#And so much drama!!! How can there be so much drama!!!!! People REALLY need to chill down and just enjoy some manga or some tea

[idyllcy]

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

[happypotato48]

We Are EP 4 Unhinged Tangent Thoughts

Finally! some good shits. this week Vibes the show finally let go of some of its dumb BL tropes. and let the boys being their extreamly cute and chaotic selfs with each other.

Ok i'm still not 100% or even 60% vibing with Phum and Peem but this ep made them much more tolerable. i think my biggest gripe with Phum as a character is that in the show full of earnest loveable dorks his tsundereness and assholedary (is this a real word???) was sticking out liked a sore thumb. so i'm happy that we learnt this ep that he and Toey knew each other and that he and Fang used to take care and protect Toey from bullying when they were kids (i called it! Toey mannerism and the way he talks definitely made him prime target for bullying.) its still not excuse Phum's behavior toward Peem but that + all the apologies he gave this ep soften him for me.

Tan is my new number one blorbo. throwing a party to just tell your friends that you're in love is very Mwah! and that VOICE! he did for toey at the party, crack the hell out of me. ok, how to explain this. so that voice both the deepness of it and the way the audio played gave a very specific old C dramas Thai dubbed feels. that it, thats was the joke. i really loved its but its probably don't translated fully to non thai speakers.

We only got crumbs for Pun and Chain this ep. but ahhhhhhh! baby pun is so cute i can't, he too god damn cute. as a dumb boy myself your brain leaking from reading too much books is so relatable. Chain and Pun relationship being more like a mother and her son than friends is kinda weird but i'm rolling with it. idk what thats say about me but idc, i loved this two too dang much.

And now for the stars of this ep Toey and Q🌟 blam blam blam!! 🌟so i was kinda not into this two as much as other people on here who go bananas for them. but this ep sold me, i'm now 100% a QToey boyie. the way Satang portray him with such earnestly and those forking puppy eyes finally broke me. look, look. i'm not gonna say that i didn't cringe at the way toey talks, and i felt bad for it after we learnt that he definitely got bullied as a kid. the scene in the park where Q asked Toey if being his nong rahat make him felt under any pressure. Fuck thats so sweet, my heart! Q care so much despite being a grumpy bitch and he god damn shows it. i loved this so much. cause not a lot of grumpy BL characters were balanced well with thier grumpiness and tenderness. most of the times relationships like this in other BLs felt very one sided, but not this one. i hope the show will explore more of what happened to Toey, but i'm not gonna get my hope up cause thats kinda don't fit the vibes of this show.

This ep gave me the Friendships and the cutenest and i'm full! now we only need the brothers to get rope into this queer friends group, hell Phum can bring his two hot friends and Toey can bring cute little JJ, and Ciize can be the token lesbian. make them all friends!!

[jjinx1998]

xxtc-96xx Callout post

To start I want you to know I didn't want things to have to come to this but after recent developments and discussions from others I cannot ignore what's been going on for years now. This is a problem revolving around the user @xxtc-96xx , the comic Endertale, and the Undertale fandom. I will try to explain what I know and offer proof when I can, but there might be some sloppiness as this is my first real post on Tumblr. If there is any technical issues about this post, please let me know so I can fix it.

Let me start from the beginning. I have been a long time fan of xxtc-96xx since about 2016 (I will refer to them as TC to make it easier). I have enjoyed looking at the art they create for many years, mainly the ones revolving around Endertale.

Endertale is a fan comic that TC made of the game Undertale. It's a very decent story with a pleasant art style. I would recommend it but I cannot and I will get to why. You see TC has suffered from something that just about any creator can relate to, burnout. The most recent comic page being posted in 2021 though there was already a hiatus established before that.

While they made it long clear that they needed to go on break for personal reasons, people wanted to ask for when they will continue it. Some of them calm and reasonable and other's were very much not nice. TC answered them honestly at first.

Then it started to devolve into troll responses or just not answering.

Not just on Tumblr but people kept asking on Deviantart as well. In fact people are still asking today in 2024. It has gotten so frequent that TC felt it necessary to change their profile header to this:

And it has stayed that way for so long I lost track of when it started. To be fair, even I found the frequent questions to be overwhelming and they just like every artist who makes stuff for free is entitled to take a break from their work. However this post isn't a complaint about how long it takes to finish a comic, it's about something that started because of the wait.

