#wip: damian gets a pocket

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for yesdanger behind the cut; “Damian gets a Pocket”. Full disclosure, like half of the first version of this got eaten by a weird glitch when I first wrote it and it has been absolutely agonizing trying to rewrite it, hahasob. AGONIZING.  (( chrono || non-chrono ))

He purchases a more functional bag, two spare sets of clothing–both at least partially featuring Beloved's preferred shade of red–and a small selection of additional rations for Beloved with the supply set–an easily-wearable backpack with small compartments and a variety of rations based in any cuisine but English–and then exits the shop and returns to Pennyworth and the towncar. He will present Beloved with the improved bag and the supply set at home, when the other has time to peruse its contents uninterrupted and pack or unpack the bags however he may prefer to. 

The rations he does offer to him on the drive, though. They should be a less overwhelming offering to peruse, he assumes. Beloved seems surprised and then delighted, as if he somehow was unaware that they were in the shop specifically to make purchases for him, which Damian finds–unpleasant, as a consideration. Beloved packs away the small rations very carefully in his eraser bag and attempts to offer a share of them to Damian in the process, as he attempted to share the samplings of food that Damian had sourced for him during lunch period this afternoon. 

Damian observes the thin, hungry look of Beloved, and is again uncertain how to respond to such an offer, and again does not understand such an offer, either. 

And, most especially again, finds unpleasant. Beloved should not be concerned with the state of anyone but himself, when his point of origin is in such a position as to require the assistance of Robin desperately enough to manifest a Pocket over it. 

When his point of origin’s truest image of himself is ragged and hungry and bruised. 

It disquiets Damian, that Beloved could manifest in the manner that he has and still be so concerned with what he perceives as the needs of others. 

He accepts one small ration, mostly because it pleases Beloved when he does, and for now tucks it back into the tiny box they came in. He will return it to Beloved at a later time, or simply keep it to hand in case Beloved requires it. 

“Love love love,” Beloved chatters up at him, his atypically blue eyes aglow with delight. 

Not literally aglow, though Damian only notes that fact because he almost expects them to be. 

He thinks, again–and just as irrationally as before–of lightning. 

Pennyworth transports them back to the manor without further interruption or incident, and does not inquire invasively after anything. He requests the usual report of Damian’s time at school, which Damian delivers as efficiently as possible, since at least in that he is not required to waste Pennyworth’s time. 

The first time Pennyworth had asked him for such a report, Damian had assumed it was meant to be relayed to Father so that Father would not need to come looking for the information himself. Then he learned Father would be requesting the same report at dinner each evening and realized it was in fact a test. Father wishes to be certain that the events of Damian’s reports do not vary, either to be certain of the quality of Damian’s attentiveness and observational abilities and overall recall, or to be certain that Damian has not been duplicitous or subversive while out of Father’s immediate sphere of influence. To be certain that Damian has conducted himself acceptably as a Wayne, and not the version of “acceptably” that he would as an al-Ghul. 

Of course Father would require proof and testimony of that. 

[suzukiblu]

B'AWWW I love them all IMMEDIATELY. ❤️❤️❤️ Lookit those tiny cuties!!

( god now I wanna write the prequel where Cassie wakes up to HER Pocket trio even more, haha. )

Tim with his three pockets from @suzukiblu fanfic "Damian gets a pocket"

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (i) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, referenced assault, violence, toxic relationships, eventual fem love interest, bug taxidermy, unhealthy coping mechanisms, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; horribly in love with the idea of a self-sufficient classy mean judge. reblogs and interactions appreciated!! a lot (●'◡'●)

in fact, you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition, their thanks.

you won’t say you’re not petty, not childish, not absurd and not disgusting for what you’re doing, but you’ve heard it innumerable times before, and don’t mind it now. in a matter of days, the limits you’ve placed on yourself have become the bane of your existence.

bright, technicoloured posters with you favourite bands and characters hang on the walls, music playing merrily on a small portable speaker you’d bought with your self-earned pocket money. it all provided the perfect image of a regular teenager, to the extent that you weren’t really creating a civilian identity like your family, but living through it. normally.

it makes you giddy, and you know it shouldn’t, to be so unsuspecting. your grades are mediocre, but your teachers praise your work, you’re not popular enough to go be invited to every party, but enough to be friends with three quarters of the grade, not dedicated enough to a franchise to know it super well, but still enjoy it through multiple perspectives. normal, exceptional, and normal.

that’s what makes it all the more rewarding to do what you do. since being adopted at eleven, you’ve pieced together the caped identities of the monolith you call your family with lovely colour-coded pin boards and pictures. you know they escape into the night to fight not criminals, but fight crime, beating and getting beat in the process.

you think it’s tedious, but you never comment. there’s not much you remember prior to coming into the manor, except the raw experiences from fleeing cheerfully down unkempt, spray painted, molding stairway chambers with your friends away from an angry neighbour, laughing the whole way down. sharing fries for one among six to seven people, since money was hard to get by and harder to go around and listening to the one person who could afford school talk about it. pushing your friends on the swings and them tying your laces in return, since the swings were too far from the ground to push yourself, and scratchy velcro was for “sissies”.

you could say your childhood was rugged, but fairly kind for a gothamite. you weren’t given the life of a gilded richman’s son like tim, or the hard street crime life of jason. you weren’t raised by assassins or masters like damian and cassandra, not clever and determined like duke, not gifted with athleticism like dick. normal, incredibly. lucky, even.

you cannot think of anyone when you think of family. you considered your group of friends (acquaintances does your relationship better justice, but at ten, everyone was a friend if they didn’t wear a badge and a cap) family, but you knew that’s not what the word meant. they’d go back home to fighting parents, single mothers, thieving fathers, earning siblings or aging aunts and uncles. you would go home to a quiet one-room apartment and a poor quality mattress.

it’s not fair to say you weren’t cared for. the neighbourhood considered you their darling child, your friends’ parents sending you food, aunties reading you stories and elderly residents providing comfort when you wanted the rare support of an adult. but you had no family because by your accord, you would have to return home to them for someone to be family.

it’s the opposite now. you return home from school to bruce wayne and his entourage of misplaced children, but your interactions are stiff as stone. you go out to diners and have the most soulless conversations, stay in the house and refuse to partake in their exchanges.

because you are different. their morals are aligned to your guardian’s, of justice and strength and so on, so on. your morals are aligned with your survival, no one else's, selfish, scavenging. you cannot get along on a base value, because you don’t belong to their nest of canaries. you are, as a silly buzzfeed quiz at five in the morning said, a shrike.

yet still, you seeked the warmth of family. the resurgence of that feeling you once had in your old life. you could never return, having now experienced the fruits of luxury, having lived too far from “home” for far too long, with the added weight of a bruce wayne shaped shadow that followed you. the immense danger it would bring to yourself and those around you would be preposterous, unimaginable, but no more horrifying than the awkwardness you'd receive from you old not-family. scrutinising stares, untrusting glances, forced waves. no, no, it wouldn’t do. you don’t want to feel miserable. 

it’s enough that your presumed family already gives you those looks. sneers from damian, concerned glances from cassandra, brief unease from dick, ignorance from tim, you could go on and on and on. and you’re not stupid. you only have yourself to blame.

your vanity, as the buzzfeed quiz had said, in curling cursive font that sometimes turned to boxes on the ui, presented itself as a horrifying ignorance. unlike a peacock’s gushing beauty, your pretty-factor extended only as far into first impressions. when someone gets closer, enough to see the white of your eyes, they shrink away.

crude comments, satirical dismissal, and sharp judgement are things that have, in air quotes, made you unlikable. when watching a documentary about bug-taxidermy on one of the tvs, damian had walked in and commented on the generous “inhumanity” of it. instead of justifying the practice with explanations of how ethical it was, you’d scoffed and called him dramatic. he antagonised you, and you couldn't care less.

