#Strong Language

[inkprovised]

They keep provoking each other, but Revali is always the one being scolded. 🤣

Found this almost finished on my laptop... I had NO memories....😀

[mesmir-ized]

[miwachan2]

im so sleep deprived

[starmahgalaxies]

Poor Jou does not know how to begin to explain the situation he is in.

The return of the biggest little shit! /affectionate. I know a lot of it is flashback as we catch up on each of the children, but he's working overtime. Good for him.

->Restaurant patrons and staff speak Japanese. ->A handful of the dishes shown appear to also be Japanese ->Only accepts US$.

I don't blame you, Jou. I would be pissed.

You were the one who threw it.

I was serious when I mentioned indentured servitude in my last rewatch post. Anytime I hear paying off a debt that just keeps growing and growing and theoretically you should be protected under the law (no idea what the legalities in the Digital World are. Digitamamon seems to be one of the few capitalistic businesses around), but you're treated like shit, it's the first thing I think of. It is a bit of a stretch, normal indentured servitude is for years. I don't doubt that they would have kept Jou and Yamato there until they were adults.

Oh, that's another thing, child labor.

(I'm also several years post-graduation on classes with this stuff so take my word with caution.)

They are both trying so hard to be considerate. The value of talking to your friends and being honest aahhh...

One screencap does not do well to show how much the poor lad is shaking. I really admire Jou for how he handles his anxiety despite how much shit it gives him. Guy is prepared to go through med school... THEY WILL EAT YOU ALIVE PRECIOUS BEAN! (this is nothing against thinking he can't do it. It's that med school and field can be hell, as conveyed to me by others in my life) He makes a fantastic doctor.

Sora, please, please talk to your friends. They'll love to hear you are all right. Or were even here at all.

You would really have to hate a coworker to mess up so badly to increase the amount of abuse you receive. That is counterproductive. There are better ways to get out of something or convey the message of screw you to the boss without impacting people you work with who you actually like.

Yamato is a way too close to panicking and worry to recognize this though. Oh, and a child, who shouldn't be working at all at this age or knows how this stuff works.

Little brother interrupts break at work: Day immediately 1000x better.

I would not put money on that. You are much too reckless and stubborn.

The dead eyes of evil management.

This is why it's good to have faith in your friends. 👏

Two angry furry boys.

Love how bristling Ikkakumon looks. Put his partner down!!

ALL HAIL THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP!

Two angry furry boys, except one of them is bipedal now.

Speak for yourself, if he's desperate enough and thinks it is the most productive option, Jou will do anything ❤️.

👏 True 👏 friends 👏 talk 👏 about 👏 their 👏 feelings 👏

"And I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids!"

🤝❤️

I focused a lot on shit work conditions for this, but I do really like this episode for both Yamato and Jou. They're good kids. Should lay off employment for a bit though xD. Saving the world is enough stress.

[violetmuses]

Roman Reigns + Female Reader 🖤

Fandom: WWE 

Character: Roman Reigns 

Pairing: Roman Reigns + Female Reader 

@mikaylathenerd5 @thekittysmeow 🏷

Part 2

=======

“Rollins, come out and play…” Voices almost haunted thoughts with each passing moment as Seth Rollins sat in the back of one truck this evening. Though, two unexpected silhouettes lurked in front of this vehicle.  

“Bron? Drive.” There was no room for strength. Not anymore. The voices became louder and louder, wailing so much more than emergency alarms that bled over nightfall. 

“What?” Breaker didn’t know what to think, mostly likely skipping instruction and waiting for both men this time around. 

“Roman. He’s back.” Rollins knew better. Grounding names out loud would’ve melted composure.  

“Who?” Breakker squinted from the driver’s seat once more. 

One man took charge first. Sporting this graphic sweatshirt, athletic pants clothed both legs while custom-made shoes marched along. Dark tresses shadowed chiseled features. 

His nodding pout meant war. Always. 

“It’s Roman.” Given no choice but to repeat himself, Seth exposed the truth to Breakker. 

“Let’s go, then. I’ve dealt with him before.” Bron would never turn away from squabbles, regardless of the opponents. 

“No. Look.” Seth pointed for a moment, hardly keeping himself together. 

The second person veiled sleeveless fabric over his own muscled frame. Dark and known lights of this parking garage would illuminate his bald head. 

