE TO PINCH THEM!! 🥺🥺

tim, [on the outside]: *glares at them like they just burned his entire supply of coffee and caffeinated drinks and disgust*

duke: did... did i do something--

tim: *clenches his fist*

damian: don't be such a coward, drake, using physical cues to convey your emotions are unbecomi--

tim: *walks out of the room*

duke & damian: ...

duke: oh fuck... did we make his mood even worse?

damian: surely drake hasn't been... affected by that *his body clearly shaking*

dick: don't worry timmy isn't angry at you guys :)

jason: i can hear him screaming what do you mean he isn't angry

dick: he's just... letting out some pent-up frustration..

[thatasianstereotype]

Damian: Father, I have a problem to deal with. 

Bruce: What is it? 

Damian: It has come to my attention that I harbor non-platonic affections for the Kryptonian I tolerate the most. To keep from being distracted by thoughts of Jon being propositioned by anyone else, I will simply advance our friendship to the next stage. 

Bruce: *confused AF but still wants to be a good dad* Okay. Good luck. 

Damian: I do not need a fickle thing such as luck. I will succeed in gaining you another son so you should not have the need to pick up a random stranger off the streets again. 

[LATER] 

Damian: Grayson, you must have a multitude of methods for beginning a relationship considering the numerous partners you bedded in the past.

Dick: It’s not that difficult. I just walk up to them, smile, and ask if they want to go out with me. It usually works.

[After scaring Jon who thought he was sick because he was smiling]

Damian: Grayson has failed me.

Damian: Drake, how did you convince the Clone to take you on as a romantic partner? 

Tim: I made a 117 slide presentation detailing how we would be better as boyfriends. 

Damian: I see. 

[After 212 powerpoint slides]

Damian: Unfortunately, Jon does not have the attention span for such a thing and did not understand the overall message. 

Damian: Todd—

Jason: Seriously? Where’s the romance? The wooing? The effort? 

Damian: I put a lot of effort in my presentation. 

Jason:

Jason: You’re hopeless just like Bruce who relies on his nonexistent charm to get women. 

[wordsfromaqueer]

Ok but does jason know they named the parrot Jason?

Or does he discover this when he does his big dramatic reveal to Tim only for Tim to call him/yell HUMAN JASON at him and then have to explain the naming of the parrot to him?

Imagine trying to fight someone that just called you human Jason with a straight face, you couldn’t.

What pet do you think the batfam should have

A parrot

Why? It’d be hilarious. Constantly this bird is nearly exposing them

They can’t stop it

Randomly it’ll go, “I’m vengeance” “robin to the batcave” chaos

Will they get rid of it? Nah Bruce’s had it his whole life. They’re a package deal

[theaceofarrows]

Dick: Did you know that your face is a combination of thousands of years worth of other people's faces?

Jason: Why'd Tim get all the poor ugly suckers?

Tim: You sON OF A-

Damian: Drake's ancestors were highly evolved to their environment. They were ugly because it was a feature enabling them to survive in the wild. Ugly scared away the predators. Ugly intimidated rival tribes raiding for food. Ugly commanded strength and power

Damian: But now that we no longer fight animals and struggle against nature for food, his ugliness has become a vestigial organ of sorts

Tim: ...

Jason: ...

Dick: ...

Damian: [shrugs] Or, it could simply be a curse among his bloodline. Either theory is sound

[Silence]

Dick: Well, I think we can all agree that MY ancestors were SMOKING-

[Dick, gets punched]

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing. 

It is not. 

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat. 

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K. 

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened. 

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line. 

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you. 

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.” 

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe? 

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types. 

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry. 

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom. 

 Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.   

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip. 

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip. 

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you. 

Mystified, you wave back. 

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her. 

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving. 

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go. 

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.” 

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule. 

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done. 

“I can help the next person in line,” you call. 

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position. 

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.”

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city. 

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces. 

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle. 

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind. 

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too. 

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed. 

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly. 

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now. 

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much. 

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently. 

You, mostly. 

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University. 

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it. 

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study. 

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class. 

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester. 

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college. 

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you. 

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’ 

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway. 

Well, more like he found you. 

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.” 

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.” 

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain. 

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably. 

Kind of funny, really. 

Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen. 

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway. 

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car.  And… has strong opinions on movies. 

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains. 

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them. 

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest. 

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends. 

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.) 

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine. 

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake. 

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake. 

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection. 

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point. 

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.  

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen. 

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way. 

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t. 

Everything will be fine. 

It has to be. 

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

[if you'd like to be added to the taglist (or removed), let me know here or in my inbox! ^_^]

[iphoenixrising]

Masterlist 3

Tim-centric con't

Red Robin tweaks: BatDad & Boomerang | Fallen (What if Dick didn't catch Tim | Kon catches Tim

Tim Angst:The Wrong Robin (for 800 Followers) | Broken Trust 1 &Broken Trust 2 | Babe has feels | More babe feels | Broken Trust 3 | Merry Christmas, Timmy on Ao3, Angst with a happy ending | on Tumblr | Lazarus!Tim au: | Tim, fresh outta Gotham and heartbreak + Lewis Capaldi's "Someone You Loved"

Random 90’s YJ angst Original post | Follow-up | Broken protocols ficlet | Tim angsts to music | Earth 3/ Owlman angst | Hanahaki disease idea | JLA stops checking in

Tim Drake Week: Day 2: Sick Bird| Day 6 (Firefly fusion) | Day 7 (Injury/Healing)

Whirlybird!!!! BABE MADE ME A WHIRLYBIRD & HC

Tim!X (AUs): Coffee Shop!AU | Tim the twisted Oracle | CEO Civilian!Tim from Prime Girl | And the post of aus | Prime girl Enchanted idea | Superpowers | Trans!Tim | Temperance: Temperance's Temptations on AO3 and art ! & Just Desserts | Vampire!Tim HC & for 600 followers! & Bite Kink (it's naughty) | in the future | Mute!Tim: One & Two & Three | Mer!Tim: Ideas & Scaring Dami & Damian & Art & Titans | Silver-Snow's Mer!Tim: Natant & Ideas

Kid!Tim: De-Aged!Tim: Not trusting the BatFam ... but the Titans | Kid!Tim works (Different ways Tim joins the Bats earlier):Tiny!Tim au on Ao3 | Kid!Tim is discovered by Robin!Jason & Window Seat & Tiny!Tim au: The Fever & Tiny!Tim and the Secret (for 500 Followers!) & Tiny!Tim and The Wrong Bus | Tiny!Tim and Tiny!Peter ask | Home for Tiny Birds (Convergence w/ NHFDB!Tim): One & Two | Jason's Death (HCs): One & Two & Three

Justice is Blind (Blind!Tim AU): on AO3 and some amazing art by the incredible poison-basil!!! | One | Two ("BatFam") | Three ("Waking Up") | Four | Five | Six (slight NSFW SuperBats) | Asks: Who All Knows & Ra's, Tam & WE, & Jason & Ra's & Tech & Tech and Tam

Converging the AUs:

"Feels" by iphoenixrising , a graphic by Miss Coco Chips | Convergence

Home for Tiny Birds: NHFDB!Tim visits Tiny!Tim

Fracture!Tim meets Talon!Tim & Dr!Tim | Sated (NSFW HC)

Fracture: the Multiverse & Future!AU

Boy All the Bad Guys Want:

Want | Battle for the Cowl, ScareRobin | Lex Luthor | Tim + Inertia + Superboy Prime | Prime: One & Two & Domestic Syndrome | Superboy Prime and Justice Lord Kon

Pamphlets: One (based on this ) & Two

Joker Junior: One & Two

Jean Paul One & Two

Talon!AU: in which Tim is a Talon & RR without Tim & Mindfuckery & Titans on the Hunt | Gray Son must Die (in which babe wrote most of the thing) & Functionally Immortal & Brainwashed, Hurting, Dissociating, Angry, and Lost & the Assassin & the Talon | Refuge w/ Shiva & A Killer | Rebuilt & vs Fracture!Tim

Dr!Tim (DickTimJay; in which Tim is a trauma surgeon and DickJay are vigilantes)

Meta: on AO3 | Art in which I cry with joy | How it all Began (light NSFW) | Follow-Up

The Mentor; The Suit; Med School | Hobbies & Tony (HCs) | Dick’s Acrobatic Talents (suprise!, it's smut!) | Steph & Batgirl | The Joker | Integration (HC) | Roof Rat | Wicked Way | Dr!Tim HC: Jason’s real pad disguised The original idea | le ask | ask 2 | ask 3

The Submissive & Safeword (HC) & Safewords Out & Sub-Drop | Not Safewording Ask | Annnd Consequences

London Bridge: is Falling & (Missing Scene) & Afterward w/ guest star, Tony Stark!