mean things left your mouth without hesitation, “who cares” and “you’re doing too much” at the simplest things. but you didn’t do it on purpose. growing up, kindness was reserved only for people in your circle, barterers of goods and generosity. you were polite to the old ladies who brought you food, nice to the new kid who looked at you for guidance, and offered support to people who’d offered that to you too.

you had no obligation to be kind to the wayne household. they had done nothing for you, other than pulling you out of a blood stained alley and providing you a home you didn’t ask for. you weren’t let in on their family bonds and not given the chance to create mutual trust with them, and were not keen on it after their whitewashed kidnapping either. 

perhaps you had the frayed edges of low-class living from gotham’s alleys, but you also had firmly set, stich, stern and strict guidelines about your behaviour. you would not make the first move, and you would not do more than fulfill debts. one favour for another, never more.

that’s what makes your secretive secret side job exhilarating. you have no need to do what you do, except for a sense of duty. the term itself, obligation, is unfamiliar, exciting. like many, but not the majority, the batman and his menagerie’s morals seem too high standing for the crevices of gotham’s underworld. only the red hood can relate, and even he is too far from the truth in your eyes.

death was a permanent solution to the wrongs of people. but you could not simply just wipe out a criminal from the street and call it a day. the only striking similarity between you and bruce wayne, was that the two of you didn’t fight criminals, but fought crime. you snuffed it out as it started hinting at the surface, not waiting for a track record or a ticket list on a license. nothing was forgiven, because you were not obliged to forgive.

you did not forgive, but did excuse. the theft of food, the death of someone too touchy, the fractured ribs of a parent too cruel, were excused. because like you, the suspect, the criminal, was also simply bartering. a favour for a favour, a wicked death for a wicked life. they would be let off from your radar, until someone else got to them. you were not obliged to save them. you are duty-bound only to rid. 

out of habit really, you resorted to violence. seeing a lady bothered by a fellow too close a few months back, you did what came naturally without the supervision of domineering adults and officers and shot him point blank. for a second, the woman stilled, painted in blood from the spray that arced to her, before screaming in horror and fleeing, without so much as a glance in your direction. 

you were unperturbed by the lack of thanks, with a hint of humour at the thought, since it meant you were not indebted to her and she was not to you. 

but it’s the realisation that comes shortly after, that a fine or a scolding would not similarly scare away the man, and he was now well taken care of. and you think of the other scummy people hiding gotham’s crowded basements, and think of their freedom. it makes you angry, it always has, truly it does. death was not an uncommon occurrence in gotham, the murders and abductions, cruelty and pain all as abundant as the trash, poverty and crime within the city. why was it only an offense when it came to the people who perpetuated it?

comfort does little to save victims. a bag of cash and a pat on the back will not rid them of their memories, sadness, or their losses. you are neither sympathetic nor can you relate, but you are angry. have been angry. on their behalf. the world is a rotten and sick place, and this city is especially so. and while batman is a poor janitor, the red hood one too late, and the monolith of your family too distant, you are decided. you’ll wash this place clean like a broken truck, knowing it’ll never work again, but look pretty as it remains.

and you, a good-for-nothing, always scorning, useless kid, are unsuspecting. you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition or their thanks.

> a/n i think this is a solid part one for a prologue bit. the crow choir series is getting a bit neglected because i want to think over its intricacies a bit better. in contrast, this is a very kick and throw kind of plot line, more fun to write for.

i've been super nervous to post on tumblr but am enjoying it. hopefully will upload the next bits soon, interactions so very very appreciated! esp ideas in comments or asks, because it makes me feel like i'm not wiling away the time i should use for other things (T_T) overall just feels nice too.

thank you for reading!!

[ziote]

Tim Drake’s Missing Spleen*

*prefacing this by saying I am absolutely not a medical professional, but I am someone who has had a splenectomy and has lived spleen-less for 22 years and counting

I love how melodramatic fandom is and how determined we are to put our special guys (gender neutral) through The Horrors. So I find it interesting how there are pockets of the BatFandom using Tim’s spleen (or lack thereof) for whump or hurt/comfort fodder. Especially since our bodies can function relatively normally even without that organ.

So here I am, thinking out-loud in the village square, of the various ways Tim’s immune system can (realistically) be impacted by this based on my own biased experiences:

True, without a spleen you are more prone to infections.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the flu is going to dropkick Tim into a hospital bed. For the most part, Tim would be fine if he keeps up to date with his vaccines. (And with all of Gotham’s kitschy rogues with their airborne gasses/toxins, there is absolutely no way Tim [or by extension the rest of Batman Inc.] parade around Gotham or in the City’s sewage system without staying on top of their vaccines.)

That being said, if Tim maybe somehow ingested unpurified water though…

Imagine a scenario where Tim, either alone or with the Titans/Young Justice team, is on a mission—maybe he’s in the middle of nowhere doing some survival training with the Titans/Young Justice team without a clean water source, or maybe he’s stranded halfway around the world (off tracking down Bruce when he’s lost in time or whatever) and shouldn’t drink the tap water there.

Whatever the scenario is, Tim ingests unpurified water.

Drinking unclean water isn’t a good idea normally, but it can really fuck up someone without a spleen. From experience, this is an awful time. (I went cave diving in Uni and accidentally drank some of the cave water by accident. For the next three days: I couldn’t eat or drink anything, I could barely walk from my dorm room to the bathroom, and black gunk was coming out both ends.) You quite literally feel like you are going to die.

Tim returns to the manor thinking he has a stomach ache or something, then becomes increasingly more sick.

But its fine. Hes fine. He can handle an upset stomach. Walking unsteadily to the toilet every hour is exhausting. And, sorry Alfred, he's not really hungry but he'll try to eat a few more bites.

Anyways, he's fine.

Alfred or Damian (or choose your preferred batfamily member), finds Tim in his room later that night or the next day and he is sick as hell. They get that boy on antibiotics stat!

(which I did not do in Uni, and I should have. Do as I say, not as I do)

Que your typical comfort to end off the hurt.

And maybe the family learns about Tim’s missing spleen in the process and that explains why he's so sick. In Tim's defense, he's been busy and kind of forgot that his spleen was no longer with him. Promptly, in unison, they say “what the fuck, Tim.”

I should be on ao3 writing this as a fic, not on Tumblr. But alas, my WIP folder is endless…

[batbirdies]

oooohh I have to ask about Damian stabs Stephanie for the wip ask game!!!

hahaha this fic is about Damian being a typical kid but being so adamant that he isn't one, Stephanie equally adamant that he is one, that it backfires on them both lmao.

Stephanie is determined to get Damian to have fun sometimes. he's been a little extra grumpy lately over something and she tries to drag him into roller skating in the ballroom at the manor. Damian is not on board, as usual, but Stephanie needles him into at least putting the skates on and trying it. But he's being sullen and resistant throughout. She tries to push him to roller dance with her, this results in a mild physical confrontation that would normally be extremely normal for them but on roller skates- Stephanie falls on top of Damian, who has a knife in his pocket, a knife that he sewed the hilt for himself because he's a young teenage boy and he's Damian.

But he didn't totally know what he was doing. His stitches are nice and tight but he didn't put a welt in, and the knife wedges against his hip bone, slips straight through the stitching in the hilt, then his pocket, and ends up straight into Stephanie's stomach.

It doesn't go deep, but it's more than a little alarming and results in a short more intense fight that ends with Damian giving her stitches himself, and Stephanie convincing him that being bad at things is part of growing up and so is having fun, so if he's bad at having fun, that's also just part of growing up. He just needs practice, and Stephanie is great coach<3

There was also thought of putting Bruce in here to teach Damian how to make a proper hilt lol. But nothing for this one has actually been written yet, its just an idea board of me inserting thoughts here and there.