“Is that Dwayne?” Bron asked, noting Roman’s cousin: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. 

“We gotta go. If you don’t punch the gas right now, I’ll be dead soon enough.” Seth revealed his warning. 

“What are you talking about?” Puzzled, Bron still held the steering wheel. 

“Drive the fucking ca…” Tranquilizing  bullets shattered the glass out of nowhere and shut down Rollins until further notice. 

______

Fluorescent lights almost burned overhead as ropes around his straining hands this evening. The nondescript but hollow room could turn down weaklings upon arrival. 

Footsteps echoed closer and closer. Boots? Maybe sneakers. Rollins didn’t know. For once, his heart thumped over and over, louder than police sirens that never showed up tonight. 

The door creaked open and this silhouette moved, giving one brief solace of company. 

And yet, an upcoming face only worsened terror.

Dwayne returned.  

“Where’s the briefcase?” Johnson moved across from Rollins, waiting. 

“I don’t have it right now.” Seth tried, coughing through dust that circled around this bleak room. 

“Can’t stand when you lie. Huh?” Dwayne chuckled through an almost dark voice. “Either tell me the truth or my cousin will spill blood all over the city. I just got him that sweatshirt, too. It’s nice.” 

“I don’t have the briefcase!” Gritting his teeth, Seth failed to remain calm. 

“All right, then.” Johnson arched his brow, fed up and called Roman himself. “Uce! Come get Rollins. He never listened to me.” 

“No, fuck off!” Despite yelling through rage and failing around his damn chair, fear reached Seth only moments later. “No, Dwayne. No!” 

Too late. 

The entrance opened once more, sealing that dangerous finale. 

*****

“Entrepreneur Seth Rollins was found dead in an undisclosed location this weekend and law enforcement officials are now investigating the crime. If you have any information…” 

Every news report mixed over and over again, the same topic blinked everywhere. 

SETH ROLLINS IS GONE.  

“Did you find it?” Pulling his Southern accent forward, Roman Reigns glanced toward this large display of virtual screen as Dwayne Johnson scored details. 

“There’s a white-coat facility downtown, some kind of research point.” Johnson almost struggled to explain his findings. 

“Quacks?” Reigns furrowed his brow, weary of various professionals. 

“Um-um.” Dwayne stood, finishing water. “A private examiner.” 

“Who runs that place?” Reigns didn’t know what to believe just yet. For all he knew, this pending location might trap red tape around his goal. 

“I just printed the documents. Hold on.” Walking his short distance, Dwayne moved to settle paperwork and Roman looked on, gently curious until one name caught his eye. 

Yours. 

“Fuck…” Reigns shook his head, capturing this unexpected moment. 

“What’s wrong?” Dwayne folded both arms. 

“We need to start over. I’m..I’m not ready yet.” Roman offered the truth, no longer holding back. 

“Damn, she’s here…” Even Dwayne slammed the file, leaving Roman to think for himself. 

For once, you caught the game before anyone else… 

[sevens-dumb-stuff]

the new detective pikachu game is wild

[spiraling-stardust]

Okay I’m kinda curious on how everyone perceives ISAT’s fantasy expletives so I’m gonna make a poll about it lmfao

For the sake of clarity, placeholder swear words for us are like crap, darn, heck, etc. and the aforementioned real world swear words are things like bitch, shit, fuck, all that stuff. Woah profanity!!!!

[mesmir-ized]

this will be persona 2 in 2024…

[my-animeandmanga-journey]

This is the shittiest excuse I've ever heard of for a divorce!!!

Did he seriously think he was protecting Hazuki by throwing her back like a fish that's too small? "Oh, my family hates you, so I'm getting rid of you- but I'M keeping the kid, tho."

THIS! IS! SHIT!!!

You don't protect someone by throwing them out in the street! You do it by getting in their abuser's face and telling them to back the f*** off!!!

Contrast Hazuki's ex with Kudo:

And compare Hazuki's ex with Koji (before Koji grew a spine, that is):

Which one is more similar?

Even the Bible talks about this:

Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. Genesis 2:24

But Hazuki's husband didn't do that. No, he chose his parents- probably his precious inheritance and family name- over his wife. "Oh, I love you too much to let you put up with this, so I'm taking the baby and kicking you out." No, if he actually loved her, he would choose her. He would CUT OFF his family to protect her, if necessary.

