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I love Clark Kent because realistically both a nice 6'5 superhero with godlike powers AND a friendly 6'5 country boy reporter would be rolling in bitches, but Clark suffers from terminal Sweetiepie Syndrome and has zero game as a result

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the fight is harder each year.

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"you can use ai to improve spelling and grammar"

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This is a terrible request. So many things will go wrong. Don't give me that kind of responsibility.

hey could u watch over them rq

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the emotion i just experienced is kind of indescribable

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at every customer service job i’ve worked at, during the initial introduction and workplace tour there’s always that moment where it stops being a professional ‘this is our workplace and these are the rules’ intro and becomes the ‘this is hell and these are the corners we can get away with cutting’ tour, i.e ‘this is the cupboard we go to sit and cry in during bad days’ and ‘you aren’t supposed to steal but we get minimum wage so nobody gives a shit if you take a handful of biscuits’.

with that in mind. Tim showing Damian the ropes of being Robin.

Tim: so after patrol you’re supposed to do a nightly report of any incidents at the batcomputer, i’ll show you the login and how the system works…

Bruce: *nods in satisfaction and walks away*

Tim, the second they’re alone: ok so to be honest you’re supposed to do it at the batcomputer so it’s thorough but none of us can be fucked with that so what we usually do is just keep a note on our phones of any major incidents and then on the way back to the cave we send a screenshot of it to Oracle and she inputs it remotely, it saves you like half an hour every night.

Damian: i see.

-

Tim: this is the weapon storage centre; at the end of the night every bat tool has to be accounted for and scanned into the system.

Damian: everything is to be returned to here?

Tim: yeah, Bruce’s orders. but what we haven’t told B is that Dick broke the scanning system years ago so if you want to nick a cool knife or grapple gun for everyday use then you can literally scan, like, an apple or something, and input the code as the item you’re stealing and Bruce never notices.

Damian: *intrigued*

Tim: i scanned a sharpie instead of a flamethrower i was supposed to return one night. Bruce still doesn’t know it’s in my school backpack.

-

Tim: this is the usual patrol route; that’s where we usually get to rest for fifteen minutes, by that 7-11 down there, and over in that alley there’s a really secluded abandoned balcony that no civilians can see.

Tim: that’s where we go during rough nights when we want to cry or stare into space for a few minutes.

Damian: good to know.

-

Tim: if you hurt a rogue too badly you’re supposed to log the injuries inflicted on them to Bruce’s online files so he gets flagged by any major incidents, but Jason figured out that if you tag the injury as ‘light skin trauma’ it will register in the system as a scratch and automatically get put in the ‘unimportant’ file which Bruce isn’t notified by. So even if you stab Scarecrow in the neck, as long as you tag it as ‘light skin trauma with metal implement’ Bruce won’t see it.

Tim: the same applies to our own injury reports, so like, if you ever can’t be fucked with having to sit still and be examined in the medbay after a busy patrol, that’s how you get around him knowing you’re hurt.

-

Tim: there’s supposed to be a limit on the amount of training you can do per day to stop us from ‘over doing it’ but if you time your workout to the evenings where Bruce works on the batmobile, then he never remembers to keep an eye on the timer and we get like an extra hour.

-

Tim: this is the only chandelier in the manor that Alfred can’t get to to clean it, so he relies on us to swing up and polish it every now and then. So if you smoke, up there is where Jason hides his stash.

Damian: …i am eleven.

Tim: Jason started when he was ten, i dont know.

-

Tim: you’re supposed to take water with you on patrol so we all have our own bottles that attach to the belt. Bruce checks that we have it but not what’s inside it, so you can fill it up with whatever. i usually go for coffee. one time Jason and Dick split a pint of margaritas in theirs and tried to see who could drink and swing the best. Dick hit a lamppost.

Damian:

Damian: …well yes. the pit enhanced Todd’s metabolism, so alcohol rarely will effect him.

Tim:

Tim: that sneaky motherfucker

Tim, turning away: DICK GUESS WHAT-

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I've seen this before, but it's been years and it just came across my Twitter in its dying days. The words are from a favorite author of mine, Maggie Stiefvater, and they are the words I most need to hear when it comes to dealing with chronic pain and illness. I didn't need this the first time I saw it, six years ago. I need it now. Maybe you do, too.

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When you consider that Gollum is an extremely old man who's spent most of his life in solitary confinement with heroin being injected directly into his brain every day, he's really not that unreasonable

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Be a man ( Robin )

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Does the “I’m gonna get a good grade in” person know the impact they’ve had. Do they know they did in fact got a good grade in post, something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve,

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Idek what angst this will be but it looks to be satisfying.

There's no plan. No contingency, no failsafe, no scheme. There is no other option.

There's a choice. A seemingly impossible choice. One he makes in an instant.

The being tilts their head, docile as they lean back against Tim's desk. Their eyes, entirely indigo from the sclera to the pupil, widen in their relentless stare of the young man. Their mouth parts in a shocked huff, voice incredulous while they murmur, "You've already decided."

Gritting his teeth, Tim glances away.

"I- Wow. You didn't even hesitate," they breathe. "I've asked this countless times, and nobody decided as quickly as you."

Tim squeezes his arms, his hands gripping tight enough to press bruises into his skin. "Is it really that surprising?"