[suzukiblu]

CUTEST FUCKING SHIT. ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I wanna pinch BOTH their cheeks but Damian would absolutely do a stabbing, haha.

Damian and his pocket have arrived!

Look at the cutie patooties!

Thank you @suzukiblu for starting a fic for the sketch I originally sent you for this AU. You will never know how excited I get whenever I see it.

Here's the original sketch for anybody wondering.

Notable changes between the sketch and the final piece:

I ended up making Pocket!Billy bigger so I didn't have to draw more of Damian's fingers.

I ended up not making Pocket!Billy's clothes all torn up only because I forgot.

I made Damian's face chubbier because I decided that he needed some more baby fat.

I cut out the bottom left scene where Damian runs to Bruce because it got cut from the fic and because I didn't feel like drawing a side view.

[pluckyredhead]

🍊🍌🍐 for the emoji meme???

🍊 Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

Tim Drake! I think Tim's relations with the rest of the Batfam are so interesting, I just have no actual story to put him in. Someday I'll come up with a long plotty Batfam genfic and then you'll see, you'll all see!

🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?

Unfortunately the one that immediately came to mind is from a WIP and it's so good I don't want to spoil it. But I will also say that almost every line I gave Bart in Say It Just One Time makes me laugh, especially this scene:

Jon moved, but Bart got there first, wrapping his arms around Kara and letting her cry. “Hey, it’s okay, we can still get married. We don’t need the rings. Or we’ll get placeholders. We’ll get Ring Pops! Or we can steal some money from Tim, he’s loaded.” “I would just give you the money, you know,” Tim said, but he didn’t look too annoyed, probably because the joke had drawn a wet laugh out of Kara. “There’s no need to try to make Drake feel useful,” Damian drawled, stepping forward and holding out a little velvet box. “The clone’s clone might be strong, but he’s too stupid to notice when his pockets are being picked.” Kara stared at him. “You...you got them back?” Damian shrugged. “It was a simple matt—oof!” He staggered back a little as Kara grabbed him in a hug. “Thank you,” she said, her voice still a little shaky. “Thank you.” Damian very clearly had no idea what to do with either the hug or the gratitude, but Kara let him go before Jon started feeling guilty enough to rescue him. He did take a quick step back when Bart approached, as if to avoid another hug, and Jon had to bite his lip not to laugh. “Thank you so much, Damian,” Bart said. “You were killed by your evil clone once too, right? We should form a club!” “We absolutely should not,” Damian said.

🍐 Is there anything in canon that you absolutely hate and love to fix in fics? A wrong choice made, a fuck-up in characterization, a misunderstanding never cleared up, a conversation never shown onscreen, etc…

Lian's death, hands down. You'll note that the only fics I've ever acknowledged it in are post-Infinite Frontier ones where she's already back.

Also in general I love to acknowledge relationships DC has forgotten about. Jason and Eddie, Roy and Grant...actually literally anyone and Grant...

Ask me more fruits!

[romegaketh]

M, Q, and D for in the pocket!

Lots of text so I am putting this under a cut!

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I had to kill a Randy/Cody subsection of Seth Rollins Has A Bad Time In Omegaverse and I probably won't follow through on it ever because Randy is too gross for me to want to spend like... lots of time in his head. But I really like the internalized homophobia Potential (wow, florals for spring, tumblr user romegaketh is interested in internalized homophobia) of Randy being like ... very angry that he desperately wants Cody to top him and frustrated that he can't stop feeling like that ever and willing to take out that confusion and frustration on Seth and Cody, probably. I just think Randy's particular combination of gay for pay and homophobic lends itself to him having spent a lot of time baiting Cody into topping him and then being furious about it later.

(Also weird for Cody, obviously, but he can just go to Japan and be insane there xx.)

Randy and Seth had history. Randy had history with everyone; Seth had history with everyone. Cody and Randy were so complicated that when Cody thought about trying to explain it the words leapt into his mouth and tried to strangle him. There was no denying that everything Cody was today bore the print of Randy’s fingers. He had been betrayed - brutally - and just as brutally fought for.  And still there was nobody who misunderstood him so deeply as did Randy; who if asked would probably say that Cody, in turn, misunderstood Randy himself. 

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I love to keep a little scrap file for every wip because it helps me to feel less like I am killing my precious babies. I was very unsure about how to fit pocket into current timeline and this was the option I was running with initially but have now discarded, thank you for coming back, Roman.

Seth came into the hotel room wearing basketball shorts and an old Shield t-shirt. This was textbook appeasement and it would have worked if Roman had not watched the show from the hotel bed, getting steadily angrier and angrier, until there was something banked and roiling burning in his chest.  “Two weeks,” Roman said. He got up and shut the door behind Seth. “To fight Damian Priest. For the title.” “Some of us like doing our jobs,” Seth said. This was 2012, do you miss football, did your dad teach you that move; Seth with the single blond patch, in the trunks. Roman caught him by the chin. The blond hair fell around his face; he was tan from all the time next to Roman’s pool, in Roman’s yard. The roots were showing already. “I have been with you for ten weeks,” Roman said. “Try that again.” “I’m gonna say his name, so you need to settle down.”  Roman gritted his teeth. Fuck you. Seth shook himself free, pulled himself up to his full height. He was wearing the fucking brace, at least he retained an increment of sensibility. “Hunter and I talked. We went through preliminary testing, I’ve wrestled some under supervision. It’s going much better than anyone expected.” “Under supervision-” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. “Jesus,” Seth said, and he caught Roman’s shoulder, guided him to the bedroom, to the bed, where he knelt on the mattress with only a singular wince, pressed his forehead to Roman’s, stroked his other hand along Roman’s side. “Hey. It’s me. I’m here.” The chair.  “I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to stop me. But now you know, now everyone knows. You’re here. It’s fine.” “Seth.”  “I'm sorry,” Seth murmured. He kissed Roman's forehead, pressed that whole long line of himself against Roman as if Roman were not one wrong breath from violence against him. “But you would have stopped me, big brother. You would never have let me get on the plane.” “I love you,” Roman said, furious, exhausted, terrified. “Is it still you? Would you tell me if it wasn't?”  Seth cupped his cheek with painstaking tenderness. “I don't know. But I'm me, I think. I do love you.” He said that, too. He felt his hands around Seth's neck. The Royal Rumble. I never want to hurt you, he'd told Seth in Ohio.   “This isn't the hotel room I booked.” “You're returning. You were entitled to a penthouse on your own terms.”  “Did you do this to other people?” Seth asked. “Other partners?” Roman shrugged. “Nice things? Yeah.” Other partners, he thought. Seth in the same universe as a girlfriend, Seth in the same universe as Roman’s ex-wife - “It's not nice,” Seth said. “It's about control.”  “It's nice, though.” He waved a hand: bedroom, living room, enormous bathroom, balcony. “He should have done this for you.” “I'm not fucking him. If that's what you're implying.” Not this time. His heart hammered. “You've held every title in this company. He ought to respect that.” “Do you?”

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [right in the pocket]?

Well. I did not expect pocket to be a billion words long so it is titled from this song and it's a bop. Whatever, we'll all live.

[emberleesblog]

WIP Wednesday! Week 1

Alrighty, majority vote went to Spy x Family, which wasn't that surprising really. So without further ado, here's the start of a Christmas story I may post this year:

The tolling of the bells carried across the sprawling campus, signaling the incoming start to the new term. Their monotonous chime brought little cheer to those who listened, as more ominous grey clouds wrapped themselves around Eden’s tallest spires. Below, students dashed along the slippery footpaths, careful not to fall into the dirty snow drifts lining them, though evidence showed some hadn’t been as fortunate. 