And what happened to Hazuki because of it? What is she thinking?

"Oh, but it's my fault."

Her husband treated her like shit and threw her out, and she blames herself. She wants to act like she's healed from it, but she hasn't, not if this is still her thought process.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Loss and Reunion (Part 1)

Jason knew Dick had to die sometime. Besides the fact that it was inevitable, Batman’s Robins all seem to die early. It was really just a matter of time. But can Bruce at least pretend to be upset about it?

Part 2 here

---

Part 1: Loss

His mouth is stern. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable behind the godforsaken cowl. Jason knows that something is up with Bruce - sorry, Batman - even beyond the obvious.

“You’re here,” Batman growls.

“I’m here,” Jason echoes. He hadn’t been there when the world was under attack. He’d been with the Outlaws. He’d been busy. There’s only so much one person can do, and Jason is becoming more and more aware of that fact as time goes on.

In an attempt to remain casual, Jason crosses his arms and leans back on one of the Cave’s many walls. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible. Batman doesn’t need to know that his voice still makes Jason’s hands shake.

The muscles in Batman’s jaw and mouth relax. The corner of his lip tips up ever so slightly. If anyone other than a protege of Batman and child of Bruce Wayne saw it, they’d never notice the difference.

But Jason knows. Jason knows quite well.

Batman - or is it Bruce? - is smiling. It seems to be out of relief, but Jason frustratingly can’t see his eyes. Can’t tell for certain why he’s smiling.

“You’re here,” Batman repeats, and Jason has ten witty comebacks on his tongue when he’s abruptly silenced by the hug.

Hug.

Batman.

Batman is… is hugging him. Jason can’t remember many times Bruce hugged him. He often jokes that the only time he’d been cradled by Bruce was after he was already dead. No one ever finds it funny, but Jason keeps saying it anyway.

“Bruce,” Jason says, tone flat and arms stiff at his sides. He’s pretty sure he’s talking to Bruce, not Batman. “Let go.”

And emotionally constipated Bruce Wayne hugs Jason just a bit tighter, lingers for just a moment longer, before begrudgingly letting go. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m, uh… I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jason squints, returning to his position against the wall. “I�� Thanks?”

Bruce clears his throat. “A… A lot’s happened.”

Stating the obvious. Just because Jason was off-world doesn’t mean he wasn’t inundated with chaos the second he landed back on Earth.

But rather than say this, Jason decides to deflect, deflect, deflect. Anything to avoid discussing feelings with this uncharacteristically-vulnerable version of Bruce. “Where is everyone?”

At this, Bruce lets out a comically exaggerated sigh. He tugs the cowl down and runs a hand through his hair. Finally visible, Bruce’s eyes are tired. Exhausted, even. “Robin’s on patrol.”

Avoiding Bruce, Jason translates.

“Alfred’s with Leslie. Some people still need medical care after… everything.”

Meaning the world is so fucked that Alfred actually left the cave.

“Oracle should be in bed, though I doubt it. Probably still running comms.”

So nothing’s changed with her, then.

“And Red Robin is with the Titans.” Then he falls silent. Like the question has been sufficiently answered.

As per usual, Bruce’s true meaning lies with the unspoken.

“... and Dick?” Jason ventures.

Bruce sighs again, finding a chair to sit in. He lowers himself down gingerly, like every muscle aches. But his mouth stays shut. Jason can’t even hear a noncommittal “hn.”

Jason’s hands tighten on his arms. He and the golden boy aren’t the best of friends, but they’re still brothers. They’re still family.

And god knows what this family will do for each other.

“Where’s Dick?” And then, after another too-long pause - “Where’s Dick, Bruce?” His tone is tough enough to pierce titanium, sharp enough to cut diamond.

Bruce looks away and then back at Jason. “Nightwing’s dead.”

The words are spoken with a cold finality. With all the loving kindness of a dull icepick - weakened in mechanism but brutal in delivery. There is no room for care. No room for questioning. It’s spoken as Batman conducts his detective work: factual and efficient.

Jason may have forgiven the tone if Bruce at least looked sorry. But he doesn’t. His eyes are hardened. They’re not sorry. Not devastated. Not even sad.