See, their original reason to take a break was because they were too busy with personal matters for them to commit to an actual comic. But as their history up to today has shown that's no longer a valid excuse. As time went on they started to show an interest in the Pokemon fandom. specifically the pokemon known as Mewtwo. To make a long story short, what started as small doodles grew into a whole bunch of fancomics and animations. To compare, they have drawn nearly four times as many Pokemon drawings compared to Undertale. Now, it is perfectly fair and acceptable to find an interest in a different fandom. And while I personally prefer Undertale over Pokemon I completely supported their decision to focus on other fandoms and enjoyed what they made. I also understood their issues with the fandom at the time, some people were rather aggressive, rude, or demanding the comic to be completed, a comic that's completely free that they make no profit out of. I even recall one point they tried to unsuccessfully drag a different content creator into this issue as if it would somehow work.

However I started to notice they had a warped perception on the fandom. Rather than blame the few people that harassed them online with constant asks, they believed that the entire fandom as a whole is to blame as declared it all toxic. Something they insist on repeating to all their fans and making them believe their opinion as fact.

Now for the record I am very aware of how toxic this fandom was and can be at times. I was around since the beginning and have seen just about every drama that has come. From the fans harassing you for not doing the pacifist route in the first time playing, people arguing if either Frisk or Chara is a really bad person, arguing over Frisk's and Chara's gender, is genocide the right choice, is Toriel the bad guy or Asgore, and a controversy revolving around a certain creator of the au Glitchtale (the last one TC coincidentally emulates their "Delay work for one week for every ask" and finds it amusing). I know this fandom is not the best but I love it all the same, it's as much a part of my life as it is for TC. I know I am not perfect at showing my interest for Undertale, as this image of a private ask shows.

Or this time I made a obviously joke ask and apparently I didn't realize a lot of people don't understand sarcasm.

Or when I tried to ask this sincere and nonaggressive question, one of the few times TC isn't putting up some kind of attitude.

Or this other ask from me.

At the end of the day this is just a comic. No one has any right to demand them to continue it or make death threats, this is completely unacceptable. However, at the same time this doesn't mean the creator should dehumanize the entire fandom or punish the few that are being respectful. They wait and what do they get, people mocking them and bullying them. That's what I realized in the past week when I engaged in the comments of a few posts. TC allow their fans to bully the fandom.

I tried to be as calm and reasonable as I can and yet I get called out as a toxic fan. And in the end did TC scold everyone else, no, they basically told me to shut up. I overestimated the fans intelligence and if they could handle basic logic, read the comments for yourself to see my point. As someone with Asperger and anger issues, it's a god given miracle I am still trying to maintain my composure within this insanity that has been going on for years. I have spoken with several content creators who asked to remain anonymous about this entire fiasco and we have similar conclusions about TC.

TC has been through a lot of painful and hurtful comments over the years that they did not deserve in the slightest. They are entitled to do whatever they want with their comic and works. Saying a fandom is or isn't toxic is unhelpful as you fundamentally miss the mark on how fandom culture works. As a creator, it is not right to hang this hiatus over people's heads and string them along. TC does not respect their Undertale fans in the slightest and mocks those who is still waiting. They indirectly encourage their other fans to bully and dehumanize the rest.

I held back on making a comment about all this for two reasons. One, TC's fandom terrifies me. They are complete smug hypocrites who spend way too much time on the internet that they don't realize that if they use their words in real life they will get punched in the face for it. Two, despite everything I still believe that TC can change. I like to believe the best in everyone and that there is hope that maybe this time TC will realize they have become the very thing they hate. That hope has faded to cinders. I'm done with TC, my only concern is the people remaining to wait for the comic.

To everyone who is waiting for Endertale and/or following TC because you like their Undertale stuff, leave them and never come back. They do not respect you, they look down on you, they laugh watching you wait, you deserve better than them. Even if they do finish the comic eventually it will not be made out of love or passion.

DO NOT harass and bully them because of my words. I will not tolerate any attempt to do so.

My final words are for TC if they even decide to read this:

TC, I know we are not friends, you made that clear long ago but I was hoping we could've been. You were a huge inspiration for me in the past and was what pushed me to attempt learning about art. I looked up to you and tried to support you when you were feeling down. You are no longer that person.

You do not have the right to condemn an entire fandom as toxic and declare it as a fact of life. It's people like you that keep the fandoms so divided to this day. It's because of people like you I am scared for my life if I ever mention Undertale in public. Your fixation on the sins of the past prevents us from moving forward. I do not excuse what happened but the past is in the past, get over it and grow up, you are an adult so act like it.

You say you don't owe us any comic or works, well at the same time if you want to mistreat the fandom I care about then I or anybody don't owe you any respect yet I did for nearly five years.

Why? Because I cared about how this all made you feel. What do you see when you look at me, another obsessed toxic fan who should keep their mouth shut or a PERSON with their own thoughts feelings and beliefs?

One of your problems is that you think nothing ever seems to be your fault, just the fans who keep asking. Well maybe they wouldn't have asked if you didn't leave them hanging for almost five years. To me, it no longer matters if you finish Endertale or not.

Maybe you still think it isn't your fault, then that makes me the idiot for hoping you can be better. You hurt me, really hurt me. I don't think I can ever trust someone like you again.

Do you know what I really want?

Your apology. I want you to make a genuine apology to me and the fandom at your actions over the years. I won't block you because being the idiot I am I hope my words mean something to you and you'll want to chat.

But until you wise up ask yourself this familiar question,

Do you really think you are above consequences?

[companyissuedbicpen]

Am I missing something with the Watcher drama? I sort of feel like people are acting like what they did was completely irredeemable and I don't really understand why?

I understand why they got backlash, but they responded and are changing how they do things, so do people really just feel betrayed enough by the way they announced it that they don't want to watch anymore?

Like their decision kind of makes sense to me, they need more money to keep making their content and YouTube money is not what it used to be yk? It was a bad way to announce it, and a bad decision to pay wall EVERYTHING but they apologized and are doing things differently so I guess I just don't get why they're still getting backlash.

/gen

(Sorry to drop this all in your inbox you just seem well-informed on the situation xo)

Hi anon! Very good question about a complex situation, so I’ll do my best to get down my thoughts in a comprehensive way.

(Remember to take my opinion with a grain of salt! Everyone has their own takeaways and I’m not attempting to change anyone’s opinions, these are just my own thoughts.)

As far as I know the situation hasn’t changed, and the continued backlash has more to do with how people individually feel about to the situation. From what I’ve seen there are three main perspectives:

1) “I think that the apology and changes make up for their actions, and I will continue to support them.”

2) “I think that the apology and changes are a good first step, but it will take a while for them to regain my trust.” (This seems to be the majority.)

3) “I think that the apology and changes do not make up for their actions, and I will no longer support them.”

None of these perspectives are right or wrong, it entirely depends on your own personal values.

That being said, most algorithms tend to amplify more critical/cynical perspectives because that’s what gets the most attention, which can make a small amount of the fanbase seem much larger than it is (not to discount those opinions, to each their own). The more negative-leaning, the more attention things usually get. Not just in fandom discourse either! Think about news headlines, and how much positive vs. negative news you usually see.

So even though the majority of the takeaways (at least that I have seen) have been relatively positive, scarcer statements like “Watcher is now an evil billion-dollar corporate scheme that is preying on its audience!!” are going to generate more controversy (and therefore more attention) than something like “This was a good first step, I hope they continue to improve in the future.” The message with more attention can lead people to see that as the majority opinion, and spread that message further, etc. etc.

This is what can cause it to look like everyone thinks that Watcher acted maliciously and is only interested in money to line their own pockets. I’m not saying that there still isn’t work to do and that the situation is completely fixed (I personally lost a lot of trust in them), but I don’t think it’s as drastic as it might seem to many people at first glance.

Hope this answers your question! Thanks for the ask, this was really interesting to think about!

[prydainroyals]

Dear Alice: Part 1 of (?)

---

"Alice, I'm sorry for not contacting you sooner. I know it's been ages. You really don't need to worry about me though, I promise. There are certain things I just can't talk about, this being a military base, I'm sure you know what I mean. But I'll try to tell you what I can, OK?

It's beautiful here. Beyond the treeline and past most of the tundra, it's absolutely desolate, but breathtaking. I don't know how else to describe the magic of a white, sparkling void. It all feels so alien and yet, so familiar, especially knowing that this our planet!! Like, we're not in some sci-fi drama, this is home.

And what a home it is! Cabot Sound's little "slice of paradise" as the Captain calls it, is here explicitly for research, obviously. We're at the edge of a glacier that's been receding considerably over the last five decades.

Research has been going as well as anyone could hope. The water, soil, mineral and ice core samples have already told us so much and we've barely scratched the surface.

It isn't all poetic imagery and frolicking. Work can be extremely dangerous, and it's always demanding. There's nothing like trekking through a popup blizzard in -40 at the glacier foothills to make you feel wholly insignificant. I'd still rather do that again than imagine what Dad's going to be like when I come home.

But speaking of people I hate: Let's talk about a special group of people I actually don't.

—

An interlude of sorts, ripped from inspired by one of my favorite shows growing up, M*A*S*H. I think it's a fun framing device that can give insight into both the narrator (in this case, Arthur) but also into the other characters, even in cases where Arthur isn't present.

- - -

PREV | BEGINNING | NEXT

[plaid-maniac]

Do you ever think about how there totally could have been an old classmate of Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth in the audience during like turnabout sister or turnabout samurai. Do you think they would realize? Like “hey, were those the guys in my class in like fourth grade? I kinda remember them. Wonder if they remember each other. But it was so long ago, I doubt they would even care.” Meanwhile Edgeworth and Phoenix are undergoing the most insane mental battles where both of them are going “I recognize my best friend across the courtroom and I desperately want to be close with them again.” And “god he is so god damn annoying I wish he would die already.”

[j-ellyfish]

People who engage in the Hetalia fandom while openly disliking the source material and even Himaruya himself sound kinda like hypocrites to me. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion, but please stay away from me, this kind of mindset truly annoys me and makes me uncomfortable. Am I gatekeeping? No, not really, I just believe that being a fan of something should mean, you know, being a fan and liking the source material at the very least. It should be like, the lowest the bar can get. Below that, there's not being a fan.

[mikoran]

no man but if byler isnt endgame its just gonna be so disappointing especially if mileven stays the main couple. like okay guess mike was genuinely just an asshole. guess he barely had an arc. guess el never truly developed and just regressed instead. guess another gay character gets an unhappy ending. fucking hell

[monstersinthecosmos]

not for anything but friendly reminder that ~fandom discourse~ about where women belong (or people you perceive as women) is misogynistic as fuck. or what they're allowed to say, or what they're allowed to write about, or what they're allowed to enjoy.

next time you see someone having a tantrum and vaguing, especially if their posts from week to week completely contradict each other, perhaps analyze if the common denominator is "a gross woman said something and now i'm mad" without otherwise adhering to any actual principles.

[lunarharp]

wip thing...

of my bg3 avatar hellebore. i also did some casual nude studies of my 3 characters which i'll put under a cut... rather unlike me after all. (so WARNING for abrupt non-sexual full Artistic nudity lol...,,,,) (< won't be making a habit of this)

they mean the world to me

[jutsuuu]

girl help I’m experiencing

[mcybree]

"if you happen to fall in the subcategory of people who are really into third life and also rain world lets talk. please. i have an au come back"

i am staring at u with my artificer plushy in my hands

*walks onto the stage. taps mic.* um. Jimmy sliver of straw incident. *jumps off the apron breaking all of my bones immediately upon contact with the floor*

[coquelicoq]

my sister has me watching this french reality dating show and the subtitles always take a little while to kick in so at the beginning i'm just like mes amis...i do not know what you are yelling at each other...can u fight a little slower...pour moi...un petit ralentissement s'il vous plaît...un peu plus d'articulation...fâchez-vous si vous insistez, mais tranquillement...

[baltears]

r/ddit bros will never understand westworld bc they dont understand that love is the point <3

[theriverdalereviewer]

idk if any of you are kdrama watchers but I got a problem with the pacing