Damian shuddered at the sight of a particularly deep ‘snow angel’, wriggling further into his cosy jacket as he edged around it. In his young opinion, snow was made to be admired from a distance, such as on top of mountain peaks or through the study windows. How anyone could admire such beauty when it was infiltrating your nose or seeping its icy chill into your undershirt, he never wanted to find out. But of course, others would find such things entertaining, such as the seniors lurking in the bend up ahead, plucking the weaker willed off the path. Demetrius had warned him about these stupid pranks, and he wasn’t about to become one of their victims today, no siree. Besides, he was a Desmond. Surely, they wouldn’t pick on him. 

Right? 

His fists curled nervously in his coat pockets. Of all the days Ewen and Emile had gone ahead, why did it have to be today? Maybe he shouldn’t have tried chasing those last bites around his plate. 

Taking a deep breath, Damian squared his shoulders and continued his careful walk, making sure to look down his nose to the best of his ability at the sneering seniors as he passed them. Thank God his coat was so long that it hid his quivering knees, otherwise he’d be like poor Glooman over there, looking like Frosty the Snowman’s moodier counterpart. Sparing him a sympathetic nod once he was clear of the seniors, Damian continued his trek to class, shoulders sagging in relief when he was safe in the walkway. He’d send some help George’s way as soon as he found a trustworthy adult. Hopefully Henderson was nearby. 

Ignoring the mass of students filtering through the cobblestoned terrace, Damian stomped his feet to get rid of any remaining snow, before hitching his bag further up his back and filling his head with better thoughts. He may have not gone home for winter break, preferring the solitude of the dorm library to read his new comics, but Demetrius had still managed to call him and ask about his wellbeing. The interaction had been awkward but Damian didn’t mind; it was nice to know a blood relative cared. And when Jeeves had dropped by for supper on Christmas Day, he had been sure to show how appreciative he was of the older man’s visit. And now that everyone was back, Damian could boast to them about receiving the latest action figures of Moonshadow the Fearless, who was far more superior than Bondman in his humble opinion. 

Though now it meant he had to keep his plushie hidden beneath his pillow again.

Yes, the break had been fine for the young Desmond. He had gotten a lot of study done, eaten a lot of delicious treats created by the Dorm Mothers, and not once had he spared a thought for- 

“Do it again! See if it curls this time!” 

-for startling pink locks and devious green eyes. 

Hope you enjoyed! See you next week for another WIP!

[joz-yyh]

WIP snippet of Damian and Bigby's first kiss for my fic, “Blighted Hearts.” (You can check out the comic -> HERE!!)

“I was hoping I would find you here,” the flagellant says, his approach as pointed as his smirk, holding something behind his back.

“And why is that,” Bigby asks, his eyebrow cocked in suspicion, knowing his friend was up to something.

“Because I wanted to give you this,” the flagellant says, taking out a modest box, small enough to fit inside his palm, wrapped in a bow of twine.

Whatever enigmatic surprise his mischievous friend had in store for him, the vagrant never expected it to be a present.

“You didn't have to get me anything,” the abomination insists, already refusing the offering.

“I wanted to,” Damian says, letting the gift hang there between them.

“What is it,” Bigby mumbles, wondering if it was something frugal enough that he could accept.

“Suppose you'll just have to open it,” Damian teases.

He finds the werewolf’s shackled wrist, turning it over, depositing the gift box inside his hand before moving to sit beside him.

“A-are you sure,” the lycan asks, letting the four corners rest in his hands, “I didn’t get you anything.”

“Who said you needed to get me anything on your birthday,” the flagellant chuckles.

“My birthday,” he huffs, clearly befuddled.

“You said it was around the springtime so, I put this together for you as quick as I could. Didn’t want to miss it.”

Astonished, the abomination looks at him with wide eyes, in disbelief that the penitent man paid attention to such superficial details that not even he remembered the importance of disclosing.

Bigby decides he should at least see what’s inside, unwinding the delicate twine, pulling the knot loose with careful fingers.

“Do you plan to save the string,” the flagellant teases, “use it to wrap around your finger and mine?”

Bigby jabs his shoulder into him, a recompense for his sharp tongue, but the man only laughs in reception.

Concentrating now, he pries the lid off, finding a rosary of brown beads waiting inside a bed of silk wrapping. He holds it up, watching as the wood catches the light like bright bronze spindles.

“It’s beautiful,” the abomination says, “thank you.”

Damian nods, “Baldwin helped me with the band.”

“He did?”

Damian nods. “He’s better at tying knots, but the wood is petrified, very hard to carve,” he says, holding up his hands, displaying fingers full of small gashes, “I might have bled on them a bit.”

Bigby laughs at the thought of a few stray blood splatters being the reason for his obituary, “how will you survive?”

“Sheer willpower. Do you still have your cross with you?”

“Always.”

“May I see it? I want to show you something.”

The abomination isn’t sure where Damian is going with this, but he takes out the said crucifix from his pocket.

“Watch closely,” the priest says, assuming both trinkets, linking them together in a series of knots.

“Now you will always have it close to your heart,” he concludes, holding the necklace open, waiting.

Bigby takes the hint, drawing closer so that the flagellant can christen it around the column of his neck.

“There, it suits you.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t admiring the moment, one hand on the vagrant’s shoulder, the other idly brushing his cheek, styling his hair around it, lingering over his skin.

“I knew it would.”

The werewolf can't help it, he's completely overtaken, magnetized forward. In one swift movement, probably the fastest he’s ever moved in his life, he takes Damian’s face in his hands, connecting their lips in an impulse of feeling.

The flagellant is shocked, so shocked that he doesn't think to respond, so frozen in place by a dream come true that he hardly realizes it’s happening, Bigby grasping at his rigidness, his kiss met with moribund detachment.

“I am sorry,” he pleads, pulling back, recognizing the severity of his mistake, “I-I never should have done that. I misread the signs and – I-I mean why would you want a pathetic, good for nothing monster like m–”

Damian grabs him by the cheeks, cutting off his self-deprecating slander with a second coming of their lips, his kiss lasting and firm, a collision of worlds.

“Mmmm,” Bigby groans, eyebrows arched, their lips molding against each other as he grabs Damian’s face back, holding him there, wanting to capture this moment eternally.

“What was that,” Damian asks, breaking away, panting with the effort, “about you misreading the signs.”

Bigby grins, recalling a similar mishap when they first held hands, “Maybe you should apologize?”

“Only if I can have your lips again," the priest urges, besieged by dewy pink softness.

“Suppose you’ll just have to try," Bigby breathes, drifting closer, waiting for the other to embrace the thinning distance between them.

{End Preview}

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for belconna behind the cut, who asked for Billy/Damian fluff and is getting “Damian gets a Pocket”. The fluffy aspects admittedly got a bit less focused on than I intended them to, but in my defense, we're dealing with a displaced ten year-old with extremely skewed perceptions who knows how to do a murder but does not know how to admit to having a single human weakness. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Love love, love love,” Beloved sing-songs contentedly as he slings his new and newly-packed bag onto his back and the eraser bag over his shoulder and secures them both. Damian is–surprised, somewhat, that Beloved has not abandoned such an unworthy offering as the eraser bag now that he has been provided a clearly more suitable option for his purposes. 

Beloved’s mere existence is already surprising, though, so Damian supposes such peculiar choices are to be expected from him. Admittedly far less peculiar than Beloved attempting to ensure that Damian has eaten instead of being concerned with securing his own sustenance, but peculiar all the same. 

Beloved’s point of origin would likely find him peculiar too, he supposes. Most people seem to, since his arrival in Gotham. It seems . . . unavoidable, here. 

Damian finds many things about Gotham very tiring, though he is aware that he is expected to perform to expectation despite that fact. To improve himself to Father’s standards and surpass expectation, because, of course, how could he be the Heir to the Bat if he did not? 