They’re as expressionless as they were when he wore the cowl.

Something in Jason snaps. Sweat breaks out on his palms, his forehead, his neck. His shoulders tense, and his stomach flips. Jason’s face burns, and his vision goes a sickly green.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, patience paper-thin.

“Nightwing was kidnapped by the Crime Syndicate. They revealed his identity on television and wired a bomb to his heart.”

Jason feels nauseous, but Bruce isn’t done.

“The bomb was set to go off unless Nightwing died. Lex Luthor killed him.”

And there it is. That railroad spike of flippancy. That absolute carelessness. It’s becoming painfully clear that even with the cowl off, this is Batman. This is the man that trained Jason. Not the man that tried to be his father.

That tried to be Dick’s father too. But hadn’t tried hard enough.

“You…” Jason means to say something defensive. He means to say something demanding and intimidating and furious, because that’s what he is. He’s furious.

…so why does he feel so empty?

“It’s not…” But still, Jason can’t manage a sentence. He opens his mouth to speak, and words fail him. Because… because surely there’s something wrong. Surely, this is a lie.

And while Jason wrestles with this, Bruce studies his expression. Is no doubt waiting for an angry outburst or a pathetic wave of tears.

But he gets neither. Because Jason is just… confused.

“You’re… He’s dead?” he finally manages.

And Bruce nods, eyes still devoid of grief or ire. It makes Jason’s stomach knot.

“And you’re certain?” Because sure, he’s dead. They’ve all died. But it never quite sticks. Being assumed dead is very different from being face-to-face with a corpse. And even then, it isn’t always forever. Jason is living proof of that.

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“Did you see the body, Bruce?” Jason presses. “Can you confirm-?”

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is cold, but his eyes are devoid of emotion. He sounds upset about being questioned. Not upset that his son is dead.

Jason tries to ignore that. “When?”

“Two months ago.”

The revelation is like a hammer to his gut.

For a long, long moment, Jason says nothing. He stares out past Bruce, eyes losing focus.

“Jason.” Bruce is cautious, voice concerned. “Jason, say something.”

“... where’s Luthor?”

And suddenly, Bruce is the quiet one.

“Bruce. Where’s Luthor?”

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head before turning around, sweeping his cape, and pacing to the Batcomputer.

And then rage hits Jason like a bullet train. “Don’t you care??” he shouts.

Still no response. Just rapid typing on the keyboard.

Jason’s eye twitches. He forces a controlled stream of air from his lips, struggling to compose himself. “Where’s Luthor?” He stalks towards the computer himself, not stopping until he’s standing next to the console chair.

The typing pauses, fingers stilled over the keys. And then Bruce - Batman - shrugs, resuming his case report.

Jason’s vision is filtered by a deeper shade of green. The blatant lack of respect - of decency - makes Jason’s mouth taste bitter. It’s so, so painfully reminiscent. So similar, it’s practically identical. So like Jason’s death.

The Joker is out there somewhere. Living to swing crowbars another day. Living to kill kids another day. Batman hasn’t stopped him.

And here it is. Dick. Dead. And where is Luthor?

Batman certainly doesn’t know.

“Don’t do that,” he warns, sight narrowing in on Batman. “Tell me Luthor’s dead. Tell me he’s dead, Bruce!”

But Batman doesn’t say it. Bruce doesn’t say it either. Both are the picture of calm. Of someone who hasn’t just lost a son.

“Where is he?” Jason seethes. Even if Batman doesn’t care, Jason needs somewhere to go. Something to do.

This seems to snap Bruce forward and push Batman away. “Jason,” he begins softly, finally looking away from the computer and spinning in his chair to see Jason clearly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Isn’t there?” Jason fumes. “Is that what you said after Joker killed me??”

“Jason, I…” Bruce scowls. “I’m sorry that I don’t seem remorseful enough for you. The fact of the matter is that Nightwing is dead. The Crime Syndicate has done a lot of damage, and there are people we can help if we act now. But being upset about Nightwing isn’t going to fix anything.”

Wrong. Thing. To say.

“This is your fault,” Jason growls. “This - your whole holier-than-thou, no-killing bullshit - is why Dick is dead. If you would just get off your soapbox for five seconds, if you actually thought about what you were doing, if you hadn’t recruited a bunch of kids into your dumbass crusade, Dick wouldn’t be-!”