"For you?" They blink repeatedly, their head slowly shaking side to side with a rising grin. "Yes. You're supposed to be the smart one. The one with a plan. I was warned not to test you, young one."

This new information has Tim's eyes flicking back to the being. They are leaning forward, the lines around their eyes crinkling.

Swallowing, Tim asks, "You were warned?"

With a wrinkled nose, they sigh. "I was told to ask one of the other Bats if I wanted to play, but I don't really like being told what to do. I did consider the safer options, and I'm sure Dick Grayson or Jason Todd would have had delightful responses."

Dread sinks in Tim's gut, his chest feeling heavier at the thought of his siblings being forced to choose. Anger prickles under his skin at the thought of their suffering being entertainment, but relief and anxiety smother his protective tendencies.

"Still, I wanted to see why you were considered the most dangerous." They push off the desk. They step forward. Their tall frame towers over Tim. Their smile freezes. They shake their head. "Well, no. I was warned against Barbara Gordon as well."

Tim squints. "So, why not her?"

They throw their head back in laughter. "I'm not completely self-destructive. I wanted a challenge, not a one-sided annihilation."

A little bubble of pride and fondness bursts in Tim even as his mind tries to read between these lines. What does Barbara have that the being fears? Is it her connections? Her technology skills? Her strategy?

Clicking their tongue, they shake off their distraction. "Regardless, you still haven't informed me of your decision."

Deep, indigo eyes stare unblinkingly down at him.

Tim's exhale is shaky, his brain desperately running calculations despite the weight of his answer already pressing down on his tongue.

"Come on, Tim," they purr. "Tell me."

At Tim's pressed lips, they sigh. "Tell me, or I'll guess."

"I-"

There's no out. No tools, no skills, no tricks he can use.

He must answer.

He raises his chin. He takes a deep breath in and his reply is steady as he asserts, "Damian."

They gasp with a bewildered shake of their head.

Tim's brows furrow at the reaction, but he reaffirms, "I choose Damian."

Thoroughly indigo eyes blink, an astonished laugh slipping from their lips. "Oh. How you've surprised me, Tim."

The young man grimaces. His contempt is evident in those arctic, bitter eyes. "I don't care how you feel about me."

"No," they grin. "No, you wouldn't. I had bet you would've chosen differently, hero. Regardless, a deal is a deal."

A pressure settles onto Tim's shoulders, his eyes sliding shut at the sound of a snap. He doesn't open his eyes, perhaps in a futile attempt to avoid facing his new reality. He can feel those indigo eyes on him, observing with a fascinated glee, but he tries to remain within his fabricated ignorance. He clings to his denial.

The being doesn't offer him this small mercy as they state, "It's done."

Tim opens his eyes.

His office hasn't changed. The plush, navy carpet remains squished beneath his boots. The walls still contain his accolades and his photos of loved ones (though his gaze lingers for a moment on his favorite one of Damian. The kid has paint in his hair, happiness lighting up his eyes even as he scowls). The floor to ceiling windows continue to overlook an intact Gotham.

The being smiles down at him. They are the only visible reminder of what's occurred.

Tim can feel it, though. His lungs are slow to inflate and his arms tremble despite their tight compress of his ribs. There's a burden, a weight to his soul as if hands are locked onto it in a bid to drag him down with them.

"He won't know." He attempts to demand this from the being, but it comes out more as a plea.

For a moment, they study him. Tim holds his breath until they shake their head. They confirm, "He won't, though you are free to tell him."

"No."

Tim wouldn't. He couldn't.

"Very well. While his reaction would have been amusing, I don't have enough time to view it anyways." Flapping a hand through the air, they shrug.

They shrug, a flippant and uncaring reaction. The only reason they don't reveal this devastating secret is because they couldn't enjoy it.

Tim has never felt as powerless.

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occasionally I am struck dumb by the sublime beauty of the world in the small moments, you know?

egg

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One April fools day all the bat kids add "Red" to the front of their names like Tim and Jason's Red robin and Red hood.

Red batgirl and Red spoiler are chasing down clock king

Red robin and Red hood are trying to subtly annoy batman

Red Robin 2 and red Nightwing are desperately trying to convince Duke to become Red signal for the day.

...and Red Bluebird is rewiring every blue LED they can get their hands on.

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Dick, staring concerned at Tim, half asleep on the Bat-computer: Timmy.

Tim, startling up: Wha-

Dick: Bed time.

Tim, slow blinling at the screen: Five moreminutes.

Dick: Tim... Do you even know what youre doing?

Tim, pausing for a bit too long: Hm... Looks like a bomb.

Dick: WHAT

Tim: Yeah. Thats the reaction chamber and that’s the other and... hm... why did i put that there.

Dick: You were blackout engineering a hydrogen bomb??

Tim: Guess so. Its wrong. if i fix the details this thing could easily have a yeild three times that of the manhatten project-

Dick, manhandling Tim away: Bed! You're banned from the cave! Banned!

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OFFICIAL APOLOGY MY PHONE SCREEN DIMMED AND I WAS TRYING TO NOT HAVE IT CLOSE AND IT VOTED WITHOUT MY CONSENTTTTT

poll idea: who of the batfamily do you think is the least mentally stable?