He is no longer with the League, but he is well-aware that Father holds himself to even higher standards than theirs, and ones that seem senseless and difficult and that Damian has yet to deduce the purposes behind. 

Father does not kill his opponents; Father insists that they all waste Pennyworth’s time. Father complicates simple matters, and simplifies the complicated. A foe is not to be slain even in open combat, nor even particularly maimed if at all avoidable. “Manners” are performative distractions, and blending into civilian life is mandatory. 

Damian finds it all very tiring, though making such comments is unappreciated, he has learned. Which is understandable, of course. Father expects better of him. 

It remains–frustrating, all the same, when Drake and Brown and everyone else under Father’s mantle can make such statements without reprimand, and often even with approval. But Damian is Father’s blood son and one day will bear his mantle, so he understands that he must meet higher standards to perform to Father’s expectations. It is only logical that he must, in fact. 

Though it is frustrating that when Brown cuts short a training program or sparring match and announces her exhaustion to Father’s face, he allows and even instructs her to step back and recover her energy, even if she is still perfectly capable of standing and holding a weapon, but if Damian informs anyone that he finds anything about the process of acclimating to Father’s endless list of illogical rules tiring, the response is always negative–short or irritable or outright hostile, as opposed to the neutral acceptance that Drake receives whenever informing Father that he is tired. 

But he is the blood son, Damian reminds himself, so it is natural–and perfectly reasonable–that Father should expect more from him than Brown or Drake or any other ally to his cause. As he well should, in fact. It is preferable that Father does not consider him to be weak or incompetent. That Father considers him capable of meeting his expectations; his standards. 

Even if it is–tiring, as well. 

Damian will meet Father’s expectations, of course–meet Father’s standards–and will prove that he is worthy of such expectations, and then Father will acknowledge his worth as his heir, and will trust him as his heir, and then all of Damian’s efforts will prove worthwhile. Father will not doubt him, after that; will accept his opinions as worthy of consideration and will not feel the need to doubt his loyalty or compare reports of how he allocates his time when outside of the manor. 

So . . . not, Beloved will not last, and neither will whatever Pocket came from Damian himself. Such a distraction from Father’s mission would not be worthwhile, in Father’s eyes. Not be acceptable, in Father’s eyes. 

Certainly not for the heir to his mantle, at least. 

Upon arrival to the manor, Damian stows his purchases for Beloved in his school bag and sets Beloved himself upon his shoulder where the strap lays, then heads inside while Pennyworth returns the towncar to the garage. Beloved buttons the coat’s shoulder strap across his lap in a manner akin to a seatbelt and settles in with his bags, his hands hooked over the edge of the strap as if expecting potential–turbulence, for lack of a more suitable term. Damian appreciates the obvious instinct of preparation on Beloved’s part, given how frequently “turbulence” has been a concern in his life. It will certainly prove useful on patrol, he reflects as he crosses the threshold into the manor, and he has in fact already sketched out several potential plans for arranging something more secure to actually– 

Beloved freezes on his shoulder, then very suddenly throws himself and his bags into the collar of his coat and hides against the back of his neck. Damian–frowns, briefly. Beloved’s instinct to conceal himself is another instinct that he approves of, but he is uncertain as to why Beloved just did so that quickly. The previous occasions he has concealed himself upon, he was much less rushed. So why . . . ? 

“Welcome home, Damian,” Father says, and Damian is immediately mortified to realize he was distracted enough by Beloved’s behavior to not notice Father approaching the foyer from the stairs. He locks his spine in perfect posture and represses any physical reaction to that sense of mortification, because he is certain Father already knows he has caught him unawares, and equally certain that the only worse thing would be to attempt to excuse being caught unaware, even by the Batman. Father is going to no more effort to conceal or quiet himself than he typically does inside the manor, and Damian knows better than to allow himself such distractions. 

Any distractions, but especially the distraction of a soulmate. 

“Thank you, Father,” Damian says, because he has been informed that is the appropriate response to such greetings. He supposes it makes sense, to continually thank Father for his hospitality. He is well-aware that Father has many potential heirs, and he is the youngest and least physically mature of those, and also the one that Father has spent the least time personally training. 

And Father did not give him Robin to begin with: Grayson did, in his absence. Because in Father’s absence, Grayson had inherited his mantle, and Damian . . . he had not been Father’s heir, but . . . 

Grayson had accepted his service as his partner long before Father had even considered the idea. 

[nocturnalchaos]

M’kay. So, for those who did not see it previously (as the post was a reblog and is kinda hidden on tumblr), below is the rough draft of the prologue that I am working/pondering on writing. And I am going to include my rough draft of the opening chapter I had in mind when I wrote this.

Author’s Note: This is written as a DamiRae fanfic which will explore what happens when Raven gets pregnant. I’m also contemplating if I should have the fanfic be a JayRae fanfic instead of a DamiRae (ie. Raven is pregnant with Jason Todd’s baby and there is no romantic relationship between Raven and Damian). When I first planned out this storyline I had DamiRae in mind. But a JayRae pregnancy is a storyline that is not really explored by a lot of fanfics (via what I can find on AO3 or Fanfiction.net). Also, I feel like I have a better handle on how I want to write Jason in this situation/fanfic. I don’t know… I will need to sleep on it.

—

Prologue(?)

John Constantine had never needed a cigarette so badly in his life.

And alcohol.

He needed a cigarette for the stress and enough alcohol to make him forget all of this shite.

He would have gotten that cigarette by now if he wasn’t afraid of a certain Nutter with a katana removing the hand holding the desired cigarette. The last one he tried to smoke near her had ruthlessly been bisected by a Batarang.

John looked down at the young, very pregnant, woman at his feet. Her panting could be heard over the chaos outside the pocket of calm readiness that enveloped the magic circle. The magic circle beneath their feet gave off a red glow. Giving everything an eerie vibe as they were partially lit from below. John prayed that this magic circle would do its job and provide enough protection from the shit show outside.

“Ahhhh! CONTRACTION!!” She shrieked as her hands clenched and stretched the fabric of her oversized shirt. Her face briefly turning demonic before reverting back to her usual appearance. Sweat dotted her face and dampened her hairline. Purple strands of hair clung to her sweat soaked face.

Bracelets of a matte black metal encircled the woman’s wrists. Hairline cracks had starting to appear in the metal when her first contraction had occurred. With each subsequent contraction the cracks had grown, and occasionally, gave off the odd black spark. Both the magic circle and metal bracelets encircle her wrists working together to protect everyone. Especially the bracelets, they will hopefully prevent her from leveling… everything.

Through gritted teeth she spoke.

“John!” Determination filling her usually emotionlessness voice.

“What!” He snapped the word at her as he stood next to her supine body. On the opposite side of her body, the Nutter stood guarding her with a katana in each hand. The Nutter shot John a glare before going back to his vigilant readiness.

“You’re going to have to deliver the baby!”

—

Chapter 1 (wip)

*10 months earlier*

Raven smiled softly as she looked at Damian from her reclined position on the king size bed. Afternoon sunlight from the nearby window illuminated her slightly disheveled purple hair as she head rested on a pillow. Titus’s big black blocky head rested on her flat stomach beneath her gentle hand. Eyes closed in contentment, the Great Dane’s big body sprawled on the bed next to his mistress. The dog’s stillness indicated that Titus was awake to Raven.

Titus tended to be a restless sleeper. He would shuffle, scoot, twitch, and curl during his sleeping hours. This habit of Titus’s bugged Damian when he allowed the dog to sleep on their bed at night. As the dog’s restless sleeping habits would wake Damian in the middle of the night. Because of his early upbringing with the League of Assassins, Damian was a light sleeper and always would be.

It had become part of her morning routine to make Damian a strong cup of coffee after nights when Titus was allowed to sleep in their bed. Yes, their bed.