“Jason-”

But there’s that tone again. Not caring. Not sympathetic.

Bothered.

“Why did you drag him into this? Why did you drag us into this?” Pace, pace, pace. Jason pauses in front of Batman. Swivels to face him. Lowers his voice to a chilling whisper. “Did you lose a son? Or just another toy soldier?”

Batman rises abruptly. His silhouette is foreboding. Just as foreboding now, when Jason is taller than Batman, as when he was a kid. When he got saddled with Dick’s old job. At the time, it sounded fun. But at the time, he was also twelve and living on the streets

(Had Dick thought it was fun? It was his idea, as far as Jason is aware. But he was eight. Just how much resistance had Batman put up before he let Robin patrol with him?)

“Do not say that.” The words are terse, forced through gnashed teeth.

“What? That we’re all just pawns in your game of chess? That you caused this?”

Batman doesn’t back down. He maintains fierce eye contact. Balls his fists before hiding them in his cape. “You are my children,” he insists. “I did not force any of you to do this, and you know that. Nightwing knew that.”

Nightwing. Not Dick. Not Richard. Not even goddamn Grayson.

Nightwing.

“Dick,” Jason corrects, barely concealing a growl. “Dick knew that. Your son. At least have the decency to say his name.”

Batman levels Jason with a glare hot enough to melt steel before returning to his desk and continuing his report.

Because the truth of the matter is that Batman - that Bruce - is incapable of handling emotions like this. Whenever things get hard, he ducks his head and becomes engrossed in his work. He blocks out the world until the problems disappear.

But nothing can erase this.

Jason can’t take it anymore. He throws his helmet on the floor with a resounding crack. “Fuck you,” he hisses. Then he jumps onto his motorcycle and peels away. This is too much. It’s all just too much.

With an absent hand, Jason pulls out his phone and speed dials Dick’s cell.

“You’ve reached Dick Grayson. I’m not available right now, but please leave your-”

Jason hangs up. He’s not going to listen to that.

(He can’t listen to that.)

Instead, Jason flips his manual comm on, regretting the tiniest bit that he’d destroyed his helmet. “Hood to Oracle.”

The comm crackles and pops more than a toddler’s breakfast cereal. Jason really needs to replace his backup equipment. But through the hissing and static, he can make out a voice.

“Oracle.”

Ah. So Barbara had stayed up. Maybe to spite Bruce. Maybe because she just wanted to. Who’s to say?

“What’s Lex Luthor’s status?”

A long pause. Jason wonders if his comm has finally crapped out before Oracle replies, voice so loud it makes his ears ring. “Don’t bother, Hood.”

No explanation. No reassurances. Just one firm order.

But Jason is tired of taking orders.

“Look, I’m finding Luthor one way or another. The only question is if you help or if I need to consult a different source.”

Jason could swear he hears a huff over the receiver. “Can we talk?”

But Jason doesn’t want to talk. He wants to act. Now.

“No,” he says curtly. “Do you know where he is or not?”

A new voice invades the channel, dry and irritated. “Whatever you’re planning, Hood, I assure you it’s inadvisable.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Robin,” he growls. “Oracle, where is Luthor?”

A heavy pause. “Come to the tower.”

“Copy.”

Jason leaves his comm in - just in case someone decides to be helpful - but keeps driving south. If Barbara isn’t going to tell him where Luthor is, Jason will just find another way. Do some detective work, just like he’s been trained to do.

Because Dick deserves it. He deserves for someone to give a shit about him.

The thought makes Jason’s eyes burn. The Golden Boy, even in death, is taken for granted. And if Dick was still alive? He’d probably forgive Bruce for it too.

It makes Jason’s vision turn a deep emerald, and he has to focus on finding Luthor. It’s the only way to sate the fury in his veins.

Part 2 here

[violetmuses]

Complicated - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Title: Complicated - A. Aretas ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Armando Aretas meets you for the very first time during Mike Lowrey's Zoom Call.

@peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky @planetblaque @sweettea-and-honeybutter @lovedlover @xjjawsomex @readingisahobby @kindofaintrovert @nelo0wesker @gg-trini @cloveroctobers @twinklestarslight @episodes-ff @nobodygetsza 🏷

Part II ❤️‍🩹

======

2024

As time drifted and choices settled at last, famed Miami Detective Mike Lowrey fell in love with Christine, an experienced physical therapist.