Headcannons and ficlets Four Times the Bats called Doctor Drake | What's in a Name (HC) | Ultimate Fanboy | Pet Project & Ra's (HC) | Dancing | Meet and Greet | Jealous!Dami | cute!Tim, overwraught!Dick (NSFW; adult themes)

That whole thing at Arkham Dr!Tim and Arkham Riots: One & Two | Arkham Breakout | But, that's not all Dr!Tim and Fear

Tony Stark in Dr!Tim: The Surgeon, The Captain, and the Soldier (for 600 followers!) | SteveTonyBucky (for 700 followers!)

BatFam Prompts, Drabbles, & Thoughts

BatFam headcanons: BatDad | Characterization | General & Dami | Robins & their Other Selves | Outlaws & Titans | Slade/Dick | Terry McGinnis | the Sads

Misc Ficlets: Accents & Motherhenning | Bats & Birthdays | Concussion Confessions | GenderBend | Robins & the Cold | Staypuff | Training ("Hilarity Ensues") | DickTim & a fight & Robin Cuddles | "Let Sleeping Robins Lie" (for 100 followers!) | BatFam & Tim with a Cold | Tim/Clark for Tim Drake Birthday Hunt! (NSFW) | Tim/Clark ask

Interest (see also "DickTimJay: Destroyed")

Soulmates (Robinpile) | Part 1 | Part 2-ish | Here’s an ask | Aaand another | And a third | And a post-fit ask that broke my heart

SuperBats

BatFam Big Bang: on AO3 Day 1: Cuddles | Day 2: Sick | Day 3: Fight! | Day 4: Vacation | Day 5: Nightmare | Day 6: Best Rescue | Day 7

Fic Recs: Funeral & Dr Oz by awkwardbluefish Calling It by reallyautomaticvoid

Damian

Headcanons: on Tim & Shiva | Characterization | as a Boyfriend and NSFW specifically w/ Jason and also with Dick

Dami and ...: Dick & Tim at the Arcade | Tim & Don't panic, but we accidentally got marries | Comfort | Robin's Redemption (for 400 followers!)

Fic Rec: DamiTim by hauntedlittledoll

DamiTim Nurse Tim! Robin!Dami WIP on Ao3 | Concept | Alph!Dami/Alph!Jon/Omega!Tim: The original ask| Tim & Dami

Night Sky

Jason

Jason Todd's mouth & Languages (HC) | Jason's Accent & its inspiration

v. the Pit and then I saw Counting Bodies like Sheep

Misc: Jason, the Outlaws, and the Joker | Crochet | RHatO #25!UA | Silence (tw warning: major character death) | Bottom Jason Todd Week: Daddy Kink, Rare pair Jay/Thomas Elli Heavy in your Arms: One & Two (Angst; Based off the song with the same title by Florence + the Machine)

Marvel

Forward Momentum (MCU Steve/Bucky eventual Steve/Bucky/Tony): on AO3 | Nice Things | Steps | Family | Why aren't you an Engineer? | The Situation | Coffee | Observation | Hurt/Comfort (for 100 followers!) | Medical (HC)

Marvel AOB Attempt: One | Two | Crossroads | Three | Tony & Omegas | Tony & Heat

MCU crossovers: Fracture/Forward Momentum fusion The original idea | Aaaand part 2 |Tony is a bro in the crossover verse | What if crossover verse | Tim stays in the MCU and goes out as Robin | One shot: Tony and Bucky visit Tim in Gotham - different crossover verse | Bonding with the Avengers

Misc

Miraculous Ladybug Play | The Way to His Heart

Check Please!Check Please WIP | WIP 2

Voltron: all because of satire-please Team Dynamics | Left Behind | Waking | You, Not the Lion

[yourmomxx]

Jason Todd / Red Hood anxious to get you under the mistletoe cause he is in love with you so bad and doesn't know what to do because he is afraid to scare you away if he confess

loving this request right now - I hope you like how it turned out!

Word Count: 2,2k

Warnings: none, 13+

A/N: author was stuck deep in a writer’s block while doing this, so if you don’t like it lmk and I’ll redo it for you <3

You loved Christmas. Even more than every other holiday. That was a fact that everyone knew, because every year you made it everyone’s problem.

Not that they minded, you were sweet about it. Like when you started singing Christmas songs in mid November.

Or when you took Tim to a Christmas market to help him get his mind off his exams.

Yes, christmas was your favorite time of the year. And gift giving was your specialty.

Though, this year you had decided you needed to be extra careful with gift shopping than usual. Because you had a plan.

See, there was this guy you had a crush on, his name was Jason Todd.

You and him had been friends for a long time, you were even good with his family and invited to all their gatherings. So, naturally, you spent Christmas with them, too.

And this year, you had told yourself, you were going to tell Jason how you really felt about him. What better reason than the most romantic time of the year?

You were going to pull him aside while everyone was busy with the presents, you were going to give him his and then you were going to tell him you loved him.

And nothing could go wrong. Unless he rejected you. But you were secure that your friendship would survive it if your feelings were unrequited. Until then you could just hope they were not.

You took a deep breath and stepped outside into the snowy landscape to go for a walk. There were still some things to do before you had to be at Wayne Manor.

Back in an upstairs apartment in Gotham City, shielded from the snow and cold temperatures, Jason Todd was standing in the kitchen and stuffing a turkey for the upcoming Christmas dinner, while his brothers Tim Drake and Duke Thomas were draped across the sofa, taunting him.

Because they didn’t have much better to do.

Duke had his legs crossed and batted his eyelashes as he spoke in an over dramatic female voice: “Oh, Jason, you have such beautiful and strong arms I’m sure they would be great at picking me up and carrying me into the sunset!”

Cue Tim in a deep voice: “Oh now but Y/N, I can’t do that, because I’m way too scared that you’ll reject me when I tell you my real feelings!”

“I don’t sound like that,” Jason grumbled.

Tim scoffed. “You wish.”

“I’m gonna get my gun.”

“Relax Jay were just teasing you.” Tim lifted up his hands in surrender.

“Seriously it’s mistletoe-time, man,” Duke said, “They’re everywhere. Just … take them under one and kiss them. It ain’t that hard.”

“I will in fact not do that.”

“Why not?”

Jason put some spices away and wiped his hands at the dish towel hanging at his waist. “Because. It could ruin the entire friendship we have if they don’t like it, and even if, just kissing someone like that is super unromantic.”

But the truth was that Jason was scared. Yes, him, Jason Todd, and in his mind it was absolutely ridiculous. He had died and come back to life, he was a vigilante at night, he had fought the Batman himself.

And yet, what made his hands shake and heart beat faster was the thought of kissing you under a mistletoe. What made his jaw clench was the thought of someone else getting to you before he did.

And that, in his mind, was ridiculous.

Duke threw his head back and groaned. “Oh come on, you big baby. You don’t have much of a choice here anymore. I want a mom, and Bruce sure as hell isn’t gonna get on with Selina soon, so you and Y/N are my next best choice.”

“Y/N does make amazing PB&J’s,” Tim agreed.

“Silence, both of you. Or I will tell Santa that you don’t deserve your presents.”

Tim grinned. “Ha, nice try, asshole. I stopped believing in Santa when I was six.”

“That’s when everyone starts believing in Santa,” Duke said.

“Yes because you all fall victim to parent’s mind control and illusion. Couldn’t be me, suckers.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “How mature you are.” He opened the oven and carefully put the roaster inside. ”Well then, come on, you two heroes of Gotham. This turkey needs some time in the oven and I-“ He picked up his keys “-still need a few presents.”

Duke jumped up and rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Ooh, last-minute Christmas shopping. This is a Hallmark movie.”

“Shut up and put on some shoes.”

—

That night, at Wayne Manor, Christmas was in full swing.

From ornate chandeliers (thanks in no small part to you) to landscape art made out of fake snow on the huge windows.

The entire building smelled of cinnamon and tangerines, and small loudspeakers in the corners softly played Silent Night.

It was shortly after the huge feast together, the whole family and unofficial family members were invited.

Jason had brought his ready-made turkey, Steph brought hilariously decorated Christmas cookies, Dick and Barbara brought the appetizers.

Now everyone had gathered in the living room, in which stood the huge Christmas tree (and I mean massive, department store size), decorated in dark red and gold.

Bruce, wearing an elegant black tux, stood up, holding a glass in his hand and carefully clinking a spoon against it to get everyone's attention.

When silence fell, he raised the glass.

"My dear friends, relatives," he said, "It is my pleasure to welcome you here today. Christmas is the festival of joy, love and gratitude, and I want to thank you. For the good times we have spent together - day and night - and for always being able to count on your support when I need it." He held up his glass solemnly. "I wish Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you!"

"Merry Christmas!" It rang out in several voices, and glasses were raised and toasted everywhere.

Jason pushed past Stephanie and stood next to you.

"Merry Christmas," he said in your ear. His breath tickled your neck.

"Merry Christmas," you said back.

He looked up and down at you and you felt your heart start beating faster.

Then he grinned and leaned closer to you. "You look amazing today. Red really is your color."

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked up at him.

“Thanks,” you breathed out. You didn’t trust your voice to do much more.

He stayed focused on you for a second, dark blue eyes reflecting the light of the Christmas tree, when suddenly, the door bell rang and you winced, startled.

“That has to be the carol singers, Master Wayne,” you heard Alfred say and Bruce nodded.

“Well then, we’ll greet them. In the meanwhile, behave until we get back.” He threw a look around until he finally turned and disappeared, Alfred in tow. Cassandra also chose to join them.

Shortly after were previously interrupted conversations resumed until the babble of voices surpassed anyone's senses.

You decided that now was the best time to go through with your plan.

“Jason,” you said, slightly tugging at his jacket to get his attention.

“Hm?” “Can we talk for a second?” You asked him. “We are talking.” “You know what I mean.”

He raised his eyebrows in confusion, but gave in. A hand resting on your upper back, he guided you through the crowd until you found a small corner where no one was standing. Carefully, you put your glass down and Jason did the same. Then he raised his arms in defense.

“Look, whatever I did, I deeply apologize for it, but first of all, I didn’t suggest to cook Damian’s turkey, that was Tim.”

Now it was on you to be confused. “Jason, this is not this kind of talk.”

He visibly relaxed. “Oh.” He pursed his lips and chuckled awkwardly. “For a second there you had me worried.”

You smiled softly at him. “No, I just- I wanted to give you your present. You know, in private, so it’s more… private.”

Your heart was almost jumping out of your chest at this point. You were blabbering and stuttering before him as if you hadn’t gone through this monologue at least three times alone at home.

So get it together.

You took a deep breath and pulled out a small, wrapped present, handing it to Jason.

“Merry Christmas, Jay.”

He glanced first at the package in his hands, then at you, before slowly pulling the wrapping paper off and revealing an oblong black box.

You watched him as he pulled off the lid and took out what was laying on a red fabric pillow.

It was a quill, polished black with subtle gold decorations twining around the handle.

Jason wide-eyed the object in his grasp.

“I know you like to write,” you said. “I mean, you don’t have much time to do it, of course, but I know you like it. So, I thought you would like this. I know it’s not much and it’s actually pretty small now that I think about it-”

“I love it.” He interrupted you and looked into your eyes. “Thank you.” Jason quickly put the quill aside and swiftly pulled you into a warm hug.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and breathed in his scent of old cedar wood and whiskey and gunpowder.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured when you pulled apart. Jason’s armes remained wrapped around your waist and he was still remarkably close to you.

You could’ve counted the small freckles littered across his face. Just like before, his eyes went up and down your body. You felt your cheeks grow hot.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely beautiful tonight?” He asked in a low voice.

You but your lip and nodded. “Yes you did,” you whispered.

His eyes were staring deeply into yours and for a moment, you felt you forgot what breathing was like.

Suddenly, the two of you heard a rustle above you and Jason looked up, coming face to face with something green.

He pointed above him. “Mistletoe.”

“But we’re not under any- “Jason cut you off by pulling you towards him and clashing your lips together with his. You let out a surprised noise but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

And it felt good. You felt excitement in your stomach, spreading through your entire body at the feeling of Jason’s warm, soft lips moving slowly against your own.

When you pulled apart, Jason leaned his forehead carefully against yours.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you whispered back, biting back a smile.

From above you, you heard slow clapping. Holding the mistletoe, sitting on Dick’s shoulders was Tim, with a grin on his face.

“They did it, people!” Dick yelled. “Only took them a reason to make out.” He leaned a bit closer to Jason. “You know we have like three guest rooms, so this is now an official invitation to- ow!”

Jason shoved him away and he tumbled back, making Tim almost crash into the Christmas decoration hanging from a chandelier.

“Just gonna have to hang a mistletoe over a bed, too.”

When the man in your arms turned back at you, you were still smiling at him from ear to ear.

“I apologize for this,” he said. “You know how they can be-”

This time, he was cut off by you kissing him and was more than happy to oblige. You felt his shoulders relax as his lips moved against yours slowly.

He bit at your lower lip and slid his tongue into your mouth. You pulled him closer by his neck and tangled your hands into his hair, softly pulling at the black strands-

“Excuse me!” The distinct voice of Duke Thomas interrupted your kiss. “There are children present.” As if to make a point, he took his hand off the eyes of a scolding Damian who was sitting on the floor.

“Animals,” he whispered. Duke nodded.

“So are you guys like together now?” Steph asked and collected a punch to the arm from Duke.

“Ow! What? It’s the question we all want to know!”

“Look at them!” Duke’s eyes were wide as he gestured in your direction. “They just made out under a mistletoe in the middle of our living room, the poor guys don’t even know their own names, how can they know if they are in an established. Relationship?”

Jason pulled his eyes away from his siblings and locked them on you. “I don’t know. Are we together now?” He asked. You smiled.

“Yes I think we are.”

“Like, with hand holding and going on dates and all?” Damian didn’t seem all too excited.

“Are we together with hand holding and going on dates and all?”

Jason grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “I’d love that.”

“I’d love that, too.”

Squeezing into the room and coming to a halt in front of you, Dick clasped his hands together and wiped a fake tear. “Oh, young love.”

You two ignored him and Jason pulled you swiftly into his warm side. “Best Christmas present ever,” he mumbled into your hair.

“Wait until you get to unwrap it,” you murmured to him.

“Children, people!” Duke screeched, “Children!”

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight

[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3] 

Ao3 Link: [Part 2] (Ao3 link is available only to Ao3 users)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a Bat.

Wes wasn’t 100% positive about whether or not Tim was joking when he said to get him a coffee on his next coffee run, but he’s nothing if not a (reluctantly) efficient worker. Well, that, and Jade was always looking for any reason to complain about him, so it’s best to not give her a reason. 

So when he’s sent on his daily coffee run the next day, he orders one trenta Death Wish coffee. He even remembers to request blond espresso since that kind has more caffeine than dark. 

When he makes his way back to WE, he’s able to slip into the elevator after one of the scientists, who pityingly presses the floor button when Wes asks. He thanks her, and is luckily left alone when she gets off twenty floors before him. Blessedly, no one joins after her, and he’s able to get off at Floor 73 in peace. 

He’s immediately assaulted by the caffeine-starved workers just like yesterday, and he luckily doesn’t have to worry about figuring out where to drop off Tim’s coffee, because Rebecca Gray, one of the younger employees who actually treats Wes like he’s human, spills some tea to him, and even presents it in such a way that she’s just helping him with his delivery: “Kid, your mom’s in the Grayson Conference Room with the Waynes and some people from the Board. There was a break-in last night. They’re trying to come up with a press plan. You’ll have to take her and Jade’s order in there. Remember to knock.”

See, Wes didn’t need to know all that. He only needed the last two sentences. But Rebecca is a decent human being who gives other human beings basic human respect, even if they are lowly interns that double as unwilling nepo-babies. He appreciates that about Rebecca. 

“Thanks,” he tells her, and she doesn’t ask questions about why he has three coffees left instead of two. 

“No problem,” she chirps, then rubs her hand roughly through his hair. He has a free hand now, so he swats at her, but she’s already frolicking off to her cubicle. Probably to make memes and then come up with a pitch to his mom on why they should be posted on the Wayne Enterprises official Twitter. 

They were good memes. Wes liked them, anyway. But he’s not sure it’d be very PC of a corporation to post a supposedly “joke” Tweet about giving one million dollars to the first person to kill the Joker and provide proof. 

Wes walks over to the conference room and knocks on the solid mahogany. A few seconds pass, and then a man’s voice calls out, “Come in.” 

Wes opens the door to a group of men and women in suits that are more expensive than any amount of money he will ever have in his bank account at one time surrounding a table that overlooks a flat screen TV. He’s quick to spot his mom and Tim, and unfortunately, quick to spot Jade and Bruce fucking Wayne, who’s, you know, the fucking Batman. 

Wes sweeps his gaze away and smiles nervously, hoping he just looks like a dorky intern who is scared to piss off the Actual Big Boss™. “I have coffee,” he offers, raising the coffee holder a bit higher, as if they couldn’t see from where it was. 

“Thank you, Wes,” his mom says, and he takes that as his cue to enter in farther, distributing the coffee first to his mom, then Jade (who glares at him, ugh), and finally, Tim, who takes it with a look of surprise that forces his eyebrows up his forehead. 

“It’s got every shot of espresso they can legally sell,” he tells him, an anxious smile tugging at his lips a little too hard. He is so stressed right now. 

Tim takes a sip, and then says with the expertise of an addict, “This is blond espresso.”

“Blond has more caffeine, so….” 

Tim looks at him with wide eyes, “You are a coffee god.”

“Ahaha, I’m just the intern,” he says tightly, feeling Bruce Wayne’s gaze bore holes into him. He wonders if anyone else can feel it when he’s just Brucie, or if he’s only noticing because he knows. “Anyway, I’m just gonna….” He gestures to the door, and as he does so, his eyes catch on the screenshot displayed on the wide flatscreen TV. 

It’s clearly been pulled from security cameras, and police have definitely already had a look at it (and the Bats, obviously) if the Waymes are letting the PR team look at it. The camera is surprisingly clear—or maybe not, given the Waynes’ nightlife—and has been zoomed in, so Wes can make out the villain in all their suited up glory, Kevlar(?) and green mask and all, and even their laptop that’s hooked up to some scientist’s desktop computer (if Wes had to wager a guess, anyway). There’s also a shadow behind the villain, indistinct but invariably human. Probably Batman right before interrupting the villain. 

Batman’s definitely smart enough to avoid showing a picture of himself in a cape and cowl to his closest coworkers while in his Brucie persona. 

Huh. That’s odd: the laptop is covered in distinctive stickers. He can even read one of the stickers that quotes an old but widely known fanfiction: “Why couldn’t Satan have made me less beautiful?”

Well, that’s a stupid move. Why go through the trouble of having a whole entire super villain costume made if you’re just going to pull out your personalized laptop? What a dumbass. If Wes were a villain, he’d at least be smart enough to have two laptops: one for business and one for personal use. 

And God, not the My Immortal quote. Embarrassing, really. (And, honestly, a little intimidating. Talk about having no shame!)

Oh, well. It’s not his business. He’s not the super intelligent, super paranoid vigilante. The Bats can figure this one out, thank you very much. 

He walks out of the conference room and rushes to Rebecca’s cubicle, throwing his body onto the stool that he’d brought over one day while helping make memes and then never removed.

“Rebecca, guess what.”

Rebecca jumps, choking on her iced latte. “Christ, kid, what?”

“You have to guess!”

“Uh, I dunno, Jade said that she’s sorry for being a bitch?”

“Maybe when the Bats make friends with the Joker,” he says, and she snorts.

“Wow, already picking up on the Gotham lingo,” she compliments. 

“I had my first mugging a week ago. I think that counts for me being a Gothamite, right?”

“Maybe after your first big time villain attack, kid.” She shakes her head at him, then asks, “Okay, so what is it?”

“They had some security camera screenshot in the conference room,” he tells her excitedly. “The villain who broke in was on it. They had this laptop to hack some computer, and—God, this is hilarious—they had a My Immortal sticker on their laptop.”

Rebecca’s face flushes in delight and abhorrence all at once, “Holy outdated Internet references, Batman, you’re kidding.” 

“I’m absolutely not, Rebecca!” he insists. “I saw it, clear as day! Brucie Wayne doesn’t skimp on his security. It was right there in print: Why couldn’t Satan make me less beautiful?”

“Dear God.” She shakes her head, then asks, “Aren’t you a little young to know the sacred texts?” 

“You’re never too young for culture, Rebecca.” 

She nods sagely, “You have a point, kid. You have a point.” She clears her throat. “Hey, do you wanna help me with a project?” 

“What kind of project?”

“A pitch to your mom to convince her to get Wayne Enterprises an official TikTok account. It’s criminal that we don’t have one yet! Did you know that the New York City branch has one? We’re the headquarters! Why don’t we have one? It doesn’t make any sense!” 

It’s Wes’s turn to nod, “Yes, that is a grievous mistake. We need to make social media amends, and quickly. Before someone becomes a social media villain and attacks corporations that don’t have TikToks.” 

“You’re being sarcastic—”

“I’m really not—”

“But you shouldn’t joke about that in Gotham because it’ll happen if you speak it.”

Wes wants to laugh that notion off as paranoia, but then he remembers Desiree. 

“Okay, you have a point.” He knocks his hand on her head, “Knock on wood.” 

“That’s it, brat. You’re fired from my project.” She sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Wait, no. I take it back. I take it back!” 

Rebecca spins her swivel chair around, leaning back and humming, “Hmmm, maybe…. But it’ll cost you.” 

“I wanna right this social media injustice, Rebecca. Please!” 

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. But!” She raises a finger when he looks too excited, “You have to agree to be in the first TikTok.” 

Well, now he’s wary. 

He wrinkles his nose, “I don’t know about that.”

“Then no social media for you.” Her voice is a taunting singsong, and something in Wes breaks. 

“Ugh, fine. I’ll do it.”

An evil, smug grin cracks through Rebecca’s face, and Wes’s stomach curdles. What did he just agree to?

“Excellent,” she says. “Then let’s get started.”

An hour into their project, the meeting in the conference room comes to an end. Wes knows this because it’s when Jade decides to butt her head in his business.

“Weston,” she barks as soon as she sees him crouching next to Rebecca while they debate the merits of “Connecting to the Youth” as a topic for just one slide or multiple. “Stop distracting Rebecca from her work. I need you to deliver a file to IT.”

“Wes isn’t distracting me,” Rebecca politely corrects Jade, even though she shouldn’t because Jade doesn’t like her much, either. “I needed a second opinion on—”

“Another meme?” Jade asks spitefully. “That’s a waste of company time, Reb—”

But Jade is interrupted by the grand appearance of Timothy Drake, who waltzes up and asks, “Something wrong, Mrs. Oswald?” 

“Nothing, really.” Jade is quick to become all smiles. “Weston here is just interrupting Rebecca’s fine work.” 

“I heard something about a meme?” He raises an eyebrow, and Wes has to smother giggles. Red Robin is standing here, asking after a meme. 

“Oh, yes,” Rebecca jumps at the chance to discuss her memes, which are only accepted to be posted on the company Twitter about 25% of the time. She deftly switches from the slideshow tab to Canva, where she has a meme ready to go. 

Wes is impressed with her resolve. 

“As you can see, sir,” she gestures to the computer, where a meme in the Drake format is shown, but with Batman in his place. Instead of the bottom Batman being accepting of the proposal to the right, both images of Batman are grimacing. “I am using a classic format, but stylized to fit our very own vigilantes. As he is the Batman, he doesn’t really smile, so it’s just the same picture of Batman frowning like an angst lord. The top text reads, ‘When the Batburger is out of jokerized fries,’ and the bottom text reads, ‘But their ice cream machine is running.’”

Batburger is Gotham’s “not like other girls” version of McDonald’s, Wes has discovered. 

Tim cracks a laugh at the meme in front of him, and the light dies from Jade’s eyes. Wes feels just a little warmer for it, and not guilty at all. 

“That’s pretty good,” he compliments. “You think you could photoshop an ice cream cone on the Batman on the bottom?”

Rebecca lets out a gasp of delight, “Genius! That’s why you’re the CEO, sir!”

Tim laughs, his eyes crinkling, and he says, “Photoshop it in, then send it to Ms. Rolland. I want to see it on WE’s Twitter tonight.” 

Rebecca gives a two-fingered salute, then swivels back around to face her computer. 

“Wes, can I speak with you for a second? I won’t take long.” Tim may make it sound like a request, but he’s the CEO, so it’s more of an order, and Wes stands on uneasy legs as Jade storms off without a word to her boss. 

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees, and follows Tim. 

Was I obvious? Do they know that I know? Surely not, right? I mean, I’ve been in Gotham for barely three weeks. Who figures out that kind of thing in that kind of time? Who figures out that someone has figured it out in that kind of time?

Wes is about to work himself into a panic attack when Tim stops at the conference room door and holds it open for him. He gulps. Is Bruce Wayne waiting behind the door to question him? Fuuuuuuck me.

He crosses the threshold and has to hold in a sigh of relief, as well as keep from just straight up collapsing to the ground. No Brucie Wayne. No Batman confrontation. 

“W-what did you need to talk about?” Wes asks as Tim steps in after him, the door clicking shut.

Tim pauses to collect his thoughts, then says, “I wanted to ask you about Jade Oswald. She seems… aggressive with her coworkers.”

Peace, I knew thee too quickly. 

“She’s just intense,” Wes says, even though he’d kind of like to see Jade get some HR hell rained on her. “And stressed. And I kinda got this job through my mom, so she sees me as this kid who doesn’t deserve to be here when she probably had to, like, work for everything, and I’m just, like, here because my mom wants to keep an eye on me so I don’t get mugged. Again.” 

Oh, sure. Great idea! Bring up the mugging! Definitely not suspicious at all! Maybe I would be stupid enough to bring a personalized laptop with me on an intelligence heist.

Tim’s face is concerned. Wes would applaud his acting skills if he wasn’t more stressed than a 15th Century serf in Russia. “Mugged? Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. I was rescued by Red Robin. That part was kinda cool, honestly.” Good, good, give him subtle compliments so if he does ever find out, he can remember that you think he’s cool and will hopefully give you pity. 

Tim still doesn’t look reassured, and his instinct is to tell him about wacky Amity Park hijinks, like when he joined Fenton’s teen militia to take down Youngblood and save all the adults, but he clamps down on that hard. Don’t talk about Amity to a fucking Bat, you dumbass.

“You’re sure?” His voice is soft and caring, and Wes suddenly feels suffocated. 

“U-uh, yeah. I’m sure. I appreciate you asking, though!” 

“Of course,” Tim says. “I’ve had my fair share of Gotham scares.”

“I bet,” Wes laughs. This is safer territory. “You grew up here, right? You probably know all the protocol for living here.”

“Ohhh, yeah,” Tim joins him in laughter, his tone fond for the cesspool he knows so well. It’s something only Gothamites have perfected because most people with common sense react with revulsion to this filth they call a city. “Word of advice? Get a gas mask.”

“Mom has that covered, believe me.” Wes scoffs. “Mom went and had mine fitted. I get the concern, but wow.”

“Bruce did the same to me when I first moved in,” Tim says, and Wes doesn’t ask why the Drakes didn’t already have one fitted for him since they were also rich. There’s a reason why Brucie Wayne adopts every black haired child he sees, after all. “That’s just what parents do, I guess.”

The good ones, Wes thinks grimly to himself. 

“Haha, yeah. That’s true.” He thinks of Rebecca, then thinks, Well, in for a penny…. “Hey, me and Rebecca were wondering—why doesn’t Wayne Enterprises have a TikTok?”

Tim blinks, caught off guard, then answers, “Well, we don’t really use social media for traditional advertisement, I suppose. Usually, we do social media sponsorships with influencers…. Huh. I guess I never really thought of it? I know the New York branch has an unofficial account that we haven’t shut down since it’s been rather harmless.”

That makes sense. The teenager who spends his nights parkouring across the rooftops of Gotham is too sleep deprived to remember the marketing potential of TikTok. 

“Right,” Wes says. “Well, Rebecca is working on a pitch to my mom about it. She’s, like, super into it. She has at least a dozen scripts written for the first TikToks she wants to post, and has a bunch of emails drafted to get some departments in on it. She says it’s important to humanize a company before posting ads so we have an audience who is sympathetic to the company. Which, like. Wow. Kinda messed up. But good business tactics.” 

“Huh.” Tim blinks again, and Wes is starkly aware of how wired but tired he must be. “Okay. Have Rebecca go ahead and make the account, but keep it private, and film a first TikTok. Send it to me before posting it. I’ll have filming equipment sent down. Work on it with her, yeah?” 

“O-okay! I can do that,” Wes agrees. “Are we sending this through email, or…?”

“Right.” Tim nods, then grabs a sheet of paper from a notepad left behind on the conference table. He pulls a pen out from his suit jacket and scribbles something down, tears the page out, and then hands it to Wes. 

It’s his work email. And also his personal phone. And Wes knows it’s Tim’s personal phone number because the number has “personal #” written next to it. 

Cool cool cool cool cool. No need to freak out. It isn’t like Tucker would kill him to have this opportunity or anything. It isn’t like he has the personal number of the literal Red Robin superhero or anything. 

“Oh, thanks!” is all Wes can squeak out, and Tim sends him a charming smile. 

“Today was just luck. Text me next time you’re getting coffee so you know where to meet me.” 

“Will do!” Wes agrees, and Tim nods, opening the door for Wes to exit, then follows him through. 

They say a quick goodbye, and Wes beelines for Rebecca. 

“You were in there for a while,” she comments, not looking up from her screen when he collapses onto his stool. She’s currently manipulating a photo of a Batbucks ice cream cone. “Did you two make out? I won’t rat you out. I may be in my twenties but I’m still cool like a teen.”

“No!” Wes blushes redder than his hair. “And that was, like, the lamest sentence ever. You’re lame. I regret scoring a Wayne Enterprises TikTok account for you now.”

This tidbit of knowledge rips Rebecca from her computer screen. “You’re kidding!”

He grins widely, “Nope! Our CEO says that you can go ahead and make an account, but keep it private. He says that he’ll send filming equipment down, and that he wants to personally approve of the video before posting.” 

Rebecca lets out a squeal of excitement, “You’re the best intern ever! Does your mom have to send you back to Illinois in August? Are you sure we can’t keep you?”

“Sorry, but I’m in high demand.” 

“Clearly. Ugh, you’re a little genius.” She looks at the meme on her screen. “Wow, this is boring now that I know we’ll be getting a TikTok.” 

“Tim wants to see it by the end of the day,” he reminds her. 

“Eugh. I knooowww, but still. Boring.” She sighs. “Do you think Batman is more of a vanilla or a chocolate kind of guy?” 

Before figuring out that Batman was technically one of his Actual Big Bosses™, Wes might have cracked a joke about someone who dresses up in a BDSM fursuit to fight crime having no chance of being vanilla. With his current knowledge, Wes winces, and says, “Oh, vanilla all the way. He doesn’t have the creativity for anything else. I mean, the Bat Signal? The Batmobile? C’mon.” 

Rebecca nods like this is totally rational reasoning, “You’re right, you’re right. Besides, I can’t spend the time on changing the ice cream now. Now, we have a TikTok to plan.” 

And suddenly, Wes remembers his promise to be in the very first TikTok that Wayne Enterprises posts. 

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

--------

Tag List:

@blankliferain @amercurio @gin2212 @starscreamlover @hoarder-of-gender

If you want to be added to the Tag List just ask in the replies :)

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Steph: Hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if all B's villains had backstories like the new Disney villain-centric movies?

Barbara: Explain.

Tim: Oh! I get it is like Riddler is evil because a riddle killed his mom!

Barbara: But wouldn't that make so he hated riddles?

Tim: Maybe he hated his mom? You don't know!

Duke: Or maybe he hates riddles and uses them to stop himself and protect the world for the evil he truly represents... Nah, that's stupid.

Barbara: No, no go on.

Steph: It was funny as hell.

Duke: The Riddler hating riddles was not the stupid conspiracy theory I thought I would make for Tim today.

Barbara: How many conspiracy theories did you even made for Tim?

Tim: Does the ones he made for Bernard count?

Duke: A magician never revels their secrets.

Barbara: You're not a magician.

Steph: He could be. Anyway before this ends up with someone giving Duke a box of magic tricks for begginers made for seven year olds *looks pointedly at Babs, she shrugs* my idea was that the number two died trying to save Two-Face's grandma from the other numbers.

Barbara: Okay, this one makes more sense. What about Scarecrow lost his puppie because of a horror movie?

Tim: You judge me but that means Crane would hate fear. So check mate.

Barbara: No, no, hear me out, he lost the puppie because the dog was too brave and stayed during the whole movie. If if had runned afraid it would have been fine.

Duke: My turn! I present all the books they had falled into Mad Hatter's dad killing him except somehow the Alice in Woonderland book that stayed in the shelve so he sweared to never read another book ever again?

Steph: Love it.

Cass: *was always there but hidden in the corner* Great. May I?

Duke, Tim and Steph:*surprised jump scare noises*

Babs: Please. Be our guest.

Cass: Killer Moth was raised by moths. Bruce accidentaly killed his third aunt as a child because he tried to pick it and show Alfred but was too strong.

Duke: You are a genius.

Steph: It's better than whatever official backstory he has.

Dick: *just came back from a mission* What are you guys doing?

Tim: Creating stupid rogues origin stories.

Dick: It seems fun. Let me try... huh... Oswald became Penguin because a Penguin flew through his window the moment he was considering becaming a criminal .

Damian: *was in the mission with Dick* May I try? Joker is a villain because his mother had depression and his jokes never made her happy.

Dick: Holy shit! Too heavy, lil D.

Duke: Sadge.

Tim: It looks like a soap opera plot.

Damian: I DO NOT watch soap operas with umi. SHUT UP!

Tim: Whoa there is a lot to unpack here.

Damian: Say one more word and I'll kill you Drake.

Duke: My bet is on Dami.

Cass: Bet Tim survives but barely.

Dick: Let's all calm down a bit. Maybe Joker became a villain because a mean kid said he wasn't funny.

Jason: *coming out of nowhere* What about Joker became a villain because he sucks?

Steph: That's just real life, Jay. We are trying to have fun here.

Jason: *rolls his eyes* Fine. Let me try again. All of B villains had their family killed by a bat. All of them. The same day, the same bat. Better?

Steph: Amazing!

Tim: Wait a second.

Damian: What now, Drake?

Tim: Bane has a Cruella type backstory!

Babs: *eyes getting huge* Holy shit he kindda has.

Cass: Explain.

Tim: When in the pit because a lot of irrelevant trauma things Bane had nightmares with a half bat half man creature attacking him so his solution was to crack B's spine in half.

Dick: Okay we need to make a Cruella Bane song.

Babs: Is not that close of a backstory.

Dick: So you don't want a Cruella Bane song?

Babs: Good point. I stand corrected.

[evandarya]

Ghosts Dont go to High School

Chapter 10

<Read on Ao3>

D.F. 👻:

Still want to know about ghosts?

Danny sent the message halfway through patrol while Tim was in the middle of breaking up an attempted burglary. He sent back a quick message while blocking a punch with his staff.

Red Robin:

Yes

A quick sweep of his staff landed the last of the thugs on his back.

Red Robin:

Did you talk to Phantom?

While waiting for a reply he zip-tied the thugs together for the GCPD to find and made his way to the nearest rooftop

D.F. 👻:

He agreed to meet you at Old Gotham Cemetery tomorrow at midnight.

Tim frowned at the time and place. Talk about cliche.

Red Robin:

I can be there.

Tim landed on the roof of a building across from Gotham Cemetery at 11:30 pm Sunday. His comm crackled in his ear.

“Are you sure you don’t want any backup?” Nightwing asked.

“I’m sure. Phantom is flighty. If a pack of vigilantes shows up it will scare him off. There’s no telling when or if he’d agree to meet again.” Tim said. Gotham Cemetery stood empty, the large iron gates were chained shut. It didn’t look like Phantom was there yet. Good.

“If Drake allows the ghost to get away again, someone else should be in charge of this case,” Damian said. Tim could almost see the sneer on the demon brat’s face.

“Codenames,” Batman said over the comms. “Red Robin is the only one who has been able to get close to Phantom. We need information on ghosts to be prepared if anything happens, but Phantom is not our enemy.” There was a pause as Batman allowed those words to seep in. “That being said, I can be there in three minutes.”

“It will be fine.” Tim stood to get a better view of the cemetery.

“Isn’t it a bit on-the-nose for a ghost to hang out in a graveyard?” Nightwing asked.

“It’s a cemetery, actually,” Tim said, switching from the regular vision in his mask to infrared. If Phantom had ice powers, maybe he could see him as a cold spot.

“What’s the difference?”

“Graveyards are attached to churches,” Tim responded, “Cemeteries aren't.” There wasn’t anything on thermal vision.

“Did Phantom tell you that?” Damian asked, his derisive tone clear even over the comm.

“No, actually. Da- uh… someone else did.”

“It was your physics partner, wasn't it?” Damian asked.

“Your boyfriend knows the difference between graveyards and cemeteries?" Dick asked. "That’s kinda creepy.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Tim shot back.

“Not yet,” Dick sing-songed.

“Chatter on comms,” Batman warned.

“Oh, come on, B. You have to admit, he’s the son of ghost hunters, is in regular contact with ghosts, and hangs out in cemeteries. That’s creepy. All he needs is fangs and he could be a full-on vampire.”

Tim felt his face flush as he was reminded of the sharper-than-human teeth he knew Danny sometimes had. “He’s not a vampire.”

“You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?”

Tim spun around and found himself face to face with Phantom. Tim wondered if he had had a bad night since the ghost was looking rough. His white hair, which usually floated around as if blown in an invisible breeze hung limp, and there were dark blue bags under his eyes that showed in sharp contrast to his paler-blue-than-normal skin. Even his pointed ears seemed to droop. He had a lumpy black duffle bag thrown over one shoulder and it sat heavily against his hip, or where his hip would be if his body didn’t end in a wispy tail.

“No, of course not,” Tim answered quickly. Phantom hummed, looking unconvinced, and shifted the duffle higher onto his shoulder. “What's in the bag?”

Phantom set it down and pulled out a thin silvery rod, about a foot long and covered in green markings and copper wires. Tim took it from the ghost. “What is it?” Tim turned the rod around in his hands. If he had to guess, it was a lightning rod of some kind.

“Let's head into the cemetery and I’ll tell you about it.” Phantom took the rod back and stuck it into the bag. He floated over to the edge of the building. “After you.”

Tim eyed Phantom; the ghost looked like a strong wind would blow him away, but he gestured for Tim to go first, so he shot off his grapple and landed inside the gates to the cemetery. Phantom joined him just a second later.

“So, what are those rods?”

“It’s why I wanted you here.” Phantom was digging in his duffle bag again. “I’ve been waiting for a natural portal to open between here and the Infinite Realms so I could send Cindy home, but it’s been weeks and there hasn’t been one, which is odd.” Phantom finally found what he was looking for, a device with a small radar dish on the front. He powered it up and a green grid popped up on the screen. “See?” Phantom turned the device so he could see it better.

Tim squinted at the device. There was a line that was rotating and a steady slow beep, but nothing on the screen stood out to him. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly! There is supposed to be ectoplasm everywhere," Phantom said, pulling the device back to himself. "It gathers in certain places: ley lines, graveyards, cemeteries, battlegrounds, war zones."

"Places where there is a lot of death," Tim supplied, trying to figure out the line of thought Phantom was on.

"Yeah. Gotham should be an ectoplasm hot spot, what with all the…" Phantom waved his hand in the air in a vague gesture before he shrugged. "Everything about this place." He stopped his explanation long enough to tap some buttons on the device. "But it isn't."

Phantom continued to fidget with the machine but didn't continue his explanation. The cemetery grew silent around them, the only sound was the breeze in the yellowing leaves. Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Any ideas why that is?" Tim raised his eyebrow in question.

"Theories, not anything concrete." Phantom studied the device in his hands and ran a thumb along the surface. "Most likely, there is a– well, it doesn't translate well from ghost speak, but a kind of natural ectoplasm filter here."

"A filter," Tim deadpanned.

"As I said, it doesn't translate well.” Phantom floated away from Tim a little until he was settled cross-legged on the top of an old headstone. “They form naturally when there is a high concentration of ectoplasm in one spot in the mortal realm. It's part of the natural ectoplasm cycle."

“Ectoplasm Cycle?” Nightwing asked over the comm. Tim ignored him.

"If they form in places high in ectoplasm, why are the levels in Gotham so low?"

"Because they soak up all the ectoplasm like a sponge and filter it back into the infinite realms.”

Chatter exploded over the comms about the Lazarus pit somewhere in the caves under Gotham, but surely not. The pits were mysterious, but they didn't have anything to do with ghosts, surely. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “What does this filter look like?” the comms went silent.

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen one, just read about them.” Phantom put the device back into the bag and pulled out a rod. “In any case, to send Cindy home, I need to force a portal to form. That’s where this comes in.” Phantom held out the rod. He looked pleased with himself, so much so that Tim hated to ask.

“Right." Tim crossed his arms over his chest and nodded toward the rod. "You still haven’t told me what that is.”

“It’s an ecto-rod.” Phantom turned the rod around in his hands. “It gathers ambient ectoplasm and channels it to a single spot. Once the ectoplasm levels in the area get high enough, a portal forms. Then I can send Cindy home.” Phantom tapped the end of the rod twice on his shoulder. “So, that’s my deal. You let me put these where I need them to go, and I’ll answer any questions about ghosts you may have while I’m doing it.” Phantom held the rod in his lap and watched Tim, waiting.

“Is it safe? We aren’t going to have zombies running around Gotham cemetery, are we?” Tim asked. The last thing they needed was more zombies, Solomon Grundy was enough.

“Oh, yeah, no, yeah,” Phantom waved his hand in the air, “it’s perfectly safe. Ectoplasm doesn’t create zombies, only ghosts and the occasional overly aggressive food item.”

"Aggressive food items?" Dick asked.

“What do you mean, aggressive food item?”

“Hmm. That falls under ‘questions about ghosts’" Phantom gave him a fanged smirk.

“If there isn’t any ectoplasm in Gotham, how are the rods going to gather it to form a portal?” Damian asked and Tim hated that he made a good point, but he repeated the question anyway.

“Oh, in a few weeks, it will be Samhain. The barrier is thinner then, so more ectoplasm than usual is going to leak across. The filter won’t be able to keep up with it and there will hopefully be enough to make a portal big enough for Cindy to slip through.”

“And if there isn’t enough?”

Phantom grew still and his voice was nearly a whisper when he responded. “I can supplement if there isn’t enough.”

“What does that mean?” Tim and Dick asked at the same time.

“That falls under ‘questions about ghosts'," Phantom repeated. There was no grin this time.

“Let him set them up. We can increase patrols in the area until we know there isn’t a threat,” Batman growled over the comms.

“Hood isn’t going to be happy about that. This area is right on the edge of his territory,” Dick responded.

They kept talking, their chatter an annoying buzz in his ear. Tim reached up and turned off his comm so he could focus on Phantom. The ghost had his head cocked to the side, watching him curiously. With his glowing green eyes and black-and-white coloring Tim was reminded of a tuxedo cat.

“Okay, you can set up the ecto rods.” Tim hoped they weren't going to regret trusting Phantom.

Phantom smiled brightly and floated down from the headstone. “Great! This way.”

Tim walked beside Phantom deeper into the silent cemetery. The older ornate headstones gave way to smaller stones and placards. The light from the crescent moon shone down in mottled spots, ever-shifting due to the cloud cover. It was still early enough in the season for the leaves to start changing colors but not late enough for them to fall. A cool breeze ruffled his hair bringing with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and gasoline, along with the ever-present stench of the city. He was quiet for a bit, mulling over his thoughts. To his surprise, Phantom broke the silence first.

“So, before you get started interrogating me about ghosts, I have a few ground rules.” Phantom rubbed his shoulder and looked up toward the moon. “Don’t ask about a ghost's death. It’s…rude.” Phantom paused. For a long moment, he was silent, but Tim could tell he wanted to say something else, so he kept quiet until Phantom continued. “You have to understand, ghosts don’t form from nice deaths.” The hand that had been gripping his shoulder that had been on his shoulder came down to squeeze at his hand, his thumb digging into the meat of his left palm.

“Is that-” Tim caught himself asking about Phantom's hand, but the subject of conversation was painting a picture of his days, a death that Tim didn't like the look of. He switched gears instead. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Some things aren’t my secrets to tell. Don’t push for answers if I tell you ‘no’.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Can I ask you to elaborate on what you meant about supplementing ectoplasm?”

“Ghosts are mostly ectoplasm, in the same way, humans are mostly water. If there isn’t enough ectoplasm to trigger a portal, I can use some of my own.” Phantom held up his hand with the palm facing up.

"Isn't that like using your blood?" Tim felt sick at the thought.

Phantom shrugged. "Sort of."

“There has to be another way.” The last thing he wanted was for Phantom to have to use his own blood, or life force.

Phantom sighed, a thin mist forming from his breath. “Not without sneaking into a highly secured vault with advanced anti-ghost defenses, twenty-four/seven armed guard, and a one-way trip to a holding cell If I'm caught.”

“Maybe I could–”

“No.” Phantom stopped in front of Tim and pinned him with a sharp look. It was the most serious he had ever seen the ghost look. “I don’t want you any more involved than you already are. It’s hard enough keeping Cindy out of danger, I don’t need you poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Okay?”

"Okay," Tim said. Phantom nodded and started down a smaller path. He was starting to get an idea of where they were going.

“Speaking of Cindy," Tim spoke up after a few minutes of silence. "Where is she?”

“She’s with me.” Phantom looked over at him and his eyes trailed down toward his left leg. “Or, she’s with you right now.” Tim looked down but he didn’t see anything. He tried switching to infrared, and even ultraviolet views.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Yeah, most people can’t see ghosts when they want to stay hidden.” Phantom stopped to dig into his bag and pulled out a large copper ring wrapped in a thin green wire. The ring could easily fit on Tim’s finger. “Try looking through this.”

Tim took it and held it up to the sky, squinting one eye to peer through the hole. “What is it?”

“It’s like a hag stone but it actually works.” Phantom crossed his arms and waited. Tim sighed and pressed the metal to his eye and immediately pulled it away.

“What the hell?” Tim blinked at the stone in confusion while Phantom smirked at him. He put the ring back to his eye and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Phantom was still Phantom, same blue skin and white hair, but there was a mist surrounding him, green like his eyes. It seemed to pulse, growing brighter and dimmer in a steady beat. Most of the mist swirled around his torso, but some of it was floating toward Tim. He followed it and found himself looking into the face of a child who was clinging to his leg like a toddler. She smiled and Tim noticed a few missing teeth. Where Phantom was in full color, Cindy’s color was muted grays and pinks.

“She used up a lot of her ectoplasm in the fire. She’s been subsisting on mine since then, but it’s not a permanent solution.”

“Why is she on me?”

Phantom smiled down at the girl and when he spoke his voice was fond. “She likes you, says you feel familiar.”

Phantom made a strange chirping sound and Cindy reluctantly let go of Tim’s leg and settled on the ghost’s shoulders. Her small size reminded Tim of how young Cindy must have been when she died. He didn’t have to ask how she had died, he could guess. Her mother had died in a house fire, and Cindy’s ghost was haunting the burnt-out remnants of an apartment building. Tim clenched the ring in his fist and closed his eyes.

A child had died scared and in pain and his first instinct when meeting her was to think of her as a monster.

“Can she hear me?” Tim asked. At Phantom’s nod, he put the ring back up to his eye. Cindy was still on Phantom’s shoulders watching him with interest. She was much less defined than Phantom, sort of fuzzy around the edges, though no less there. “I want to apologize for the way I acted when we first met. I will help Phantom get you back to your mom if I can,” he said, speaking directly to her.

Cindy’s face broke into a large grin and she flew off of Phantom’s shoulders and crashed into him. Tim could actually feel her. He was surprised by how warm she was for a ghost, how tightly something non-corporeal could squeeze.

“Aw, that’s nice. Well, we’re here.” Phantom turned to the small grave marker. Someone had put fresh white lilies on the grave and it had been recently cleaned of leaves. Tim knew without looking that the grave marker would say ‘Michelle Howe’. Cindy’s mother.

Tim felt Cindy shift her hold on him until she was settled against his back. “What’s the plan?”

Phantom set the duffle bag on the ground and pulled out one of the rods. “I’m going to put these around the grave.”

Phantom floated to the headstone and sunk the rod far too easily into the ground beside it.

"How did you do that?" Red Robin asked. "Density shifting?"

"No,” Phantom pulled another rod out of the bag before answering. “Phase shifting." He pushed the second pole into the ground on the other side of the headstone.

"What's the difference?"

Phantom gave him a look like he should know the answer before shaking his head. "Density shifting is changing the distance between atoms so the atoms in object A pass between the atoms of object B. Phase shifting is moving object A out of phase with the current reality."

"That sounds complicated."

Phantom snorted a laugh. "Ghosts exist on a different plane of reality. The complicated part is staying on this plane." He sunk another pole into the ground several feet away from the first two and in line with the second one. "I can't tell you how many times I fell through the floor before I got the hang of it."

“According to the Fentons, ghosts can control their powers instinctively, but you can't?” Tim asked. Phantom shifted uncomfortably and Cindy seemed to hold onto Tim’s shoulders tighter.

“Most ghosts can, but not all.” Phantom fiddled with the fourth rod. “I can send you some actual research on the different types of ghosts.”

He turned away from Tim and pressed the rod into the ground, completing a large rectangle around the gravesite. There was no evidence of the area being tampered with at all. Phantom pulled the last rod out of the bag.

"How do you know so much about density shifting?" Tim asked.

"Popular Mechanics did an article on some of the Justice League's powers a few years back. I always liked Martian Manhunter the best, before… well, before." Phantom gestured to his wispy tail and pointed ears. Red Robin could finish the thought himself. Before Phantom died.

Which opened up a whole new avenue of questions. According to the Fenton's research ghosts couldn't remember their lives before they died. But Phantom remembered that he liked Martian Manhunter, and Cindy certainly remembers who she was. If they were wrong about that, what else could they have been wrong about?

"What about Martian Manhunter did you like?"

Phantom's eyes lit up, "He's from Mars. He's an actual real-life Martian. We only just developed sustainable space travel, and Martians had that technology before humans even existed. We could have learned so much about space, technology, and the history of the universe from them!"

Red Robin could swear he saw literal stars in Phantom's eyes as he continued to talk about Martians and space travel and the universe at large, and was it his imagination, or was his glow getting brighter? Phantom had started to talk about the formation of the Crab Head Nebula when he suddenly stopped and gave Red Robin a sheepish look. "Sorry, I got carried away. You don't care about any of that."

"You don't have to stop on my account. You seem to really love space."

"Yeah." Phantom fiddled with the last pole in his hands. "I wanted to be an astronaut. Before. I used to read scientific journals about space for fun."

Tim remembered the first time he had seen Phantom, eating a burger and staring up at what little of the stars he could see. "You spent your life studying aeronautics." Red Robin couldn't help the grief welling up like a spring in his chest. For maybe the first time he realized Phantom had been alive once. A human with passions and dreams and hobbies. He had a goal and was never able to achieve it because he had died.

Phantom's hand clenched around the pole, his white gloves made no sound, even though they were made of some sort of rubber. Neoprene, or a chemical-resistant PVC. In fact, his whole suit was a kind of rubberized hazmat uniform similar to the ones the Doctors Fenton had been wearing.

A thought, half-formed, flitted through his brain, and the spring of grief in his chest turned to ice. "When did you meet Danny?"

Phantom turned to face him. The guard that had dropped while he spoke of space was back up, reinforced with wariness. "A long time ago."

"Did you know him before?"

Instead of answering, Phantom narrowed his eyes and sunk the final pole into the center of the grave. "I'm all done here. I shouldn't need your help again."

"Wait!" Tim yelled, reaching out to the ghost. If Phantom disappeared now he may never have the opportunity to speak to him again. But it was too late. Phantom was already gone.

[augenblicklich-lila]

cod incorrect quotes #8

I went through old stuff I wrote and found a cute one-shot I wrote for Tim Drake (Red Robin) that never got to see the light of day and I lowkey feel bad for it. At the same time, it's from 2018 and I feel unsure about publishing it. I just don't write much anymore and it makes me big sad. I am trying to be nicer to myself about writing though. Love y'all ♡

the usual jazz, mainly Y/N/Reader stuff, platonic and romantic. A sprinkle of Soapghost & Alerudy ♡♡♡

- Lila

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Y/N: Ghost has never seen Star Wars? Soap, the only people in the universe who haven’t seen Star Wars are the characters in Star Wars and that’s cause they lived them, Soap! That’s cause they lived the Star Wars!

Alejandro: I dare you- Gaz: Y/N is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Rodolfo: Why not? Y/N: "I have no regard for my own or others' personal safety", as some coughs PRICEANDGHOST coughs would say.

König: I woke up and chose VIOLENCE. I WILL COMMIT ARSON AND BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!!! I AM ANGRY- Y/N: Awwww, you’re so adorable! Give me a hug~ König: Wh-What? nO, yOURE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF ME! TREMBLE BEFORE MY WRATH- Soap, recording: This is so cute. (if we're real, this is also all of us with Ghost lmao)

Y/N: I like to think of myself as a semi-responsible adult here. Gaz: König is 70% of your impulse control and you know this Y/N. König: I feel like Y/N is the more responsible one of us two though. Y/N: We are both 70% of each other's impulse control. König: Just two lil beasts in pinwheel hats spinning on the merry-go-round at dangerous velocities, holding each other’s hands so the other doesn’t fall off.

Rodolfo: Alejandro! What did I tell you about lying? Alejandro, looking down: …That it only works on Graves.

Y/N: When Gaz has daiquiris he gets really into how beautiful he is. Gaz: Hey, I dare you guys to dare us to make out. Rodolfo: Hey Gaz, you know that’s a mirror, right? (fair enough honestly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Ghost: I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are. Y/N: It’s not a joke. Y/N: sniffles Y/N: I’m a legit snack.

Ghost: Adults are the most insanely stupid people I have the displeasure of interacting with. Y/N, referring to themself and Soap: Even us?Ghost: Especially you guys. Soap: Y/N: Soap: Petition to kick Ghost out so he stops insulting us. Y/N: Seconded.

Y/N: Ghost doesn’t deserve you. Y/N: If he doesn't treat you right by now, you're gone. Soap: I'm gone. Y/N: Now go chop his dick off.

Ghost: Where are my fucking keys? Soap: Ghost, Y/N is around, can you say it a little nicer? Ghost: May I ascertain the whereabouts of my FUCKING KEYS?!

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　 ∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　 ノ 　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