When Damian had turned 18 and had been her boyfriend for 2 years, Damian and Raven had decided that they wanted to live together in shared a room in Titans tower as they were both still an active part of the Titans team.

Titus let out a deep sigh bringing Raven back to the present. Sounds of rustling and a deep male grumble came from Raven’s right.

Nearby, a 19 year old Damian Wayne, sat in a wooden chair. Long legs spread wide to support the lap desk holding his sketchbook in his lap. He sat hunched over the thick pad of paper. His fingers were covered in the sooty black charcoal.

—

Please let me know what you think in the comments or reblog. I am really curious to see what you have to say about how this story should turn out or explore.

[ficrecslist]

Fic Rec Sunday #3

This week's collection includes Boku no Hero Academia, Batman, Young Justice, Marvel and Naruto fics. Please make sure to look through each fanfic's respective tags before reading.

Batman

Into the Brighter Night by shoalsea (162k, G)

When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe.

Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin.

Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

something just broke by BeatriceEagle (10k, M) cw: referenced sexual assault

With teams run by a small handful of big names, recruitment based almost entirely on who you know, and unchecked interteam dating, the superhero community is practically designed to encourage interpersonal abuse. When a former sidekick comes forward to say that she was abused by her mentor, the entire community has to reckon with the part they may have played—and with the abuses that may still be going unnoticed.

(A story of systems, told through chats, texts, and transcripts.)

hand in unlovable hand (a chokehold) by britishparty (54k, M)

Tim Drake is eleven years old when he’s grabbed off the streets of Bristol while he’s on his way home. It will be okay, he tells himself: they’ll call his parents, and they’ll pay the ransom, and he’ll get to go home.

There are pictures of Batman and Robin on the camera he was carrying. A lot of pictures.

They don’t call his parents. They call Black Mask.

-

or: the one where Black Mask kidnaps Tim and tries to groom him into a ruthless heir, and Tim tries to figure out how to destroy him from the inside out.

General warnings tagged, anything not covered by those is in end-of-chapter notes to avoid spoilers.

Deadfall by vellaphoria (125k, WIP, M)

Bruce’s death fractured Gotham's vigilantes, even as it brought some of them together. Despite Dick’s progress with Jason and Damian, Tim is still in the wind, somewhere overseas getting involved with who knows what in a desperate attempt to prove Bruce is alive. An attempt that goes horribly, catastrophically wrong, destroying most of the League of Assassins’ global infrastructure and taking Tim with it.

But something feels off. Dick knows Tim’s apparent death can’t be as simple as a botched mission.

When Ra’s al Ghul gets involved, it never is.

yours for the weekend by fanfictiongreenirises (19k, T) cw: referenced sexual assault

"Been meaning to ask," Jason said. "You and Kory… are you guys still… y’know. Going strong?”

Dick almost choked on his mouthful right then and there. No, he wanted to tell him. We broke up months after you died.

But a million memories swept through his head. Jason being utterly starstruck by Kory the first time he had met her, the million and one questions Jason had to ask Kory, taking photos of the two of them as Kory gave Jay a piggyback ride… the way that Jason, at one point, had rather memorably said, man, you guys are so perfect together. If you ever break up, that’ll be it, I’ll just stop believing in true love.

“Yeah, no, we’re going good,” Dick said, lying through his teeth. “Long distance, y’know?”

Charmed, I'm Sure by M00n_Slippers (29k, WIP, T)

Jason thought he was done with magic when he left the All-Caste, but it turns out magic wasn't done with him. Walking into a back-alley dive, the Red Hood expects stale beer and an old fashioned bar brawl to lift his spirits, not a shortcut to The Oblivion Bar.

But a bar is a bar, beer is beer and a fight is a fight, whether it's in the Bowery or in a pocket dimension to the left of reality.

Young Justice

Reflexive Carphology by Briarwitched (24k)

Lex is not a sentimental man. Despite whatever his stupid sister thinks, his motives for kidnapping Superboy are purely practical: if Kon-El isn't growing on the Light's schedule, he will be useless to their long term plans-- and the Light doesn't tolerate things that aren't useful. Just a quick snatch and grab, one hastily improvised mind control device, and a few tests in the lab should be all that's required to get this all sorted out so Lex can go back to reclaiming his UN Secretary General position. The entire operation is far too essential to have anything to do with feelings.

It's simple. Practical. There's no way this could go wrong, in any way, ever.

Shut up, Lena.

Filial Pedantics by Briarwitched (61k, T)

After failing to swallow kryptonite in an attempt to beat his terminal illness to the punchline, Conner is confronted by the least super of his two genetic donors as he wanders the desert states solo. Meanwhile, Lex is suffering from both a relapse of kryptonite cancer and the delusion that he's Conner's father-- a condition that leads him to insist that he take over Conner's end of life care while he attempts to cure him himself.

It's not exactly like Conner had better plans. Now they can both be dying assholes... together.

Yay.

one day this will all be yours by suzukiblu (32k, T)

“You know, I used to think if I had different parents my life would be different,” Artemis says neutrally as she lines up a shot, and Superboy looks away from the punching bag, a little surprised to hear her speak.

Boku no Hero Academia

song on a policeman's radio by ohwickedsoul (6k, M)

TOKYO, JAPAN: The outside of the courthouse is packed with protestors, onlookers, and community safety officers who are attempting to keep the peace before what is shaping out to be the trial of the century. Former pro-hero Ground Zero, real name Bakugo Katsuki, is currently facing charges of 1st degree murder, aggravated assault, assault on officers, and several other charges. Among the hundreds who have turned out to the courthouse to view the public trial are many members of Yuuei Academy’s infamous class 1A, including several former professors. Back in the early years of the decade, the class, taught by retired pro-hero Eraserhead, was subject to many attacks by the so-called League of Villains…

Silhouette by Frostglitch (43k, WIP, G)

Midoriya Izuku remembers a life that is not his own.

Yoichi Shigaraki: The Sociopathic Hero by Gfan97 (3k, G)

"When he was eight, Yoichi started to suspect he wasn’t a good person."

Basically, what if All for One wasn't the only sociopath in the family. What if Yoichi was also a sociopath, but unlike his brother wanted to be good?

imprint by wonhaebunny (4k, T)

Katsuki handles Eri with far more ease than an only child has any business possessing. Shouta observes.

Or: Bakugou Katsuki may not have grown up with any younger siblings, but he did grow up with a Deku. It amounts to about the same.

A Walk Remembered by SimplyKaren (10k, G)

Since Jakku, Izuku's been feeling... off. Nothing he could put his finger on, but things reach a tipping point one day while he's in Heroics class. Things go downhill rapidly from there, and none of the doctors can figure out what's wrong.

Meanwhile, in Tartarus, All for One is feeling antsy as he watches from afar with Search. Izuku's symptoms are hauntingly familiar and not in a good way...

Bakugou Bewitched by Feltcutemightdeletelater (155k)

On a random day when Bakugou was a child, a helpful woman gave him a gift that would change his life forever.

“Little Katsuki,” the woman chided, leaning in close. “Behave.”

Marvel

Pound the Table by An_October_Daye (152k, WIP, M)

[A 90's Era X-Men Self-Insert]

"There is an old adage among lawyers that says: If you have the facts on your side, pound the facts. If you have the law on your side, pound the law. If you have neither the facts nor the law, pound the table." – Martin A. Davis, Jr.

Mutant law is an emergent field, more or less the wild west of the legal profession, and on a good day, you're lucky if the law and facts aren't all dead-set against you. And when your list of recurring clients includes the Wielder of Cerebro and the Master of Magnetism?

Well... suffice to say, there is plenty of pounding the table to be done.