Christine also helped Mike heal throughout the shooting recovery that took place years back.

“All set!” Joining tech genius Dorn in this parked truck, you stepped back from Mike's gorgeous wedding to confirm an important Zoom call now.

“Thank you.” Mike nodded in your direction while expressing gratitude this evening.

“Of course. Now, Dorn and I will get out of here before… You abruptly stopped talking when the signal picked up first.

Shit!

Scoping the view of one guarded cell, red tape locked remote communication between Mike and his estranged son, criminal Armando Aretas.

“This is my wife Christine.” Mike took charge and your nerves calmed down from within.

“It's great to meet you.” Christine faced the screen and offered this kind smile while beaming through one perfect dress.

“Who's that?” Wearing this orange uniform, Armando questioned the sight of more guests after meeting Christine.

“Dorn.” Mike still introduced this member of the AMMO team.

“Not him.” Revealing that slightly accented English once more, Aretas clipped the phrase.

“Oh!” Mike realized the point and turned around, acknowledging your nickname instead. “Rook joined the squad recently.”

“Hi.” Greeting Armando, you stayed cordial for many reasons.

“Hey.” His voice clipped between moments of silence.

“We should go…” Christine reached out to hold your hand and prompted Dorn to begin leaving as well.

Just when you could step outside with Christine, one voice echoed from the computer:

“Wait, hold up.” Aretas caught himself and Mike nearly chuckled before this trade ended.

[incorrectmadrigalfamilyquotes]

vent:

why did someone send us an ask calling us the n word with the hard r several times, the people who run this account aren't... um... but even if we were, that's still gross .... dude wtf.... 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

pls report this account, thx

[tristepinguino]

Using esoterica for evil.

[pan-magi]

I was watching some Sinbad no Bouken clips and at the time my dog was doing something dumb/something he probably shouldn't do. So, I ended up calling my dog Sinbad.

Currently have my mind on Sinbad - self-explanatory

Idiot = Sinbad

Idiot dog = also Sinbad

His actual name is nothing close. I have a problem clearly. Every dumb fuck I witness in this world is, in some way, Sin.

Posting this here because no one else will understand my pain for this. I'd get weird stares from my family if I explain why I called my dog a fictional animated king.

[ditzyredrobin]

(Don’t) Leave me Alone (part II)

Part two is ready to rock and roll! I hope to have part three with the full reunion up tonight or tomorrow. 💜

-

Tim drops unceremoniously back into their overstuffed couch, sighing on impact, and dropping his head into his open palms.

Their movie is still queued up and the broken glass on the floor but he couldn’t Will himself to move any farther.

There had been a heavy debate regarding said couch, ultimately being won out by himself—he could be very persuasive, according to his vigilante boyfriends, at least.

The heavy smell of their favorite Chinese (Jason’s broccoli beef and Dick’s kung pao chicken), made his stomach twist and churn.

Is this my fault?

Maybe the bigger question was would they survive a fight of this magnitude, or would he be left alone in the rubble, trying to claw himself.

Should he leave now and save himself from the inevitable it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk? Because that’s how these sorts of things always ended, wasn’t it?

He just thought—he just hoped—that things would end differently this time. But hope is a nasty business, she always had a way of chewing him up inside and spitting him out, his soul a little more damaged than before.

Tim scrubs his scalp. It’s okay—he would be okay, he always was. He would take his weaknesses and turn them back into strengths. He was excellent at change but this… he didn’t want this change.

His eyes got hot and it was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to leave he loved this place he.

He loved their bed and waking up next to them every morning, he loved Jason’s books scatter around them house, tucked in between the couch cushions, tiny writing in the margin.

Dick’s attempts at cooking pancakes in the morning and nearly burning down the kitchen, and Jason having to jump in and take over before he did actually have a fire, while Tim sat the bar laughing.

He loves Dick’s dimples when he grinned and Jason’s frown lines when he’s had enough of their bullshit.

It was their nest and the first place he’s ever felt at home. It was always chaotic and a little unhinged, but he loved the it.

Tim froze, his scalp sore and his hands twisted in his too-long hair.