Naruto

Waiting on a Wire by mirrorless (15k, T)

Shisui, both of the young shinobi's wide dark eyes still thankfully residing in their proper places, stares at him in shocked-silent awe, as though Kagami's sudden appearance is the divinely bestowed answer to fervent prayer.

The weight of that gaze is far too heavy for comfort.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead by Xarybde (4k, T)

Dying is easy. Sasuke knows this better than anyone else.

[maraudingforflesh]

Batfam with some timkon as a treat

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935463/chapters/49772102

Into the Brighter Night (162,894 words); Tim plans his own rescue from being kidnapped and he calls on his young justice friends to carry out his plan. The batfam has to come to terms with the Tim outside of their dynamics and they struggle seeing him happy with other people.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384345/chapters/61553851

Baby, Talk Me Down (Take Me Out) (WIP); Tim goes to live on the Kent farm for the summer to relax and take a break but things are never that simple

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278113/chapters/58516114

Never Meet Your Heroes (46,347 words); Tim, Bart, Cassie, and Kon have to go rogue when Superman decides to capture Kon and treat him like a lab experiment

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125073

anglerfish (6,484 words); Tim was having a rough night and that’s before Red Hood has to save him from some thugs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469157

between a rock and a hard place (5,449 words); Tim and Jason are trapped in the rubble of a collapsed building and Tim has a head injury

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30526899/chapters/75287202

Friable (7,424 words); siblings stick together even when the parent you’re against is Batman

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429001

I Thought You'd Want To Be The One (3,665 words); Tim goes to Red Hood’s territory on purpose hoping to get shot and instead gets a hug

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28149216

Green-Eyed Monster (8,032 words); Jason finds Tim fear-gassed and shaken up and takes pity on a child who had no more choice in the violence done to him than Jason had

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575426

air pocket (4,973 words); Tim and Jason are trapped in the rubble of a collapsed building

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30238482

muzzled (5,967 words); Jason rescues Tim from human traffickers but the rescue unfortunately involves purchasing Tim and saying and doing unsavory things to sell the charade

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30572252

Little bird (8,162 words); Tim is meant to be at a parent teacher conference when Jason attacks him in the tower

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30286317

sharing is caring (5,717 words); Tim has been captured by traffickers who offer him to Red Hood as a gift

https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071341

Something better than you are today (series); fics depicting the middle-child robins who deserved better finding comfort in one another

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660929

One Wrong Step (3,064 words); Damian and Jason run into some trouble with landmines in the desert

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488282

Socialite (2,895 words); Tim is too good at playing his part for high society parties and it freaks out his family to see him in action

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30318522

pretty robin (8,389 words); Tim is undercover as a sex worker to get information about a smuggling ring. Unfortunately, Red Hood is also there and recognizes him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31654376/chapters/78338444

Trust fall (22,423 words); Tim and Damian run into each other at the Kent farm when neither of them is technically supposed to be there

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299959/chapters/71952486

Buried Things (WIP 1 chapter shy of complete); someone is recreating the events leading to Jason’s death but enacting them on the other robins

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904848

Catch You, Help You Heal (series); Jason takes care of Tim when it seems no one else will

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377743

touch me not (4,212 words); Tim has been hit with a combination of fear toxin and pollen and finds himself at the mercy of Red Hood meanwhile Jason is just trying to help his brother through the worst of the detox

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300952

transaction (7,110 words); Tim and Jason first meet when Jason is working the streets and Tim is a neglected child with enough money and desperation to pay a sex worker for a hug

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32221027

ten cents richer (13,493 words); “If I had a nickel for every time I lost an organ," Tim slurred thoughtfully, "I'd have two nickels. Which isn't much, but it's weird that it's happened twice." -or- Tim has appendicitis and his family finds out he’s missing his spleen

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790951

Endless Time (7,919 words); Jason is trapped in a time loop where he carries out his attack on Tim in the tower then wakes up to the same day beginning again

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30150207

Safe (4,516 words); Jack Drake sells his son to Red Hood

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32374201/chapters/80262160

On the Way Home (128,266 words); au in which the Wayne family are wolf shifters and Tim is their neglected shifter neighbor who desperately wants to be part of their pack

[its-maemain]

Dukette - i have so many thoughts and only one wip for them

Dick/Adrien - they- they speak to me. Also I have this idea that makes me gnaw at drywall over.

Jason/Alya - like, LIKE LISTEN, dramatic-ass theatre kid and the nosey chick /j, the DyNamIC tho?? Tell me these two wouldn't get along, they teaming up to unlock the tea, okay?

Tim/Zoé - you already know I’m on that. I’m literally listen to the playlists I made for them ox

Damian/Chloé - Now I’m more of a Chloé/Jon girlie, but its funny (to me at least). They’d be so funny, these rich little nepos that are learning to chill after their upbringing? I'm eating that up thanks.

This one has been sitting in my back pocket…for only a few hours but Steph/Luka - Steph would love his vibe, I feel like it at least! Luka would love to listen to her talk.

If you had to 'draft' a list of ships for the following characters without repeating any characters, what would your list be? (Also, to specify, you can't do Jasonette if you have Timari. Hopefully that helps. And you can use other characters not on the list to complete the ships)

Draft List

Marinette Adrien Dick Jason Tim Damian Steph Cass Duke Barbara

Note: you don't have to do all of the list, just curious of what ships come to mind

~ Ask a Stilly Question

EEEEEK LOVE THIS ASK AND I LOVE YOU

okayokayokay so

Mari/Duke Adrien/Jason (No surprise there) Dick/Mrs. Bustier. They just have vibes. It's hard to explain. They get off work around the same time (Dick's teaching Gymnastics), they go get ice cream and bitch about students they love so dearly but get so annoyed by. They both want to scold Hawk Moth by smothering him in "I'm not mad, just disappointed" looks, but the moment he hurts someone near to them they will go rabid. They keep each other in check and are just wholesome. (I need someone to write them so I don't break them.) Tim/Zoe (Another no surprise) Damian/Nino Steph/Cass/Juleka/Rose (Fuck you don't make me choose) Barbara/Luka

Plus extra special (Can't use anything from my list) uno-reverse list for you: Adrien Alix Barry Jason Bart Tim Marinette Kon

[anjuschiffer]

No Point In Lying

I should’ve been working on WIPs...oops...

Note: This is pre-daminette...and while Damian does not appear, I’m still tagging this as Maribat as it part of a Maribat au...

--

Tags: @theatreandcomicfreak @genshin-and-fanfics-are-my-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

--

AO3

Lila pinched her skin as she stood outside the classroom room, waiting for her new teacher Mlle Bustier to introduce her.

She always hated introducing herself. What was the point of it when all the friends she would end up making will forget about her months later? They always promised to keep in touch and yet, they never do.

Thanks to her mother being a diplomat, Lila always found herself changing school every school year and while travel stories always captured people’s attention, it was only temporary. When she would run out of stories to tell, one by one, they would leave, disappointed in knowing that Lila had nothing else to offer.

A temporary entertainment in their eyes…

Looking at her reddened wrist covered in nail marks, Lila let out a long heavy sigh when she heard someone climbing up the stairs. 

Quickly turning, Lila was surprised to see a student running up the stairs, the boy dashing straight towards her!

“Watch out!”

Lila quickly stepped to the side, watching as the boy skidded towards the door, only to fall face flat onto the ground. Panicking, Lila helped him out, watching as the boy towered her by a whole foot. “Thank you! Can’t believe I was almost late for- say.” The boy looked at her from top to bottom. 

Lila watched as he was about to grab her hair, only to stop. “May I?” While Lila would never let anyone touch her hair, she somehow found herself saying yes. “Thanks.”

She felt as he ruffled her bangs a bit, remaining still as she let the boy fix her hair, feeling as he gently pushed strands of hairs away from her face and placed back the silver hairband she had chosen to wear that day. “And finished.” The boy proudly announced, taking out his phone and showing Lila her reflection using the front camera. “Your hairband was a bit out of place and I-”

“Thank you.” Lila cut off, giving the boy back his phone. “I didn’t think much about-” The boy let out a small gasp.

“You can’t just not worry about your hair! It looks very pretty and that shine! You already take lots of good care for it already! But doing these small-”

“I see you’ve met out new student Marcel.” Mlle Bustier interrupted, “and you’re late...again,” causing Marcel to let out a nervous laugh.

“Apologies, Mlle Bustier. I’ll try not to be late.” Marcel gave a small bow, heading into the classroom, Lila following him as he sat in the front of the classroom, next to a boy with glasses. 

“That’s Marcel Dupain-Cheng.” Mlle Bustier snapped Lila from her trance, Lila feeling the tips of her ears burning. “He’s the class president. During lunch today, he’ll be showing you around the school. But for now, let’s head inside. It’s time for you to introduce yourself to the rest of the class.”

Lila could only nod, feeling her stomach jitter for the first time in ages. 

--

Before she could even approach Marcel to ask him about the tour around the school, Lila was ambushed by her fellow classmates, one in particular shoving a phone in her face.

“Hi! I’m Alya! I was wondering if you would be willing to say- hey Marcel! I’m- hey!” Lila watched as Marcel frowned as he took Alya’s phone and raised it above his head, Lila watching as Alya struggled to take it back.

“Alya, we already talked about this. Ask people before recording them.” Marcel pocketed the phone. “You won’t be getting it until you apologize to Lila.” After an apology, Alya got her phone back and put it away. Just as she was about to ask Lila about her travels, Marcel grabbed Lila by her wrist and dragged her outside the classroom, Lila wondering what exactly was happening.

“Marcel...I don’t think she’s following us.” Lila spoke up, watching as Marcel got flustered, instantly, but clumsily, letting go of her.

“S-Sorry about that! It’s just that I know how energetic Alya can get when she gets like that and thought that-”

“Thank you.” Lila smiled, clasping her hands behind her back. “Really. Thank you.” Smiling, Marcel returned the smile, quickly going onto the promised tour, Lila absorbing his every word. 

--

Just a month into school and Lila already fitted in with the rest of the class, already having a best friend in the form of Alya. Even after running out of stories to tell them, Lila found herself invited to every girl’s outing, after school events, club meetings and evern shopping out on weekends.

Today, the girls were out having a picnic, trying to catch Lila up on the different events that happened in the school year so far.

“-but of course! We only had one guy who was willing to go with our ridiculous plan.” Alya retold, looking at all the girls before signaling them.

“Marcel!” The girls said in unison, Lila watching as Mylene, Alix and Alya laughed while Rose and Juleka simply smiled at the memory. 

“He’s just like Ivan.” Mylene added, a soft smile on her face. “He may look intimidating at first, but the moment he speaks, you can tell he’s a big softie!”

“Doesn’t help that he’s so tall.” Alix raised her hands above her head. “Guy’s a giant!”

“You’re just jealous because he’s so tall.” Alya poked.

“Have you seen his dad?” Alix almost screamed, honestly wondering if anyone has seen Marcel’s father, or was she the only one?

“I remember when I first met him,” Juleka spoke up, making Lila jump. Can you blame her though? This was the first time she’s ever heard her talk! “I was busy helping tune my brother’s guitars, sitting on the Liberty’s deck when I saw him, staring back at me. One minute he was on the grass and the next, on the Liberty’s deck, asking me to model for him.”

Now that was surprising.

“Wait, is that how he actually asked you to model for you?” Alix screeched before going into a laughing fit, Lila watching as the others soon joined in, leaving Lila confused.

“Oh,” a snort. “That’s right! How did we forget to tell you!” Alya managed to say, gesturing Rose to fill in Lila while she continued to laugh.

“Marcel runs his own fashion line: MDC! He designs and sews all of the clothing, hats, bags and accessories in his fashion line. Juleka,” Rose gestured to her blushing girlfriend, “is Marcel’s main model.”

“Main model?” Lila asks, looking at the rest of the girls. “Do you guys help model for him too?”

“Sometimes.” Mylene shyly states. “But he mainly asks Juleka, Aurore and Rose to model for him. Aurore is another girl in the school!” She quickly adds when she saw Lila panic.

“Oh? What’s this?” Alya smirked, Lila feeling a shiver down her spine. “Could Lila...have a crush on Marcel?”

“W-What?! NO! No!” lila squeaked, knowing her face contradicted her feelings. “I barely speak to him! How would I have a crush on him when the only time I speak to him is during class and that’s it?”

Apparently that wasn’t convincing enough, Alya wrapping an arm around Lila, a cheshire smile plastered onto her face. 

“Oh Lila, you can’t fool us that easily. Not that you should be shy about it. Almost everyone in the class has had a crush on the designer.” Alya confessed, Lila watching as Mylene looked away while Rose hid her face into her hands.

“Had?” Lila dared to ask. “Does-”

“Yup.” Alix quickly answered, a grin plastered on her face. “Nathaniel, Chloe and Sabrina? They’ve fallen victim to Marcel’s spell. Oh! But of course, Chloe would never admit to falling in love with the baker’s son.” Alix quickly wrapped up, noticing Lila’s pale face. Uh-oh. “W-Well, despite-”

“Despite there being many people who’ve had a crush on Marcel,” Alya picked up, hitting Alix’s shoulder, “Marcel never showed any interest in them, something about none of them appealing to him. No offense!” Alya quickly said as she looked at Mylene and Rose. “And to be quite honest, I think you have a good chance of getting Marcel’s attention.” 

“What?” Lila squeaked, feeling her cheeks burn. 

“You’re literally the first person Marcel has ever went “designer mode” the minute he laid eyes on you.” Alix clarified. “Never done it to anyone else but you.” Alya squealed.

“If you do capture Marcel’s attention- imagine it! The two of you would be the cutest couple in school! No! In all of Paris! You and Marcel, posing together-”

Lila let out a screech, feeling her face on fire as she buried it into her hands.

“No way, now way, no way!” Lila denied. “Marcel’s just someone who I admire! He’s the first person I met who welcomed me to Dupont, so of course I’m going to-”

“Alright, alright.” Alya sighed, patting Lila’s shoulder. “So you don’t have a crush on Marcel...so that means you’ll be alright with him getting your measurements and being face-to-face with him, right?” Lila’s head snapped up.

“What?” Alya showed Lila her phone, Lila reading the message. 

“Marcel needs a model right now since Aurore might not make it to his photo shoot in an hour, so of course, I told him you’re okay with filling in for her.” Lila sputtered to come up with an answer, only being able to watch as the girls dragged her to Marcel’s studio…

Or rather bedroom.

There he was, wearing nothing but a tank top and a pair of sweats, his toned arms exposed. Did he work out?

Trying to not gulp loudly, Lila could hear the snickering and whispers of good luck as the girls left them alone, Marcel giving Lila an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for making you-”

“No!” Lila accidentally squeaked out. “Help being fine- mean.” She cleared her throat, hoping her heart would stop beating so loudly in her ears. “I’m glad to be able to help a friend out.” Lila answered, hoping she didn’t cross a line by claiming Marcel to be her friend.

Judging by Marcel’s smile, she didn’t cross it, causing her heart to flutter.

“Thanks Lila, you’re truly a life saver! Now all that I need to do is-” Lila simply smiled and nodded, her breath hitching when Marcel’s fingers grazed her shoulder as he started to take her measurements.

Being so close to him, she could smell the sweet aroma of bread, a small hint of-

Oh no…

There was no hiding it anymore, no point in lying about it, because...they were right...Marcel wasn’t just a friend…

He definitely was a crush...and a huge one at that.