Oh, god.

He was going to lose them and he… he couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t think the word.

Tears spill over and his hands tremble, tightening in his hair. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to stay calm, but it catches in his chest.

How could he be so stupid? Of course they don’t love him. If they did, would they really have left him alone?

He sits there for a few, painful minutes, silently berating himself for the very idea that they wouldn’t leave him, missing the window catch as it opened and boots on the hardwood floor.

“Aw, Sweets,” Jay says softly, startling him.

Tim jerks up in his seat, eyes wild until he realizes it’s Jason. He peels back the domino and white outs and drops it on the table along with his holsters and pistols. He sees the Chinese and grimaces.

Tim doesn’t say anything as Jason slowly drops down on the floor in front of him, hands out in the universal “I come in peace” sort of way.

They stare at each other for a long moment and he doesn’t feel like he can breath. Jason is the first to taking his face between his large, scarred hands.

They were calloused and rough against his cheeks but his touch was impossibly delicate, like Tim were made of fine china, and one wrong move would cause him to chip or break. “I’m sorry for leavin’ you alone like that. I didn’t think—I, just, I didn’t think. ‘s not fair ‘a me or Dickie.”

Maybe he was right to be so tender with him, because with those words, he felt a little crack form. A tiny, insignificant thing, really. It shouldn’t have been anything more than a chip. But it hurt. So. Much.

Tim bites his lip and shakes his head. His chest aches, like the crack were a canyon. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” It’s a mantra.

I’m okay, it’s okay, we’re okay. If he just sticks to it, everything will be okay. He just has to play the part.

I’m okay, it’s okay, we’re okay, I’ll get over it.

Jay’s frown deepens but he doesn’t let go. “It’s not. You need to understand this, what happened, is not okay and not your fault. This was ‘tween Dick and me. It was not your responsibility to handle and we shouldn’t’ve gotten you involved. I was an ass and you know it.”

“You and Dick are tired so it’s okay. Accidents happen.”

“But this wasn’t an accident. Even then, this-“ he says gesturing around them. “was not okay. I need you to understand, this wasn’t an accident. I lashed out at you to get back at Dick for a mistake I made. Not you, me. Y’hear me?”

“You were doing the best you could,” Tim replies simply. Because he had to have been, it was the only explanation. “You were tired, hungry, and in pain. I’m not angry, stuff happens.”

Because it does. Accidents happen. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He should have been paying more attention, tried to mediate the situation and talk them down before things went sideways.

They wouldn’t purposefully do this to him otherwise.

It hurt when the left him but he wasn’t going to tell either of them that. He knows they were just doing what they had to, to get by. Bad missions happened and he was just caught on the cross fire.

Accidents happen.

“So, let’s reframe this. If you were in the way of a murderer and I knew I could bring him down by shootin’ both of you, is that an accident? If I knew you were going to get hurt or die just so’s I could take ‘em down, would you be upset?”

It’s an extreme but okay. Tim doesn’t need to think about it to know the answer.

“No,” he says. “If it was between them getting away and hurting more people, or accidentally hurting me, I wouldn’t be upset. It was necessary.”

It was. If he could stop more people from getting hurt just by getting a banged up himself, it was okay. He’d dealt with way worse than a gun shot would.

Wounds heal but people don’t come back from the dead (usually, save for Jason, the self proclaimed resident zombie).

The look Jason gives him, though, had him second guessing his answer. “That’s so fucked up. Wait ‘til Dickie gets a load of this.”

Tim frowns, “Why? It’s an accident. Necessary evil, right?”

“Doll, I don’t know how to break it to you, but that’s not an accident. You should be mad.”

“Why?” He presses, confused. “I don’t…it happens. It’s my job to protect the city even if that means I get hurt.”

“At the cost of your life?”

Again, another simple answer.

“Yes, of course it is.”

Because it was. He had the skills, and the practice, and the conditioning. He made it his job the day he adorned the mantle.

Jason searches his eyes for… for something and when he doesn’t find it, he sighs, and presses a long, tender kiss to his forehead. “We’re gonna fix this, I promise. Maybe Dickie can lay it out better than me.”

“Lay what out?”

[mesmir-ized]

more thing(pardon the formatting & cropping...)

(here's the oldsona set~)

+my one p4 image: