#another garbage fire man I like a lot

[blacktacmopsi]

Hanging Fire: Part 2.

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| Hesh X Female! Reader X Keegan | Smut (MDNI) | CW: Oral Sex, DP, General Smut |

The second installment of this too long piece of pure smut. God, the last time I wrote something this long it was... like...back in 2020 or something? Idk. So yeah, Hesh, Keegan, and you are still stuck in the outpost shack and now things are getting heated up, but far from over. This hot piece of porn garbage is spilling over into a part 3. I'll upload it all together in one piece on my AO3 though once I'm done.

Authors note: I didn't really proof read this and again, so sorry it's turning out so long. Request tags for @soapsgf @mudisgranapat

< Hanging Fire: Part 1 Hanging Fire: Part 3 >

You exhaled a breath you were unaware you were even holding. Though your logic told you this was an awful idea, your desires were screaming at you. You liked these two men, A LOT, and here they are agreeing to sex. How could you not pass this up?

“Fine, okay then,” you speak. A slight smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as even you yourself can't believe what your saying.

As soon as you agreed, Hesh wasted no time and moved in to give you one of the deepest kisses you’ve ever had in your life. As soon as his lips touched yours, all doubt about this idea being horrible vanished in an instant. Replacing it was total desire and that deep need for physical touch. God, how long had it been since you were kissed, let alone got a good one at that? How long had it been since you were even touched? It didn’t matter anymore. All that was about to change in a matter of seconds. Hesh’s lips were so soft, and his kiss was reminiscent of a wildfire-  ravaging, strong, and all consuming. Who would have thought that this man you’ve seen shoot and stab others could be capable of such passion and desire?

Perhaps sex & death really did go together.

Hesh too was feeling the intensity build. He himself had gone so long without physicality from another woman for what felt like a lifetime. His body had known no comfort since before ODIN struck and ever since then, his hand and imagination were his only consistent companions.

“Oh god…need to reign it in…don’t want to cum from just a kiss…” he thought to himself. Breaking the kiss off, he pulled back to look at you, noting your now flushed pallor. He too was blushed and he hadn’t even removed a single layer of clothing yet. Caressing your cheek, he meets your gaze.

“Goddam, what a great kiss,” he pants as he looks at you. Hesh really wants more. His body is screaming bloody murder at him for more. He can’t ignore what has been so longed for, not while he has already tasted your lips...and oh, how they were just divine!

“Fuck it,” he leans in and begins kissing you furiously, as if the survival of you three depended on it. As his tongue forces its way into your mouth, he’s violently ripping off his plate carrier, shirt , and anything else that gets in the way of his chest pressing against your bare breasts. You yourself begin doing the same, urged on by his own blazing passions. The cry of your flesh for his is too strong and your clothing seems likes such a hindrance. You didn’t care that you haphazardly tossed them to the dirty floor covered in god-knows-what. You didn’t care that neither of you had showered for days and were grimy and sweaty. None of that mattered. All that did matter was that primordial need to be fulfilled. That itch of mother nature to be scratched…and oh, was it going to get scratched by the two men who got your pulse racing and your clit twitching. You could feel it burning deep between your legs as that familiar flood of heat and slickness makes itself apparent to you.

While you and Hesh were becoming a flurry of hands, skin, and lips, Keegan, ever so silently, observed. He too was feeling that blaze of need and passion ignited by you and Hesh. He shifted his stance as his cock began to stiffen at the sights and sounds coming from your mouths and bodies. It was only when Hesh nipped at your neck causing you to moan significantly, that any fragment of control Keegan had left, shattered like a crystal wine glass. He began to remove his tactical vest and shirt, tossing them aside too, not caring about where they landed. All he could care about was needing you, needing to feel the heat of your breath, the touch of your skin, your very taste. Moving over to where Hesh and you were, Keegan now joined the maelstrom of unbridled desire and lust.

Sitting on the dingy cot, Keegan pulled you onto his lap while Hesh fell to his knees before you. His fingers frantically worked the belt, button, and zipper of your pants, yanking them off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

"Hold her legs open for me man," Hesh whispered.

Keegan nodded and slid his bare hands between your thighs, forcing them open to reveal your aching pussy.

"God...you have no idea how long I've wanted this," he groans as he moves forward, gingerly touching your soft folds. His fingers carefully explored and brushed up against your swollen clit causing you to whimper. Keegan and Hesh both took note of that, and Hesh decided to up the lust ante further.  Dragging his tongue along your slick slit, you seized up on Keegan’s lap, gripping his thighs tightly as the shock of ecstasy washed over every fiber of your being. Hesh wasted no time getting what he’s been wanting. The heat of his breath on you causes you to gasp as another jolt of much needed pleasure surges through your body. Keegan can't help but look down, watching his younger team member in action. In doing so, he feels his cock harden further and begin to weep with his own need causing a deep moan to escape his throat. He isn’t going to be able to just sit with you on his lap much longer.

"How's she?" he asks, drawing in a deep breath.

"Like heaven man, like heaven."

Hesh keeps lapping at your aching cunt, burying his face in your core. His tongue teased your wanting entrance, and he took your swelling clit between his lips to suck lightly. As his mouth was busy, Hesh began to unfasten his belt and unzip his pants. His own cock began to strain against the fabric seeking much needed freedom and attention. As he shuffled his pants down a bit, Hesh pulled his boxers down just enough to free his throbbing cock, stroking it lazily. He groaned as he kept pleasing your sensitive bit, sucking on it only to release it with an audible 'pop'. Relentlessly, he took it back into his mouth and continued, determined to amplify the whimpers that were already escaping you.

“So good…so damn good,” Hesh muttered as he was face deep in your slickness, too concentrated on savoring you.

"You like when he does that to you, sweetheart? You like how he makes your pussy feel?" Keegan's voice was low and dripping with raw unfiltered lust. Up until now, he had been silent, but that was now gradually changing as he began to speak more and more. He turned his head to whisper in your ear.

"We can both make you feel that good. I know you've thought of us and what it would be like."

His words sent a shiver down your spine and a flood of fantasies in your mind. As Keegan kept voicing his desires, Hesh flicked his hazel eyes up at you from between your thighs, his tongue painting strokes along your folds. Pulling away with a thread of saliva and your wetness stringing between you & his mouth, he stands up and leans forward, towering over you.

"I never knew you tasted that great," he purrs right before he kisses you once again. Keegan's hands snake forward and seek out your slick and swollen pussy, rubbing you & slipping two fingers inside drawing a more impassioned moan from you.

"Damn kid," he chuckles "you got her good and ready."

Hesh looks down at Keegan's fingers sliding in and out.

"Wanna trade places?"

"Oh, fuck yeah!"

Keegan eases you off his lap as Hesh now takes his place. You can feel his stiff cock pressing against you as he begins to grind it against your backside. Keegan, now between your legs wasted no time on picking up where Hesh left off. He spreads you open, raises his mask, and begins to lick at your wetness and sensitive little clit. All the while soft moans escape his throat with every rock of his head and flick of his tongue. For Keegan, it had been way longer than Hesh when it came to entertaining the lusts for the female form. He was definitely not squandering this opportunity in the slightest.

"Oh baby, you like how the Sergeant does that? Is he making you feel nice and good?" Hesh teases as he keeps grinding his hardness against your backside. His hands reach up to start caressing your bare breasts.

"You wanna know how often I fantasized about these tits of yours. What it would be like to hold them...," he squeezes lightly.

“To pinch them…,” he whispers as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

“To suck on them,” he breaths into your ear.

Your entire body feels like its about to be overloaded just from Hesh’s words, not to mention the way Keegan is on his knees servicing your needy, swollen pussy. You can’t even muster the strength to speak properly even. All you can do is whimper and moan and gasp and sigh… and hope that these two men don’t stop for even a mere second.

[pieheda]

So, I realized only after watching the Todd In The Shadows video AND the hbomberguy video that I, too, have caught James Somerton just making shit up.

I’m not going to cite actual video titles because he changes them all the time anyway so why bother, but he has one that’s about Angels in America and Rent. This is my jam, I’m a theater gay, so I watched them - and immediately felt like the main thesis would fail an English 101 class. The thesis was “people have the misperception that Rent was made before Angels in America, and why is that?” which is not a thing that people believe, actually. At least, not people who know how google works and can just look up release dates. I found myself thinking that maybe he and some friends were surprised at this, and he decided it was a widely held misperception. But I kept watching the video, and when talking about how popular Rent was when it premiered on Broadway, he said that it was taboo to even mention AIDS at the time.

That is completely untrue. I was an adult in 1996 when Rent was released on Broadway, and AIDS was no longer a taboo subject in the US. There is plenty of data out there to support this, but I think it’s particularly compelling that in 1993, the movie Philadelphia, about a man suing his employers for firing him upon learning that he has HIV, was an enormous box office hit. It won Tom Hanks and Bruce Springsteen both Oscars, for Best Actor and Best Original Song. The Oscars aren’t very daring, perhaps you’ve heard. They aren’t big on giving out awards for things that everyone is terrified to talk about.

In another video that is cited by Todd in the Shadows, I realized that I had ALSO caught James making shit up in that one. When I watched the video for Red, White, and Royal Blue, James said that all these straight women wanted gay romance without sex and I laughed and said “they most definitely do not want that”, because I’m a fan girl and I’ve seen AO3. No research needed to debunk that, most if not all women who knowingly consume gay romance absolutely want there to be some fucking. The only person who would complain about that would be some exceptionally clueless homophobe who accidentally stumbled into this movie.

Both of those things, when I saw them, made me shake my head and say “that’s just not true.” I even commented on the Rent video.

What I did not do is think hard about what exactly is going on here. My opinion of Somerton went down with each of those discoveries, but it wasn’t very high to begin with; I never have liked his presentation style, because of how often he talks down to the people he’s discussing or to his audience. But frankly, there’s a lot of content out there that plays free and loose with the facts or starts with a bad premise (“people have this misperception” with no evidence of that isn’t far off from “Marvel fans on twitter hate this movie!” followed by only 5 tweets cited in the article). I just accept that people lie on the internet, I didn’t expect better. I didn’t stop to consider that gays really should do better, particularly we should not lie to one another about gay culture and history, and ESPECIALLY not when claiming to be doing what we do for the purpose of uplifting gays. I didn’t google to see if there were other issues with him, because if I had I would have learned about him getting into it with Jessie Gender and wouldn’t have given him a view ever again.

We’ve reached such a garbage state that I overlooked that. Seeing everything he’s done all lined up in these two videos had a real impact on me. Todd is absolutely right that it’s abominable to add to all the misinformation in the world, and hbomberguy is right that it’s particularly egregious for James to rob from gay writers who don’t have the funds and attention that James does. But it’s especially bad to just make shit up about gay history and the current state of gay acceptance, particularly when James constantly had the perspective that it’s always bad and gay men always have it the worst. Most likely the “everyone hates gays like me especially” was a calculated choice to create an attitude of persecution within his fandom so that they would accuse anyone calling him out of homophobia. But misinformation about acceptance is ALSO harmful to our community. It’s harmful to go around believing that people are out to get you when they aren’t. The cost of damaged mental health is ALSO important.

And he coldly exploited that because there’s a stupid fucking app that is tailor made for grifters to make cash hand over fist by confirming their audience’s worst fears and creating new anxieties in them. It’s absolutely ghoulish.

[androgynousblackbox]

Alright, I am watching the reaction stream of another person to see the video of Jamesy and I have thoughts! -Jamesy is REALLY counting on buttering up to Jessie Gender specifically. He named her so many times trying to "apologize" for weaponizing his audience against her when she told him to not erase her work in Nebula just because his whiny entitled ass couldn't accept that he wasn't invited to the platform. Not a single word about actually going to her and talk privately though, just a bunch of "ooh, Jessie Gender is the kindest, best human being ever and I am so sorry to her", like, bitch, WHY ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT HER? Jessie wasn't the worst victim of your actions! Your bullshit with her happened long BEFORE anything of this happened, so why the fuck are you even bringing her up?? My only guess is that Jamesy wants Jessie to speak on his favor and "forgive him", hoping that will bring him new good will from the queer community in youtube. I am fucking crossing my fingers and touching wood that Jessie does not fall for this manipulative bullshit. This guy is literally clout chasing because, again, when it came to the plagiarism, Jessie had NOTHING to do here. Jessie, if you want an easy win, don't say anything about this. Don't even aknowledge it. Pretend like a mosquito just farted in another building. You had nothing to do with this and I am sorry this piece of shit is trying to drag you into it to take advantage of your good nature. -"I only cared about the production side of making videos, that is why I bring Nick in as the main writer." This motherfucker really went and did it. He is literally blaming Nick squarely now, because now he is just not a co-writer. No, now he is the MAIN WRITER. Jamesy here was just trying to making his little films and buy expensive ass equipment while telling everyone he was starving on the streets, he only cared about the production. NICK, THOUGH, HE WAS ALL ABOUT THE WRITING. He was the one who put the words and little Jamesy baby boy here only "produced, directed and edited" (omg, shut the fuck off, man, your editing skills are mid at best) everything. -Way too many sob stories. I don't care, man. I don't fucking care that you got fired or whatever conditions you had. Do you have any fucking clue how many people do really struggle to reach the end of the month and they still never even think of stealing someone else's work? Everyone is struggling and yet, you were the one who made a career for fucking years out of stealing the works of everyone else in this community AND THEN, when call out, tried to paint them as the bad guys.

-A lot, and I do mean, a lot of time to "apologize" to Jessie Gender, but you know who he didn't apologize to? Literally none of the authors he stole from. Not the fan whose edit of Korra he used without credit. Not Alexander Avila. Not that person who was harassed to hell and back by Jamesy and his audience when they showed how he plagiarized on his disney video. Jessie deserved to be name dropped at least thirty times, but those people?? They are fucking nobodies. They don't matter. Why name them at all? It's not like their WORK WAS STOLEN BY YOU OR ANYTHING! And that is another thing! Even if Jamesy is really out there blaming Nick for all the words that they took without credit, then what the fuck is up with all the footage, edits and audiovisual works that weren't for you to take? You said your passion is production. That is part of the production, Jamesy. Is this you admitting you fully just fucking stole them and hoped nobody would notice because you are a lazy piece of garbage?

-"Having to do multiple edits because youtube copyright issues was so hard for me, guys, you don't understand uwu. It was so hard on me to make it less obvious I had plagiarized people!" THAT IS ENTIRELY YOUR OWN FAULT, BRO.

-So, hey, funny thing. I was looking to see if other people were reacting or had reuploaded the video so I could put it here. They haven't yet, there is only two reactions, but while I was doing that I found a video of ANOTHER person talking about Jamesy ripping them off: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsD-wodn288 Apparently Jamesy had stolen a blog post that this person wrote about Lord of The Rings and they weren't known by anyone, they don't even like that article anymore, but still! Go see that video instead of watching Jamesy and support them if you find value on their work.

-Hey, Jamesy. Jamesy. You do know that epilepsy and head injuries or memory issues don't take you threaten, lie and weaponize your audience against people who call out your plagiarism with the evidence in hand, right? That has literally nothing to do actually, because you had to be aware off of the issue for you to lie about it after someone else brought it up. After the first time it happened, you could have hired another beta reader to tell you that ups, your memory/epilepsy/memory issues/ADHD strike again and you don't remember from where you took that quote from, sorry! You had money for that expensive ass camera, you could have. -Like, my guy, there were so many steps involved here. So many steps from writing, production, backlash and your response to the backlash. Even if any part on this was an honest mistake, something I don't fucking believe in because fuck you, you had millions of opportunities to rectified it and change it. And yet you didnd't. And so here we are, without you receiving not even a miserable fucking like. Go to hell. A mistake doesn't get repeated so many times for years. That was all a choice, bitch. Fuck you.

And here is where I stopped because his voice is like nail on my ears.

Don't look at his video, it's truly not worth it. DON'T LEAVE COMMENTS EITHER, YOUTUBE TAKES THAT AS ENGAGEMENT ANYWAY.

[annmarcus63]

Jaskier never imagined that there could be another Geralt out there, much less another universe with unique yet similar problems. Nor did he imagine that, inexplicably and suddenly, his heart would feel so hungry for someone he had barely met four weeks earlier. Sure, Jaskier tended to fall in love within hours with whoever caught his attention, be it man, elf, woman, dwarf.... Jaskier has always loved freely without worrying about the consequences. But this famine was different, one that wants to swallow everything in one gulp. One that yearns for BeardGeralt. For days he tried to convince himself that it was pure lust, then he tried to convince himself that it was some sort of defense mechanism. So many years in love with Geralt have weighed heavily on him, perhaps what he feels for BeardGeralt is a convenient way out for his treacherous heart. In reality he suspects that he is only trying to deceive himself, after all he is the one who knows his heart best and knows very well that what he feels is real. As real as falling in love with the alter ego of the one who is supposed to be half of your soul. Which makes you feel futilely guilty. And it's certainly not fair, having to deal with how good BeardGeralt is. He's certainly something out of this world, ha. Two witchers and a bard traveling are a very picturesque image. Having only one horse, they take turns riding but BeardGeralt always offers him his place by claiming to have a lot of energy. In the evenings BeardGeralt always makes sure to give Jaskier a larger portion of food. Every time Jaskier looks up, he finds him watching him with a certain satisfaction of one who enjoys caring. The problem is that Geralt notices these gestures and Jaskier feels like garbage when he notices that the witcher is not comfortable. The bard fears that Geralt thinks of himself as insufficient. But, on the other hand, it's nice to have someone looking out for him for a change, to have someone make him feel loved.  

"Cold?" asks BeardGeralt one night of heavy rain when the three of them have taken shelter against the wall of some abandoned ruins. 

"I've been worse" and then he feels a hand running across his lower back and resting on his hip. Her breath catches. With a swift movement BeardGeralt brings him against his shoulder. Jaskier smiles sincerely pleased and looks at BeardGeralt out of the corner of his eye. Geralt, his Geralt tenses at his side, clearly not knowing what to make of the situation. He’s confused, but he knows he has no right to question Jaskier's relationships. He never has, but somehow this time feels different. It’s strange, Jaskier can admit that. But it feels right, Jaskier thinks guiltily. 

Jaskier has stolen a familiar-looking collection of poems from a rather rude merchant, to discover that it was an elvish collection of poems that her nanny used to read to him. He tells this story, as is his custom, in great detail. BeardGeralt listens intently and jokes playfully about his nostalgia. At some point in the conversation Geralt interferes to tell them that they should sleep. 

One evening Jaskier is tending his lute while Geralt prepares the fire while BeardGeralt is out hunting for food. 

"He will leave, Jask. You should be careful," Geralt advises him, almost whispering. At first Jaskier has a hard time understanding what they are talking about, but once he does a series of emotions run through the pit of his stomach. Sadness, anger, indignation, gratitude, sympathy and finally resignation. Jaskier is no friend of resignation.  

"I know." answers Jaskier with the certainty of one who knows he will lose something he did not know he possessed.  

So what if fate is right? So what if Geralt is his soulmate but they have met many years before? So what if his Geralt is not ready? So what if BeardGeralt is ready and more than willing to try something with him? So what if fate made a mistake? So what if BeardGeralt is here for a reason? So what if none of that matters because in the end, no matter what, Jaskier is going to get hurt? 

Kaer Morhen is getting closer every day, there BeardGeralt's Ciri will be waiting for them.

One thing Jaskier knows with futile certainty is that no Geralt would choose him.

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Game Geralt x series Jaskier

Here's the first part

Thanks to fandom-trash-and-hyperfixations for their awesome ideas on this. love u.

What do you mean? of course there will be a culmination of this trashy angst/romance so stay tuned!

[marabarl-and-marlbara]

hi i wanted to know if u have any good book recommendations? they can be about anything rlly i just want to become smarter

hi anonymous;

you:re as smart as you need to be, and really: you should read books out of passion (and fun) in lieu of pure raw erudition--mostly cause i think that is a fast way to burn yourself out by forcing yourself to read through dry garbage you don:t really want to read (this sounds loaded, but countering what i:m saying: if you are suddenly passionate about pursuing Pure Mathematics and want to just dive into math textbooks: then pursue that passion :-)) );

i do have recommendations, though! but i don:t think they:ll make you smarter; my favorite book as a kid was Howl's Moving Castle (hated the movie, garbage), it:s just a very fun fantasy book and it rekindled my love for reading after a long stint of trying-to-be-smarter by pursuing philosophical trash;

i really really really loved Squee! and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac as a kid, too; my dad sent them to me as a gift when i was really young & probably one of the only things he sent me that i deeply loved; i wish i still had those books, i:ve really been wanting to re-read them;

read Crying of Lot 49 this year and it moved me a lot--made me really interested in Pynchon as a whole; I'd rope a handful of American authors into this actually: Shirley Jackson's We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard To Find, Cormac McCarthy's Outer Darkness were all amazing surprises to me that just made me really appreciate American authors (sort-of doofy but I really did just appreciate this southern tradition of writers in an inspiring sort-of geographical way, like: I know these lands! I am soaked in this dust! I have this same odd bigotry in me!) -- but I think all of those works/authors are great and you probably can't go wrong with anything any of them have wrote;

I'm currently reading My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante and really enjoying it; the cover/name makes you think of some harlequin romance novel but it's basically a femcel manifesto on hating someone so obsessively that it is indistinguishable from love; I'm currently listening to Stephen King's Duma Key and enjoying it--I'm listening through a lot of King books, just finished From a Buick 8 (loved it) (I'd rope King into the 'loving American authors' thing, cause he was a part of my culture growing up, you know? as doofy as it is, I'm kinda happy to have grown up alongside his career and output and it's been fun to finally delve into his stories);

also finished Nabokov's Pale Fire recent-ish -- if you like stuff like House of Leaves you might like it (it sounds sinful to compare that book to Nabokov but it's pretty apt, too); it's one of the few books I've read that actually made me laugh, and Nabokov is a beautiful writer, and Pale Fire is a book with enough depth that I think a reader could go through it several times and pluck out something completely new each time.

I don't think any of these would make you smarter; funny as it is: I think the KJV Bible is a beautiful read but I don't think I'd suggest it outside of attending church wholly because part of the poetry of the Bible comes from studying the context of a passage and all the lenses that come with it (I'd actually consider studying the 'academic biblical' analysis of the Bible as a church itself, not in contrast with church apologia); you can find a lot of odd inspiration in the works of prophets ala Mary Baker, Ellen White, various Catholic saints, Joseph Smith, Hubbard (wink, but sincere, I like Hubbard), etcetera--but I feel like inspiration or passion leads you to those works rather than some dull desire to soak up another persons passions in hopes that'll saturate you with something you've been missing. Ex: if you want to be a Christian Scientist: read Mary Baker; but likely if you wanted to, you'd already be reading--as circling as that sounds.

Take care, anonymous.

[cerealboxlore]

did you see that post about how the power of zeus has a lot of unexplored potential like shapeshifting?

it got me thinking… gender fluid billy

i personally really like the idea of cap having memories from past champions lives and surely those champions must have had a very large variety of genders

so he could potentially just feel really comfortable with any gender

i want to see him just casually switch genders while with the league because it feels write for him at the time and for them to just be super confused and for billy to not explain anything if even one of them acts like assholes

anyways just a little thing i like the potential of

I have not seen that post but it makes perfect sense! Where there's Zeus, there's bound to be unhinged chaos waiting to happen.

Genderfluid Billy is absolutely darling and dear to me! I often HC him as trans, but I love and accept every version of him that exists in the multiverse and to everyone else! I'm genderfluid myself, so that's very nice to have a hero who's like me :D

As for The Captain being able to recall his past lives and having been different genders, and having former identities in the past is absolutely incredible! It's great to explore the storytelling potential of the Champion of Magic and their former lives, who they were, have been, and can be.

I headcanon something similar, where cap has indeed lived through various past lives as different people throughout his entire existence, and in one of them he had a child who later becomes immortal, spending centuries apart from them and then finding them again...only to see that tiny Billy Batson is definitely not their parent from long ago, and that things are now a complicated family tree. I'm an avid believer in giving Billy Batson more found family members and combining multiple ideas into one, haha.

Cap really would feel comfortable with any gender, and with magic, could totally become anything he wanted, whenever he wanted. Magic is free and surgery is not, so Billy would be down to use magic to explore his gender identity ✨️

CM: Remember Kids, the American Healthcare system is a garbage fire, use magic instead

I could 1000% see Captain Marvel being bored in an extended JL meeting in the watchtower, yawning, then just casually switching over to another gender in the blink of an eye. Doesn't even give it a second thought. But everyone else is suddenly wide awake and floored by this sudden magic use.

Superman was going to say something, but remembered he got transformed into the opposite gender once, and decided to just let cap be. He remembered it being kinda nice.

Plastic man joins in and morphs into a hotter version of himself, seemingly trying to one up cap. It's not a competition. But he's still found a way to lose.

Everyone eventually gets distracted and the meeting ends up going longer than intended. Genderfluid for the win 🏆

Gosh this ended up being so much fun! I wrote more than I thought I would, haha

[ddejavvu]

there’s a spider in your apartment and you know it’s stupid but it’s the first time you’ve lived alone w out a roommate so you knock on your neighbors door which happens to be hotch asking him to kill it for you and then thank him and ask how you can make it up to him hotch gets shy but changes his mind after a couple days of seeing you in the hall

i changed this juuuust a bit but it's still the same mushy puppy love <3

--

The door slammed shut behind you, probably splintering the frame from how hard you'd closed it. The massive, terrifying spider you'd left inside was probably destroying the place, when you'd seen him for a split second you were sure he was big enough to be knocking over furniture and tearing up your minimal decor.

For the first time since you'd moved in you were glad that you hadn't fully unpacked, because it meant that there were less place for the spider to hide.

You truly had no intention of going back inside until the thing was dead. You mulled your options over, knowing that the fire department would probably be less-than-amused if you called reporting a beastly spider. The police would probably react similarly, although a spider-free jail cell sounded better than your apartment at the moment.

You didn't have too much time to think about your escape plan, though, because a door opened to your left, a very worried-looking man stepping out.

"Are you okay? I heard a scream, what happened?"

His dark eyes bore into yours with a spark of panic alight in them, and you felt your cheeks flame. How were you supposed to confess that you'd almost been murdered by a bug?

"I, um-" You started, peering worriedly at the bottom of your door to be sure that the spider hadn't crawled his way out, "There was a spider, a really big one, and I just- I panicked."

The man stood there, face dropped from its worried frown, blinking bewilderedly at you. His scrutiny made you even more self conscious, and you were actually debating going back inside your apartment, because somehow this was worse than the man-eating spider in there.

Finally he spoke, his voice cautious, "You saw a spider?"

You nodded vigorously.

"And it made you scream like that?"

Another nod.

"And that's why you almost broke the door off of its hinges?"

A final, singular nod, and his shoulders slumped in what was probably a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"I will kill the spider," He stepped out of his apartment, propping the door open behind him, "You wait in there. If he makes a break for it I don't want you jumping out of the window."

You let him usher you into his apartment, and though you'd often feel unsafe in an unfamiliar space, it didn't feel scary. He was a man you'd never met before, and he was shutting you in his apartment, but it felt safe. He closed the door behind him,

You heard a soft smack from next door, and you waited for the subsequent scream. Surely he had to be writhing in pain on the ground now, right? He couldn't have managed to slay the beast you'd seen before in a single hit, could he?

He could, and he did. He came back to the door with one shoe off, a pulverized spider stuck to the sole. You pulled open the door and let him inside, peering worriedly at the trophy he'd brought you for proof of his services.

"You just moved in, right?" He stepped into his kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and scraping the spider off of the bottom of his shoe. You pointedly looked away from the sight, your eyes fixed on the man's baseboards.

"Yeah," You remembered the egregious amount of boxes in your apartment, "I've got a lot to unpack."

"I saw that," He mused, "You look like you could use some help."

"You've done more than enough," You fiddled with the tips of your fingers, feeling just a little bit like the stereotypical damsel in distress, "Thank you."

He let out a short laugh, an amused smile flitting over his face. He slipped his shoe back onto his foot, throwing the smashed spider into the garbage.

"I thought you'd been stabbed," He admitted, leaning back against his counter, "You should probably figure out a better way to deal with spiders."

"I'll just yell if I see another one," You halfheartedly joked, "Maybe I'll start paying you for pest control."

An idea lit up his face and he reached for something across the counter, a small card that he began scribbling on with a ballpoint pen. You waited semi-awkwardly for him to finish, frowning down at the card confusedly when he held it out to you.

It was a business card, the name Aaron Hotchner stamped across the white cardstock, the acronym 'SSA' crossed out and the phrase 'spider vanquisher' scrawled above it. You had absolutely no clue what SSA meant, but spider vanquisher you understood.

"I'm gonna need some referrals if you're my primary method of pest control," You joked, raising one eyebrow in faux-suspicion, "Aaron." You made a show of reading off of the card, his name already comfortable on your tongue.

"Well my only possible referral is in the trash can right now," Aaron gestured to where he'd chucked the spider, "But if you're not too scared to be in the same room next time, you can watch me."

"I don't think that's gonna work out," You laughed sheepishly, your stomach flopping curiously at the mention of next time, "I'll just have to trust you for now."

[the-illiterate-pirate]

4k words of drunk Anasui baby!!!! I don't have much to say so let's get in to it

I'm trying something different. What do y'all think about the header? Looks good, yeah, yeah??

Dancing with a Stranger

Notes: SFW, hurt/comfort?, starts off a little sad, a lot of talk about Anasui feeling like the gang does care about him :(, fem!reader, drinking, needy Ana, literally sleeping with a stranger, dw you take good care of him and you get breakfast, this is less romantic pairing and more you playing babysitter

Btw dividers used below are not mine, credit goes to @/cafekitsune, big fan of their work!

It was happening again. Anasui could feel the atmosphere change around him at the drop of a drink. All at once the noise of that dingy bar he was in became so hard to ignore. Who knew that such a tiny building could hold so much noise.

They were supposed to be there together, drinking away the week's stress from work, studies, and tests. And Anasui had the pleasure to watch the only four people he cared about leave, two at a time. Jolyne was getting hyper. By the time Hermes was able to wrestle her out the door she had her knee on a neighboring table, trying to pick a fight with a guy twice her size that she deemed was too loud. Hermes had apologized, leaving both their half of the bill while she took Jolyne to their car.

Following a little after, Foo Fighters needed to be taken home, too. Always the lightweight. They were never good at holding their alcohol. Their face was about the same shade of green as their hair by the time Weather decided to drive them home.

And that left Anasui, rotting, left alone with nothing but his thoughts. Something he didn't like. He was sure he heard Weather speak softly to him. A gentle, "will you be okay by yourself?" Anasui wasn't sure if he responded coherently. Or if he just kept staring at the peeling booth in front of him, realization of what was happening slowly starting to sink in.

And the bar became too loud. His little bubble of security was popped, being flooded by all of those negative thoughts and ideas once again like a punctured submarine. And there Anasui sat, in a far off corner of the building in a booth seat alone, with only his iced down liquor to console him. He loved his friends, he loved them deeply, even more than his own self. But he hated the feelings they left him with to fight alone. A dark, deep set hunger he wasn't sure how to satisfy. A painful panging in his chest for something more. It made it all the more tempting to find something to feed his humiliating ticks.

He was alone now, depressive thoughts slowly circling and constricting his alcohol ladened mind, like how his finger followed the rim of his glass. Tonight was the last day he had to enjoy his time with friends. By the time the sun rose tomorrow morning, the girls would all be busy with school, whereas Weather Report and Foo Fighters would go on with work. Leaving him to drown in more school work with other idiots who classified him as a human garbage fire. It'd be another seven days until he could wrap himself in the embrace of his friends once more and forget everything for a short while. But now, he was left to shiver in the cold leather booth that stuck to his bare skin.

Anasui decided one more drink wouldn't hurt. Or two. Maybe three.

           

               

You weren't Anasui's original target. Simply put you were stuck in the crossfire between him and a friend, playing shield to a man cowering under the woman's menacing fist.

You just got out of the bathroom.

"It is way too late for this." You exhaled noisily. After pinching the bridge of your nose you took a once over of your damsel in distress. He looked familiar, and pathetic, as the only regular you knew that wore so much fishnet, plus the hot pink hair was a dead giveaway. Normally you'd see him every Saturday night in a group of five. Your friends usually left before they did, but tonight flew a little south. One of your girlfriends was hitting a lucky streak with the pretty bartender, it took an extra hour for her to seduce them into giving her free drinks and a ride home. That left you, two drunks to babysit, and the other designated driver. Oh, and the koala glued to your back.

"What did he even do?"

"Asshole tried to grope me!" Helena shouted, pointing an accusing finger at behind your back. "Called me by some other chick's name and threw himself at me! Do you know this guy?!"

"Hela, don't you think it's obvious this guy is drunk? He must've thought you were someone else!" You were already over this. But no one was going home until everything was settled.

Come to think of it, you have seen this guy with a girl before. Black locks, tan skin. From a distance, you could see where he was coming from. Being drunk probably didn't help either. "Huh. You kinda do look like her." You confirmed with a tilt of your head, eyeing her hair.

"Yer agreeing with this dick?! So you do know him!" You groaned in frustration.

Helena wasn't going to quit without an apology. That was how she rolled. You really needed to quit giving the angry drunk liquor... Or keep her confined to her apartment.

Luckily for you Stacy was there to calm her down. After a painfully slurred apology from the man in mesh, it was deemed good enough. Although barely. Helana's designated driver hauled her out to the car, you and your other friend following outside. She was still sipping away on a bright blue fruity drink, watching the show in the car go down.

You looked between her and your new "friend".  Definitely not fit to stay here by himself. Now he was leaning on you for support, swaying on his feet, shivering. Jeez, curse your bleeding heart. You couldn't leave him like this.

Roxanne felt your gaze, slurping down the final gulp of her drink before turning to you. "What are you thinking 'bout, baby driver?"

You took a deep breath. "Rox, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but would you mind staying with Stacy and Hela tonight? I wanna stick around and help this oaf."

"Oooohh," Roxanne wiggled her eyebrows, slurping down the nothing in her cup and making an annoying noise. "I can do it, but I didn't think you were the type to pick up boys at a place like this."

"Not a chance. I just wanna help this guy get home."

"Suuure," Her bright blue eyes rolled back in her head. She dropped the glass at the door of the bar, before sauntering to the car with her other two friends acting giggly. Stacy didn't seem to mind. the five of you were always sleeping over at each other's abodes. Most of the time it was to your house because you were the only one that didn't have to worry about neighbors. You had already finished college, found a great job and made the big bucks. You were the team's honorary sugar momma.

Speaking of... You didn't think you saw any of them pay for the tab. Damnit. That left you to do it.

"Those..."

You waved your friends goodbye, a pleasant but forced smile on your lips while Roxanne waved back, riding off back to Helena and Stacy's campus.

"Bitches." You finished strong once their car disappeared. You sighed.. Whatever, you'll get back at them. Somehow.

From behind you, the drunk hiccuped, taking you out of your revenge fantasies. He was nuzzled into your collar, appreciating the feel of your shirt. It would've been cute, if he was. I don't know. A child.

Wait. Right. Finding this guy's owners.

"Okay man, let's find your friends." You huddled back into the bar, first paying off your friend's tab, second scanning the tables and the booths for any faces that wrung any bells.

"Hey. Hey, pinky. Where did you and your friend's sit?" It was worth a shot. Luckily, it worked, the guy pointed a weak finger at the corner of the room with a booth. But the booth was empty, already cleaned, no glasses or plates or anything.

"What the..?" You turned around, lightly gripping his shoulders to make him look you in the eye. "Hey, listen. What's up? Did your friends already leave, or-?"

"They left." He confirmed with a sniffle. "They left already. Without me. I'm...."

Like it finally hit him what happened, he froze. Tears began to show in his eyes as he gripped tighter on to your cardigan. "I'm all alone."

"Oh! Oh, jeez, okay," He practically threw himself at you, silently shaking. His sighs vibrated against your neck as he tried to find his breath. "I don't wanna be alone anymore. Please... Please don't leave me..."

No. Were you actually thinking about taking this stranger to your house? What were the odds that this guy was some insane murderer, and this was all some elaborate plan? Looking down at him right now, he didn't seem vicious. Just very, very... sad. He was acting like a lost puppy.

God. You were actually going through with this.

Tab paid. Dog man in toe. You walked back outside to your car. You had his arm slung around your shoulder to lead him to the vehicle faster. He was still mumbling incoherently, but at least he wasn't crying anymore. You weren't sure your poor heart could handle it. "Hey, real quick, can you tell me your name?"

You finally got him into the passenger seat. Immediately he curled himself into a little ball, shivering from the surprisingly cool summer air. Then again, he was only wearing mesh, that was probably why. "It's Anasui." You heard him whisper, huddling closer. You paused, before shouldering off your cardigan, throwing it over his arms. You gave him your name.

"Listen Anasui. I'm taking you to my house. After you get some sleep and sober up I can take you back to your place. Does that sound okay?" You paused again, then added softly, "I'm not gonna leave you alone tonight, alright?"

He sniffled. "Alright."

Great.

Then you were off. The drive home was a  little uncomfortable. The silence was deafening, and there wasn't anything good on the radio this late at night. 

"Damnit..." You gave up, staying on a station playing early 2000's hits with the volume on low. Not exactly your cup of tea, but Anasui seemed to take interest in it. You didn't know what song was playing. It was some sort of pop, but on the slower side. Anasui sounded like he knew the song by heart. He mouthed gibberish into his headrest, eyes closed, fingers lightly tapping the beat. It was kind of sweet, even if you couldn't understand a word he was saying. But the thought immediately turned sour as you were reminded that this Anasui guy was just drunk, and you'd just found him alone at a bar. "Tch, I can't believe your friends would just abandon you like that." You remark offhandedly, not expecting any response. You're surprised when you do get one.

"They didn't leave me drunk." Anasui sighed, burrowing his face deeper into the fabric of his seat. "Leas' I was sober when they left."

"So why did you start to drink more? Why not leave? That's so..." You didn't want to scold a grown man. "...That sounds very irresponsible."

"I know." He mourns. "I was'n thinkin'. I'm so stupid."

You've finally stopped the car in the driveway up to your house. It was a nice house. You were proud of it. Anasui seemed to think so, too. You get out, swiftly making it over to his side and opening his car door. "You're not stupid," You assured him, waiting for the man bundled in cotton to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Some people just make some bad decisions. Look at me and you, we're still young, it's bound to happen."

Anasui was able to get out without help, still clutching to your cardigan like a lifeline. The same couldn't be said for the walk up to your porch. "Besides. Sometimes we just need some help getting through a rough patch. I can't blame you for that."

You unlock the front door. The house was deep black inside. You didn't think to leave any lights on. Not that it mattered, your eyes had already adapted to the night, Anasui behind you would probably get sick if you turned them on now. And you knew your house like the back of your hand.

Unfortunately. Anasui didn't.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! The door leads to the dining room. Just follow behind me, I'll try not to let you bump into anything else." Try was the key word.

You praised your past self for choosing the room on the bottom floor as your own. Upstairs was the guest room, and you didn't feel like lugging Mr. Tipsy up the stairs. He would be okay in yours for a night.

You liked your room a whole lot. Maybe you splurged a little more than you should have after you moved in, but your teen self would've been so happy. And the best part? Dimmer switch.

The room was illuminated by the warm lights in the ceiling, but only the softest glow that allowed you to see under your feet and the scattered posters on the farthest wall. You deposited Anasui on your bed, before moving to your dresser, pushing past your favorite shirts and others you couldn't remember wearing in the past year. You seriously needed to throw them out. But for sentimentalities sake, you couldn't bring yourself to.

A white shirt caught your attention. An old, extra large Van Halen shirt you got for your last birthday as a last ditch attempt for a gift, with the "Panama" cherub on the front with his cigarettes. You liked it enough, even if it was a little big. You just needed something that could fit the redhead on your bed, because surely those fishnets were not comfortable at all.

He looked about ready to conk out, as he was barely holding on by the time you came back. The cardigan was placed delicately to the side as he swayed in place. Looking very, very sleepy. "Here's this. You don't need to strip if you don't want to, but I thought you'd appreciate it better than that mesh crap." You offered him the shirt, explaining the deal. You weren't even halfway through with your last sentence before Anasui began to peel off his skimpy outfit and his hat-thing, you watched in a mixture of shock and impress at how easy it was, to both strip with an audience, and just in general. You weren't sure if you could've pulled it off so easily.

"...Right. I'll be back, I'm just gonna get you some makeup wipes real quick," You had to peel your eyes away from his physique. He was godly. He was able to keep that lean figure without sacrificing the muscles, incredible!

But no! You mustn't let your mind wander. Anasui was drunk and sad, the last thing he needed was some stranger ogling his muscles.

You found those makeup wipes, along with some Advil and two sips of water for you and your new friend. This whole fiasco as well as the headache from babysitting Helena and Roxxy wasn't helping you focus.

When you got back, Anasui's mesh was at the foot of his bed, with him huddled underneath your thick and very pale comforter. Two totally different alarms started buzzing in your head. The one warning you of expensive makeup staining your sheets, another making the painfully clear observation of the skirt and go-go boots next to Anasui's outfit. His lower half was underneath the covers, you prayed he was wearing something underneath.

"H-Hey! You aren't off the hook yet, sit up so I can clean your face!" Anasui complained with an outraged moan, but he got up anyway. He took his medicine while you prepared the wipes for his face.

You took him into a gentle hold under his chin, beginning at the mascara that stained his pretty cheeks. The way he held eye contact the whole time unnerved you slightly, put you powered on, tossing the old wipe to the side to get a new one for his lips. The lipstick stained his mouth a pretty shade of pink. You leaned back to get a good look at your work. He looked a lot better without the makeup, his natural beauty taking you by surprise. Maybe the dim lights wouldn't see you blush. Hopefully.

There was a light pause. This time, it was Anasui getting embarrassed by the attention. He looked to his lap, and the hands he rested there.

"Do.... Do you think my friends hate me?"

You tossed the used wipes away, looking back at the man to answer truthfully. "I don't think they do." You moved back to the bed, "But, I do think they don't understand what's going on in that head of yours. I don't think they knew leaving you alone was gonna do... this to you."

You were interrupted by Anasui propping his head on your stomach. He was affectionate like a cat, hands wrapping around your waist. Subconsciously your hand went up to brush through his hair. Tonight was full of firsts, why stop now.

"You should try to talk to them about it, I'm sure they'll understand."

"And what if I was right, and they leave me if I told them?" It felt weird to have him talk against your stomach.

"Then they aren't real friends, are they? Anyway, I'm sure that's just your head lying to you." You couldn't get over how insane his hair was. It was silky soft, without any tangles. You were adult enough to admit you were jealous. "And on the tiniest, minute off chance I'm wrong, you could hang out with me and the girls! I promise Helena is super cool when we aren't out drinking." He didn't talk back immediately, and instead of agreeing he asked, "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Well, I was expecting to sleep upstairs and give you your privacy," You sighed, beginning to think that was just wishful thinking. Anasui finally looked up at you, violet irises sparkling like puppy eyes. "Stay here with me, please?" You echoed back the same groan he made previously, but you guess deep down, you really didn't mind. You just wanted the guy to feel better. Plus, you were tired, and ready to have this night end. "Fine. Just let me change in the bathroom quick, then I'll get in bed."

By the time you got out again, he was already dozing off in the covers. Again, you were envious of his skill to fall asleep so quickly.

You got an extra cover, not chancing sharing one with him, whether he was half naked or just a blanket hog. The room was extra cold, so you made sure to get a big one. You could finally get into bed, your sore muscles immediately relaxing into the mattress. In the blink of an eye, Anasui sensed the new presence, quickly sliding over to mooch off of your body heat. You've officially given up, allowing him to stay close. He smelled good, at least, and it felt nice to cuddle. Maybe it was wrong to admit to liking sharing your bed with a stranger, but you couldn't say no to Ana. Maybe in the near future he wouldn't be a stranger, maybe this didn't need to be a one time thing. You weren't in love with this guy, not by a long shot. He was emotional and clingy. But maybe you could grow to like him more. And if you didn't start to develop those feelings, maybe he could stick around as a new buddy? Maybe keep this one away from the juice, though.

   

Anasui woke up the next morning alone, in a bedroom he didn't recognize. He was scared for a second, but he got to calming back down quick. He didn't feel sticky, or gross. He was clothed, well, for the most part. Nothing hurt aside from his splitting head and his empty stomach. The smell of cooking food didn't help it at all.

He looked around. The new morning light lit up the place in warm oranges and yellows. There were clothes scattered around the floor, metal and classic rock posters on the wall next to the big window, the two dressers in the room were covered with carelessly placed books and knick knacks and trinkets that didn't go together. Was he picked up by a teenager?

The door opened, Anasui threw his covers over himself in surprise. He recognized your pretty face. Speckled with a drunken haze that gave you a glow like a halo. Imagining you seeing him in such a state made his cheeks hot, but he tried to ignore it.

"Morning!" You chirped. "How're you feeling?"

Bad. Anasui wanted to say. "Sober." He said instead. At the same time his head throbbed, and Anasui grabbed at his crown, groaning in pain. He changed his mind. "And bad. Everything hurts."

You nodded, "I'll go get you some pain meds, one sec."

He took the two pills gratefully once you came back, along with a cold water bottle that tasted like the nectar of the gods. "Thank you." He said. After a pause he added, "I wasn't too much trouble last night, was I?"

"No way," You giggled. "It's nothing I haven't had to deal with before."

Memories started to trickle in to Anasui. Memories of watching Hermes leave, then Jolyne, then Weather, and Foo Fighters, the memory of him clinging on to a stranger's back sobbing like a loser. Come to think of it, that stranger was probably standing in front of him right now.

The cringe on his face was probably obvious, if the obnoxious laugh you let out was anything to tell by. "Hey, we don't have to talk about last night if you don't want to. I've got breakfast ready in the kitchen. Wanna join?"

The promise of food, maybe bacon and eggs, made Anasui's mouth water. You smirked slightly. "Just put your skirt back on, I'll meet you in the dining room pretty boy." And you left without another word. The little comment made his heart flutter in a weird way. Anasui didn't think little pet names on his appearance would make him feel so light in his chest, but you've proved him wrong.

He put his lace back on, along with the boots and his skirt. But he wanted to keep wearing the Van Halen shirt. What a stupid little thing to get excited over, sharing similar taste in music, but he couldn't help himself.

Your house was much more tidy than your room. It was cozy, and Anasui liked it a lot. He found you setting two plates down, piled high with breakfast food with two glasses of orange drinks. You settled at the table in your seat, looking proud of yourself, "Eat up, afterwards we can drive back to your place. Or go back to the bar, if you have a vehicle."

"Thank you. For everything." His fork poked at some eggs. They were bright yellow, fresh. Anasui had never seen yolks so bright in his life. "I can't remember the last time I had an actual breakfast."

Your smile faltered a little bit at his tone of voice. "It's no worries. Don't beat yourself up over it, I would've done all this for anyone."

"Thinking like that could get you hurt." He muttered rather darkly. You snorted in response. Most of your conversation with him was like that for the rest of breakfast. He was much more mature sober, you appreciated that. Made him much more appealing. He was a little more haughty too, though. Any sarcastic comeback was met with more sarcasm, though sometimes you'd say something that would make Anasui stop and look away. Like the shirt.

It was after he helped clean your dishes. You walked him out to your car, swinging your keys around your pointer while Anasui shielded himself away from the sun like a vampire. He stopped you before you'd completely gotten into your car. He was about to pull off your shirt before you stopped him.

"Keep it." You told him.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yeah. Why not? You can give it back next Saturday, after you clean off the drool and makeup." He raised an eyebrow.

"So, this won't be the last time we talk?" You laughed, unlocking the car and getting in. "Shoot, no. We go to the same bar every weekend, I see you every time! Me and my girls will crash your friend's little get together next Saturday, to pay back your babysitting fee."

It was meant as more sarcasm, but the thought of getting to see you again made Anasui's heart jump again. You pulled out of the driveway, leaving back to the bar like Anasui asked. In secret without you seeing it, he enjoyed the smell of your cologne on the fabric of the shirt he wore. It partnered well with his own. He couldn't wait for next week.

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 7

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

(Posted 11/19/23)

To read Chapter 6:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/733835736590303232/vagabonds-chapter-6?source=share

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Word Count: 1.3K

Background: The poop really hits the fan this chapter! EVERYONE runs for the hills!!!

Warning: Star Wars swears, Earth swears, fear, physical pain, fainting, smell of blood, blood, blaster weapons firing at people, canon-typical violence.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Recap Chapter 6: Sil fired up the ‘Dame and kept it running.  He used the thrusters to turn its nose towards the city.  Smoke and fire came into view through the cockpit windows.  Ships around them were taking off and leaving in a hurry, more than usual.  Something big and emergent was happening. 

“What the kriff is going on???” 

“Escape From Ord Mantell - Part 1”

Back at the Marauder Tech and Echo settled in after their trip to the part’s dealer.  

“I am quite surprised how inexpensive that field generator was.  An antique part such as this is difficult to find.”  Tech studied the metal object in his hand.

“The Beldame hasn’t been top-of-the-line for quite a few cycles.  Probably long before we were decanted.”  Chuckled Echo.  “It’s a golden oldie.” 

“Remind me to return Love the credits they advanced us.  This purchase is...how they say, “on the house?”  

Echo pulled out the locally bottled brews he picked up on the way back to the Marauder and handed one to Tech. They were just ready to crack them open and kick back but were interrupted. 

Omega's mortified voice chirped out from the Marauder’s comm. “Echo, Tech, Wrecker, something bad has happened.  Hunter and I are leaving Ord Mantell on the Beldame!” 

Tech and Echo perked up.  Why wasn’t Hunter contacting them?  Was he hurt???  Where was Wrecker? 

Another message immediately came in “Ey, on my way over!  Hunter told me to contact ya, he’s...” 

“Leaving Ord Mantell with Omega on the ‘Dame!”  Tech interjected. 

“GEEZ!  Was it fairly OBVIOUS???” snarked Wrecker.  “I’m being SHOT AT here!!!” 

“Wrecker, get here ASAP!” Instructed Echo. 

“I’M TRYIN’!!! 

Wrecker escaped down a random narrow side street.  There were piles of garbage, refuse containers...and a dead end.  He was stuck, with his pursuers and their blaster fire approaching.  Wrecker spun around and faced the opening of the street; weapon raised and pulled a thermal detonator from his belt.  He was ready to go out in a blaze of glory if needed.   

“Sssspt...hey...ssspt...” a raspy voice called out from the garbage. 

Wrecker swung around to see a bearded, dirty, skinny man wearing a trash receptacle lid as a hat.  It was surreal. 

“Whaaa???” 

“You!” 

“Me???” 

“Of course, silly!  Come and hide before they see you!!!” 

Wrecker didn’t have a lot of options and figured this skinny man was no match for his considerable strength.  Running up to him, Wrecker noticed there was a dark open hole leading to who knows where.  Wrecker stopped and looked at the man with growing skepticism. 

“Hop in!  Hurry, we haven’t much time!!!” 

A blaster bolt shot over Wrecker’s head, and he dived headfirst into the hole.  The skinny man jumped in after feet first.  His receptacle lid hat expertly detached from his head as it met with the sides of the can.  Fitting snugly and locking in place with nobody knowing the wiser that this was a hideout entrance. 

“AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” Wrecker screamed in abject fear, sliding along at top speed in the dark. 

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”  Slid the man gleefully cackling manically behind Wrecker.  

Wrecker came to a stop at the end of the slide splashing into a large pool of rancid water.   The man followed closely behind. 

“Ugh!” Wrecker retched.  “Where ARE WE?  It smells HORRIBLE!!!” 

“We’re in the sewers below Ord Mantell.”  The man proclaimed proudly.  “Nobody likes to come down here.  Perfect hiding spot!” 

“Oooh...GAH!”  Wrecker retched again.  What the kriff was he covered in?  He shuddered to even consider. 

“Been watching you and your friends.  You’re runnin’ from the ‘Bounties and the Empire!”  The man goggled eyed and smiled like he was shy a shred of sanity. 

Wrecker backed up, “Uhh, I don’t' want no trouble.”  The man’s statement was high on the creepy scale.  How was he able to watch them? 

“No trouble vod, don’t you recognize me?”  The man’s expression changed to disappointment. 

Wrecker removed his helmet and let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the sewer.  Through the dirt, beard, and bits of trash sticking to the man he recognized the features.  This man was a clone.  A rogue Reg. 

“Name’s Riffraff.  Deserted my post during Order 66.”  Haunted expression, gritted teeth.  “I couldn’t do what they ordered...just couldn’t...” He looked close to tears.  

“Wrecker.  Clone Force 99.  We all deserted...except for one brother.”  He felt bad for this Reg. At least Wrecker had his brothers.  This clone had to survive all alone.  No wonder he looked aged and unrecognizable. 

“So relieved to find another brother...who didn’t agree with the Empire’s Jedi ‘Solution’.”  A small wan smile appeared on the man’s face.  “I have vantage points all over the city that connect with the sewer networks throughout Ord Mantell.  Saw your vod and his girlfriend escape towards the ‘Dame.  Can take you to the Marauder so the rest of you can flee.” 

“The place must be swarming with unfriendlies now.  Can’t get back unnoticed.” 

“Stick with me, Wrecker, we’ll just follow the underground tunnels to the transport lot.  You can pop up right under your ship.”  Riffraff playfully slapped his knee.  The crazed smile came back. 

“Right, yeah...the ship’s sewer line port.” Wrecker envisioned himself crawling up through the excrement that was flushed from the Marauder when they docked.  Shouldn’t have eaten all that Mantell Mix.  Wrecker shivered and gagged again. 

“Get you there in no time! Let's go!!!”  Riffraff excitedly took off splashing through the sewer.   

Wrecker put his helmet back on to keep the poodoo water off his face and followed. 

Mad and Hunter burst out from the side streets of Ord Mantell and ran across the docking tarmac. Beldame’s gangplank was down, and Love was waiting for them.  

Mad’s step faltered, she dropped the cooler, and held her side. “Ughh” going down on one knee. 

Hunter grabbed the cooler by the strap and slid it over his shoulder. He tried to pull Mad back onto her feet, “C’mon. You can do this!” 

“No...no I can’t.” She looked pale and very unwell. Hunter faintly smelled blood, but unsure where it came from. They were running out of time. He stooped down and carefully put Mad over his shoulder. The coppery smell of blood suddenly became stronger, but Hunter put it out of his mind. He stood, turned, and ran the rest of the way to the ‘Dame.  

Troopers emerged from the city shooting at them. The probability of a blaster shot hitting either one of them became a terrifying reality. Hunter couldn’t even pull his sidearm to shoot defensively. His one sole mission right now was holding onto Mad and whatever was in the cooler and getting to safety. 

Laser blasts whizzed past Hunter as he ran. Ahead he saw Love’s eyes meet his. In his head he heard a voice, “I’ve got you covered, keep running!” Love raised their hands and Hunter felt an invisible wave emanate from the teen. They were blocking the blaster fire. 

Hunter ran up the gang plank and caught a glimpse of Love’s hands rear back and push out with the Force. The squadron of troopers were thrown back like toys. The gap in blaster fire might just allow them time to escape the planet. He proceeded onto the ship. Hunter was relieved to see Omega safe and strapped in. From her expression she was just as relieved to see him, but still fearful.  Omega had Tiggy in a total death grip of a hug. 

“Set me in the pilot’s seat” instructed Mad. 

“You’re not in any condition to fly” 

“I need you as rear gunner. Nobody else on the ship can pilot” 

“Sil?” 

“Not arguing. He’s copilot. Love is the shield.” 

“SHIT! You still don’t have a shield???” 

With no other options, Hunter dutifully approached the pilot’s chair. Sil moved over to copilot and buckled in. Hunter carefully set Mad down, strapped her in and ran to the gunner's seat. The gangplank closed, and Mad engaged the Beldame to take off. 

Sil opened with laser fire at the bow while Hunter did the same at the stern. Several stray shots from the enemy hit the ship.  The ‘Dame sparked and shook. 

Omega watched from her seat as Love levitated above the decking, raising up both arms, eyes closed in full concentration to Force Shield the ship. Clearly this was not Love’s first time. Hunter felt something and momentarily turned in his seat while firing away. With his enhanced senses he could see the air around Love distort and occasionally shimmer. It permeated the whole ship and seeped outside of it. From Hunter’s vantage point, the distortion covered the entirety of the Beldame.

Echo and Tech watched the last of the ships on the docking tarmac escape off world.  Everyone and their brother were getting away from Ord Mantell in one hell of a hurry. 

The Marauder started taking heavy hits from blaster fire.  Apparently, whomever was pursuing Hunter and Mad must have gotten intel that the rest of the Batchers were involved and identified their ship...

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 8:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/735297232933453824/vagabonds-chapter-8?source=share

[mariana-oconnor]

The Three Gables pt 2

A little late, because life and Christmas are just... it's a lot.

Last time we had a lady who wanted to sell her house and someone who really wanted to buy it and everything in it. Including the remaining possessions of her dead son. Who had died of pneumonia? I think, but also been involved with some sort of woman his mother did not approve of.

And a servant was fired after everyone was kind of terrible to her, even if she was spying for some bad guys.

And there was a lot of racism, which I expect will increase.

Anyway

"Now, Watson, this is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now."

Ah, it's another randomly referenced character that it sounds like we should know and yet we do not. Unless I have forgotten him. I don't think I've forgotten him.

Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon all matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his waking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Street club and was the receiving-station as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by the paragraphs which he contributed every week to the garbage papers which cater to an inquisitive public.

OMG, he's the paparazzi!

Well, the Edwardian equivalent of it.

Holmes, I thought better of you than this. You're really feeding this guy information. Ugh.

'Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the night. Police in possession. — Sutro.' Holmes whistled. “The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than I had expected."

Really? You must have known you sped up their timetable a little. They knew you'd gone to see the place and they were worried enough about you they tried to warn you off. It makes sense that seeing you there would move up their plans.

“Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was chloroformed and the house was— Ah! here is the lady herself.”

She was chloroformed and it's just an ordinary burglary? I hate to see what you call an odd burglary.

Just going to skip over the extra racism.

“Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am sure there was nothing in my son's trunks.”

You hadn't even looked in them and Holmes told you that he thought there was something in them. Why are you so confident in this, lady?

"It is in my son's handwriting.” “Which means that it is not of much use,” said the inspector. “Now if it had been in the burglar's—” “Exactly,” said Holmes. “What rugged common sense!"

Please allow me to use my Holmes-English dictionary. I'll just check... yeah... Mmhm.

“I never pass anything, however trifling,” said he with some pomposity. “That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes."

Oh, oh no. Oh poor boy. You are being set up for the biggest of falls. You have no genre savvy. I'm sorry. This will hurt.

“Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see.”

Please, tell me more.

“Why should they go to my son's things?” asked Mrs. Maberley.

Clearly they wanted the manuscript of his magnum opus of homoerotic literature, Mrs Maberley. I can see no other possible reason.

And honestly, relatable.

"Man must live for something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall surely be for your undoing and my complete revenge.”

🔥VENGEANCE!🔥

So it's not a homoerotic bodice ripper, at all. It's a tell-all memoir.

"I hear that she is about to marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son."

Refreshing to see an older woman-younger man romance portrayed for once. Usually it's the older man preying on the sweet young ingenue. This time the sexual predator is the woman. Although... honestly, nothing that's been said so far makes me think she's doing anything but having a good time.

“Not at home means not at home to you,” said the footman.

RUDE!

The lady had come, I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the half light more welcome.

Also rude!

Come on, Watson. You're not exactly young yourself at this point. And you're still apparently marrying people left right and centre. Do you hide in the shadows?

Pah.

...two wonderful Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.

I know what he means by this, but also I am imagining her irises being the Spanish flag.

Beautiful.

“I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for your intelligence to do so—though I confess that intelligence has been surprisingly at fault of late.”

Holmes is in such a bitchy mood in this one. He's just insulting everyone as much as he can. I kind of love it.

"I feel that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will treat you as a friend.”

Wow...the bullshit is strong with this one.

“No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself.”

You should totally stroke his bicep and ask if he works out. That's clearly where this is heading. Lolol!

“No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret.”

Wow. Just... wow. Weaponising femininity indeed.

✨ Gaslight. ✨ Gatekeep. ✨ Girlboss. ✨

So roguish and exquisite did she look as she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all Holmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to face. However, he was immune from sentiment.

That's because unlike you, he is not ruled by his horny brain, Watson. Please, take some deep breaths, drink a glass of cold water and come back when you've calmed down. You were literally just saying you thought she was too old to stand in proper lighting, my dude. Down boy!

"Because I had given he seemed to think that I still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable."

OK, fine. I'm on her side now. She's still the most ridiculous person ever, but this is a valid and correct point. Douglas needed to take no as an answer.

Barney and the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.

I'm torn. On the one hand, Douglas needed to understand that just because his sense of entitlement told him she owed him something, he really didn't. On the other hand, don't hire people to beat people up. Maybe just hire bodyguards to keep turning him away and save the beating for if he escalates?

I feel like everyone sucks in this story.

This... this is the same story from Charles Augustus Milverton except the female character is rich and has agency. And yet we're supposed to not side with the people who stole back the blackmail material that would ruin her? Because she's promiscuous?

Yeah, she's kind of terrible, but her crime was getting people to beat him up. The theft seems fair, honestly.

“Very good. I think you will sign me a check for that, and I will see that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air."

Yeah, she was chloroformed and it's possible that the beating led to her son's death. She definitely deserves something for all of this.

"Have a care! You can't play with edged tools forever without cutting those dainty hands.”

Weird line to end on, but okay. Basically 'fuck around and find out' in Holmes speak, I guess.

But yeah, this is just a different version of Charles Augustus Milverton and A Scandal in Bohemia only this time the lady is the bad guy. And she actually has done some horrible things. But if she'd come to you and said 'Mr Holmes, I had an ill advised dalliance with a young man and I need the evidence before it ruins my upcoming wedding!' Holmes might have done the burglary himself.

Well, probably not if he found out about her having Douglas beaten up.

But it's a weird change of perspective.

[cebwrites]

with a teasing s/o (Rosinante, Law, Killer)

i like this prompt a lot actually, y’all feel free to request more characters for this through my asks ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و 💕 

masc reader, he/they law, poly (KilKidd x reader) word count: 0.7k

Corazon

Oh, poor, sweet Rosi. 

You know damn good and well what you do to him when you pull him down by the little flaps on his hat to plant a big ol’ smooch on his cheek then pretend like nothing happened. His heart rate picks up, his knees feel like jelly, and before you know it you’re pulling him out of a nearby garbage bin or putting out another spontaneous fire on his person - sometimes both. He always turns the brightest shade of red and sputters, spins himself in circles trying to respond to your teases, though sometimes all he manages is a cute little pout and crossing his arms for a mock ‘silent’ treatment; it’s just not fair!

It’s okay, Rosinante can never stay mad at you - he was never really angry to begin with - especially not when you sign ‘I love you’ with a sheepish, apologetic smile and his poor gay little heart swells with all the affection, devotion, and admiration that he has for you.

Law

They don’t exactly take it well.

Law likes to think that they’re a person that keeps anything worth teasing close to heart, and that is true with anyone he’s not close with - but with his crew in the safety of the Tang, and especially with you, his boyfriend, in privacy of his own room - Law may or may not slip up every once and again, i.e. anything Germa related, the snow leopard plushy that he’s had with him since Swallow Island, or just in general how cute you think he is whenever he gets really into explaining or expanding on his hyperfixations. If you mention it to them as such, they’re appalled. How dare you imply that he’s any sort of cute, this is an outrage - you’re supposed to be the cute one in this relationship, not them.

It might turn into a petty squabble that actually has him avoiding you for a day or two, cooping up in his office for ‘work’ to deliberately minimize interacting with anyone that could possibly tease him. But you return from a late night bathroom trip to find him already under the covers, turned away from your side of the bed, you apologize if you made them uncomfortable, arms instinctively wrapping around their waist as you affectionately nose the crook of his neck from behind. Law huffs, saying that they’re not mad, and even if it is the wrong opinion, he wouldn’t mind trying to ‘debate’ it with you every now and again, but only if you accepted the premise that even if this was hypothetically true, that you’d still be the cuter one.

And, of course, they’re not the only one with things to tease about, darling  ♥️

Killer

He’s a man that gives as good as he takes, so prepare to be repaid in kind whatever you dish out.

Killer’s teasing is subtle, something you’d have to read between the lines to really pick up on and even then, will he tell you? God no, you started this, figure it out on your own. Killer’s just minding his own business, vibing and thriving. Eventually, it evolves into flat out, non-subtle yet passive aggressive flirting - Kill is always on the more reserved side of things but it’s definitely ramped up on his end, too, going as far ass smacking your ass along with his morning greeting in front of god, Kidd, and everybody. You no doubt get him back later with the same gesture as he walks off the ship to do some scouting with Wire, waving him goodbye as if the obscene gesture was nothing more than a peck on the cheek. 

The crew gets used to it relatively quickly, or at least after the first month of it. Kidd, in all of this, is mildly annoyed - partially because he was left out of the loop and he’s not at ALL grumbly (pouty) about it, and mostly because his boyfriends are acting like complete dweebs. At the end of it all, Kidd pulls you and Killer into his lap and makes a noise that more or less signals as ‘enough, quit your squabbling’

You and Kill put water under the bridge, but unfortunately for Kidd, he didn’t expect that this truce was only a pact for you and Killer to turn your combined teasing focus onto him, instead.

[finalmemesx]

Red, White & Royal Blue

By Casey McQuiston

“What’d you steal today?”

“Anything good this week?”

“That one is true.”

“Oh yeah, that was a wild night.”

“That can’t possibly be a real class you’re taking.”

“Whose wedding?”

“You’re going to ask them to dance, then?”

“Something is wrong with both of you.”

“Could be weirdly effective.”

“Do either of y’all know what a viscount is?”

“It’s cute how you think everything is about you.”

“It should be, honestly.”

“Do you know how to waltz?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

“I believe perhaps you should consider switching to water.”

“I want so badly for you to explain to me how this is funny.”

“Please, tell me another joke.”

“Is it too late to take the faking-my-death option?”

“Are you really not understanding how much I don’t care at all how you feel about this?” “You won’t miss anything.”

“So there’s really no way I’m getting out of this?”

“I don’t know what else to do, is the thing.”

“Shakespearean in that hopefully I’ll get stabbed to death.”

“I can’t believe I have to learn this garbage.”

“That’s because you are a nerd.”

“Everything looks like a museum.”

“Have you practiced what you’ll say tomorrow?”

“I think you’ve got the right idea.”

“Do you mind?”

“This is your fault!”

“How is this possibly my fault?”

“I cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

“So you do have some fight in you.”

“I’d rather not be the little spoon.”

“Do you really want to have that conversation?”

“I didn’t realize you heard that.”

“I feel like you’re missing the point.”

“How can I be wrong about my favorite? It’s a personal truth.”

“It’s a personal truth that is wrong and bad.”

“You exhaust me.”

“I enchant you.”

“I’ll call security.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wow, I thought I could trust you.”

“It was like you were tying to set him on fire with your mind.”

“What is your point?”

“Bring them to the house.”

“Are you done? I have some actual work to do.”

“Because we all knew better than to try and stop you.”

“Just bring me my pizza.”

“It ever make you laugh to think how much this pisses assholes off?”

“You really think it’s such a bad idea?”

“You don’t think I was out of line?”

“You were in on this, weren’t you?”

“Did this man just say ‘sweat drop down my balls’?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m going for a fun, and you’re coming with me.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?”

“Cool to see you’re not dead or anything.”

“Do you mind?”

“Find your way here okay?”

“You’ve been dodging me for weeks.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t like that look.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Call it historical curiosity.”

“So you’re upset because the rumors aren’t true.”

“You are a wanker.”

“I’m going to need you to not call me that right now.”

“You’ve always backed me up until now.”

“Why don’t you say whatever it is you need to say?”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“It’s not about that. This time is different.”

“Hello, excuse me, can we get another round of these please?”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re a demon?”

“I trust you can handle yourself?”

“Bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Would you describe it as supersonic?”

“Can y’all go sit somewhere else?”

“Awesome, fuckin’ love doing things out of spite.”

“Has anyone shown you around the clubhouse yet?”

“You really are determined to get shoved out of an emergency hatch one day, huh?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Well, I hope it was fun, because if anyone ever finds out about this, we’re all fucked.”

“Yes, we can unpack the ironic symbolism later. Go.”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to spend tonight in jail.”

“Okay, I’m clearing my schedule for the afternoon.”

“I don’t believe in systems when I’m on vacation.”

“How long have you lot come out here?”

“Hope you’re ready to fuckin’ party.”

“Fuck off, five-nine is average.”

“Can’t you ever just do one thing without having to be so goddamn extra about it?”

“Do you have any idea what that means?”

“You think I don’t care as much as you?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

“I never said you were a coward.”

“Your hair in the mornings is truly a wonder to behold.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I suppose we do have to face the consequences at some point.”

“When are you going to tell us who you’re dating?”

“You gonna fight me?”

“I want you to tell me why.”

“You’re not the same.”

“How the fuck did they get these?”

“You’re giving my ulcer an ulcer.”

“But short for a stormtrooper.”

“Thank God you’re here. I was about to come get you myself.”

“I fucking love you.”

“You’re too young to understand.”

“That is the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, will you all shut up for a second?”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I said, you look great, baby!”

“My life is a cosmic joke and you’re not a real person.”

“You should have tried to stop me.”

“Are you actually quitting for real?”

“How are things over there?”

“Wanted to come by to see if I could help with anything.”

“Will you please just help me pick?”

“Fire under my ass for no good goddamn reason.”

“You’re kind of hot when you get all indignant.”

[skullamity]

I saw a non-binary person on twitter applauding another tweet about how a lot of cis people really just sometimes label trans masc and afab nonbinary people as femme-presenting and then get angry at those people for not presenting "properly" when they ask not to be misgendered (to be crystal clear, this is something I do see happen, and also applaud this person for saying), but the way they applauded it was amazingly frustrating.

Without including a screencap or the exact wording because I don't want anyone hunting this down and harassing them, their response was, to paraphrase:

"femme presenting does not equal everyone impacted by misogyny."

Now, I didn't respond there because twitter is hell on digital Earth and I don't want my mentions filled with garbage for the next week for weighing in, but I'm comfortable expanding on why this statement is bullshit here. There's a whole other conversation to be had about how a lot of afab trans masc and non-binary people are complicit in silencing our own by pushing this sort of statement, but people more articulate than I am have said plenty on that and I'll leave it to them.

No, what I take issue with is the idea that there is a single person on this goddamn planet who isn't impacted by misogyny. Let's break it down, nice and easy.

MISOGYNY AFFECTS:

1) Cisgender women and girls. Takes the form of cat calling, infantilization, systemic discrimination in the workplace and a disparity of social and economic advantages afforded to cisgender men, high rates of violence against them, high rates of medical neglect, social conditioning that pushes them out of STEM career and education paths either because it's been drilled into them that these are not jobs for women OR because they made a go of it and felt unsafe, underutilized, passed over for promotion in favour of less qualified male peers, and so on.

2) transgender and amab non-binary people. Trans women who pass (note, I do not think passing is important or required to be respected in our identities, so if you're reading this and transmed, fuck all the way off) are treated of all of the above, unless they are openly trans or outed to peers who thought they were cis, in which case this treatment is conditional.

Being outed or not passing doesn't make the above go away, but it adds in shitty bonus features like the possibility of being confronted/attacked/harmed/killed publicly just for existing as trans in public, denial of housing, chronic unemployment (especially in states where you can be fired at will with no reason given as to why), loss of insurance and high rates of homelessness. On top of that, non-binary people often intentionally do not pass, or incidentally are mistaken for male or female. They are misgendered in almost all situations abs are subject to all of the above.

3) transgender men and afab non-binary people. This one is apparently a really controversial take to have these days, but as a trans man who passes and transitioned later in life, passing means jack shit if and when people know that I am trans. If people don't know I'm trans, their acceptance of me is tenuous at best and entirely conditional.

This is a problem for me personally because I a) refuse to pack the first 30 years of my existence in a box and lie about it to impress strangers. All of those formative experiences that are supposed to really affirm womanhood? Tried 'em. Yes, ALL of them. Even the one that transmasc transmeds will swear up and down that if you do them, you are not really trans. You know the one (it's pregnancy if that's not clear!).

I will not pack that away for the comfort of others. I am who I am because of those experiences, not in spite of them. But even if I did choose to pack all that away and keep it secret for the sake of seeming cis to new people, I still have a big 'ol target on my back because I am married to a cis dude. We're both bisexual, but that nuance means nothing to cis dudes for whom the existence of gay people where they can see them is emasculating by proximity. And how do cis dudes treat people, including other cis dudes, who aren't performing masculinity properly? With misogyny.

Cis dudes will treat gay and bi men, efeminate men, men with voices, mannerisms and style outside of a specific masculine archetype, like women. More specifically, women who deserve to be punished for being "that way." That misogyny isn't misdirected, a term I frequently see people throwing around to push back against the idea that afab trans men and non-binary people who have gone on testosterone or gotten top surgery or both are affected by misogyny specifically. It is directed exactly where it is meant to be directed, for all the reasons above and more.

On top of all that, the second someone (including doctors!) knows I'm trans, if they're not chill about it I can expect them to immediately start treating me like a delusional woman who has been tricked into transitioning and couldn't possibly have the agency required to make the decisions I have about my own body. Which is, again, textbook misogyny.

Anyhow, all of these things? If I were to go stealth to avoid them, it wouldn't be a privilege because, again, these things are conditional on remaining steal and honestly I didn't step out of one closet to baracade myself into another. If you have to hide your past and who you really are 24/7, that is not a privilege. The meager bonuses of having strangers think you're cishet are nothing compared to the detriment that living a double life, always in terror that someone will find out and tell everyone, causes. Trans men have worse outcomes with mental health than anyone, currently, and this is part of why.

4) Cisgender men who are visible minorities. Cisgender men with disabilities, who aren't white, who are fat or neuroatypical, or are gay or bi? Being treated "like a man" has conditions that they are either already outside of because of immutable characteristics OR is conditional based on whether they force themselves to conform and tow the line by reinforcing the "conditions" of previously mentioned masculine archetypes.

and finally

5) Able-bodied, neurotypical, cisgender heterosexual white men. Yeah, you heard that correctly!

Cishet white dudes are absolutely affected by misogyny. Let us count the ways:

Cis men are taught from a young age that being "like a girl" or even just being a girl is undesirable, worthy of disgust and/or punishment. How many childhood taunts meant to embarrass, emasculate and keep male peers in line are along the lines of comparing boys to women or denying/revoking their masculinity?

You throw like a girl. You hit like a girl. You look like a girl. Boys don't cry. What are you, gay? You'd better not be gay. You're not a f****t, are you? No son of mine is gonna play with dolls. Why are you crying? Time to hand in your man card. Don't get your vagina in a twist. Why are you mad? You on your period? And on and on and on...

The blatant contempt for women in a lot of formative social interactions for boys between them and their peers and them and their male relatives genuinely makes cis men worse people unless they have the will and fortitude to unpack and unlearn all of this. And boy howdy do we make it hard for them to do that.

I have met grown men so emotionally constipated that they can only talk about their feelings to their significant others, who come to resent them because your significant other is not a substitute for therapy. We tell young boys to bottle their emotions up, and we reinforce this with mocking laughter and ostracization. Sometimes with physical violence. Their friendships with other adult men are superficial and lacking affection, and fall apart if they ever challenge any of this shit. Every word that leaves their mouths in social situations is macho bravado and desperate conformation because you need to be in the In Group. You don't want to be in the Out Group, do you?

So until they figure out (if they ever do figure out) that they have shit they need to unpack and unlearn, they let their own inner turmoil fester, and they take it out on women, men and other people who fail to hit the baseline for what a man is "supposed" to be. They make the people around them suffer, and they lash out. They will enforce masculinity on their male peers and treat the women in their life with patronization and contempt and maybe even violence, because who else are you going to aim at when every formative and ongoing bit of socialization you've experienced from the time you realized that there was a difference between boys and girls and how they are supposed to act, and the resounding message has been that girls and women = bad, and that being compared to either means you're failing at proper masculinity?

Yeah, cis men do a lot of harm to people who aren't cis men. They will also do a lot of harm to people who ARE cis men but aren't "doing it right," including their own sons, and the cycle perpetuates until someone decides to break it, usually at a pretty significant cost.

So yeah, cis men are absolutely affected by misogyny. They aim it at the expected groups, but also at each other as a form of controlling group dynamics and social hierarchy.

TL;DR- literally fucking everyone is affected by misogyny and has it levied at them to enforce conformity in one way or another, so could we please fucking stop attempting to classify different flavours of trans people as being affected by or exempt from misogyny? It isn't misdirected if the person hurling it at you means for it to affect you, harm you, control you and your expression or all of the above.

This is why, when we classify something as a hate crime or not on a legal level, the identity of the person who it was committed against is not relevant. Assaulting a straight cis man because you thought he was a cis gay man doesn't absolve the perpetrator of having committed a hate crime. If the intention was to commit a crime on the basis of gender identity or sexuality, the legal system agrees that this is a hate crime, even if the perpetrator was mistaken!

TME/TMA is not a functional way of discussing the different ways that misogyny affects all of us, and I would love for young afab trans people to please stop throwing us all under the bus by trying to insist that the misogyny levied at afab trans people somehow doesn't count. You're hurting the rest of us, but you're also hurting yourself and you should knock it the fuck off. It does not invalidate your masculinity to acknowledge that cis people, both men and women, are levying misogyny at us, because they levy it at other cis people (mostly cis people who are minorities in other ways) all the fucking time.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge November 2023 Day 3

Inspiration / Unresolved ( @daily-writing-challenge @zoronadotatanado )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Tyrian 2000 - Sarah's Song ( Stone McKnuckle Remix )

“Why don’t we settle this with a wager then?!”

K’thalen froze with his cup pressed against his lips. He slowly looked down at the enraged lalafell with a sly smile spread across his lips. “Now yer talkin’ my language.”

“N-noli, maybe we should take a breath and-” Zoronado stopped mid-sentence when she shot him an angry glare; he knew better than to tell her to calm down at a time like this.

“A drinking wager!” She spat, compelling him to put his mug down. “Whoever’s still conscious wins!”

Another condescending chuckle came from the back of the Miqo’te’s throat, filling Nonoli with additional rage she didn’t realize she had room for. “Lil’lady… are ye serious? Challengin’ me? To a DRINKIN’ game? Oooh, heh heh heh… ye must be angry, aintcha? Heh heh heh…!”

It was Augusta’s turn to chime in. “He’s right, Noli… he drinks a lot. Like… a lot…”

“I drink too!” She squeaked back, stomping her tiny lalafeet. “All the time!”

K’thalen leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Pteh… lotsa wine. Gloooorified grapejuice, lass– what I drink on the regular’ll knock ye out flat. Ya don’t want this. Heh heh heh…”

Nonoli was at her breaking point! “Then we choose our opponent’s drinks! My stuff is stronger than your gross whiskey, I swear it!” Both Augusta and Zoronado gave each other concerning glances but at this point the woman was too angry to listen to reason.

Far too long this man has mocked her, ridiculed her, bullied her! He thought he was so clever, so funny– always laughing, always calling her names! The fury of a thousand suns burned in her veins and cried out for vengeance, for justice! Slowly K’thalen rubbed at his chin, unable or unwilling to hide his amusement. “Aight… yer on, Popoto Princess, heh heh!”

“Look at this lil’fishbowl-headed, pouty-faced, barrel-bodied brat, heh heh heh… oooh she’s MAD mad, ha ha! She’s in fer a world o’hurt when she’s facedown in the dirt!” 

“I can’t stand his stupid face! I’ll wipe that smile off if it’s the last thing I do! Mark my words, this rat-faced ruffian is going down! DOWN!”

Both opponents sat down nearby– with Nonoli having to add additional padding so she could actually reach the table. She was furious– perhaps more than she has been in a long time. Augusta reluctantly brought K’thalen’s drink of choice with Zoronado rummaging through Nonoli’s bags for hers. The time for trash-talking was over, now all they did was stare deeply into each other’s eyes while their friends prepared the shots.

Naturally K’thalen went first. He brought the drink up to his lips and knocked it back with one gulp, immediately smacking his lips and grimacing with disgust. “What kinda wine is this shite…? Can’t taste the alcohol under all this damn sugar… ya really drink this garbage?”

Nonoli didn’t answer. She pinched her button nose shut and exhaled sharply before downing her shot; fire ignited in her throat and burned a hole through her barrel-shaped body all the way down, but she didn’t waver. Zoronado and Augusta both stared in awe as the little Lalafell remained unflinching after tasting the worst of the worst– black belly whiskey.

Round two was more of the same. K’thalen clearly hated the taste but downed it all the same, tempted to grab a whiskey shot to wash it down. Nonoli barely blinked but never stopped glaring up at him, repeating the trick she used before to knock back the whiskey with minimal effort.

Round three was when things started to change, however. K’thalen rubbed at his chest after downing his shot, already teetering but without the buzz he longed for. Nonoli coughed and almost sputtered, but she clasped her hand over her mouth and forced herself to swallow. Both of them were beginning to get dizzy, compelling their friends to stand nearby and behind them– just in case they fell over. Yet Nonoli couldn’t lose… she had a reputation to uphold.

“Nono…” Zoronado whispered, rubbing at her shoulders amidst her laborious breathing. “It’s not too late… we can go fishing, or something… just you and me?” She blinked again, and for half a heartbeat her beloved knight was convinced she was considering it. That is until she opened her mouth and gestured for the next shot.

“He besmirched my honor.” 

K’thalen was forced to take off his hat and shake his head furiously to ward off the dizzying stupor on the seventh round. Augusta offered to take his hat from him but he waved his hand dismissively at her before slapping it back onto his head. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and he was struggling to stay upright; surprisingly his smirk had vanished. This little lady was more of a match than he thought. Nonoli hiccuped when it was her turn… and the nausea from so much whiskey was beginning to take its toll on her.

With a trembling hand he slurped down his shot on the twelth round, but the glass slipped from his shaking fingers. Augusta gasped when he slumped forward toward the table, but he forced himself to press on; unfortunately he over-corrected, and the spinning forest around them suddenly lurched forward moments before he slammed his head onto Augusta’s lap! THONK!

“I don’t believe it…!” She stared at the teetering Lalafell with amazement. “You… you actually did it?!”

Nonoli wiped the drool from the corner of her lip and raised a thumb towards Augusta… then she collapsed backwards into Zoronado’s awaiting arms. The Miqo’te sniffed curiously at the drink K’thalen was downing… and burst into an uproarious laughter!

“W-what’s so funny?!” Zoronado asked, startled. 

“Clever girl… HAHAHA!” Augusta couldn’t finish her sentence, slamming her hand on the nearby table. Only after staring at the bottle did Zoronado recognize it– causing him to laugh too.

She wasn’t serving K’thalen alcohol at all… but a sleep potion potent enough to knock out a behemoth. She... she CHEATED!!!

[rmoonstoner]

Kinktober 18+

05 - Blowjob - Poe Hoe In A Hole

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Male Reader

Warning: Blow job, cum swallowing, Poe is a slut

Not proofread. And it is late. 🤡

***

You and Poe had been running from bounty hunters for the past three weeks and lost the ship you had. You both barely got much sleep these days. Right now, you were in an extensive underground cave system with Poe and BB8. Poe was setting up a small coal fire to cook the last of your rations on, while BB8 scanned the area, taking note of the layout around you. You were just washing yourself up while he was busy.

"You done taking a piss over there? Bring over the goods so we can eat." Poe yelled at you. You rolled your eyes, while putting your shirt back on and came over. You threw the packages at him with a grunt.

"Oh, a grumpy gus, are we?" Poe snickered and tore in the packets, dumping them all into one pot. You huffed and took a flask out to sip on as you looked around the cave.

"How far down do ya think we are, Dameron?" You asked. It had been two days of being stuck down here. The place used to be a bustling underground city, now it was deserted and empty.

"Far enough the sensors can't pick up any signals to find us. If we lay low for another week, we should be in the clear." He said and started to poke at the food as it cooked over the coals agonisingly slow.

You sat down and crossed your arms while sipping from your flask. Poe glanced over and put his hand out, indicating he wanted some. You passed it to him and he chugged the rest of the contents, before passing the empty container back to you.

"Why!? There were enough for three more shots in there, my guy!" You whined as you tried to see if there were a few drops left, finding nothing.

"Come on. I'm cooking you dinner. The least you can do is provide some drinks if you want your dick sucked later." Poe teased you while he stirred the pot. You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked away. Your pants felt too tight and this man was always such a fucking tease. You were sure all of his flirty behavior was just him trying to bug you.

"C'mon. Stop sulking and loosen up a little." Poe teased. You scowled back and waited for the food.

Twenty minutes later you were eating the slop Poe had made. It wasn't that bad, really. He added a lot of flavor packets and then extra rice. You both ate about half the pot, deciding to keep some for the morning. BB8 had come back to tell Poe that it had found a cozy little hole in the wall to sleep in.

"Ah, great job, little buddy!" Poe patted his Droid with enthusiasm.

"Says there's a nice little spot to sleep in over there. It's fully enclosed with a door, so we should be extra safe, in case there's critters lurking about." Poe explained as he picked up his things and started towards the spot his little robot had found.

You rolled your eyes and got up to follow him. The Droid brought you to a small shack that led into a stone wall. Inside was a small space like a kitchen, and then a small hole in the wall with a wooden slab for a bed. It was just large enough for two people to sleep on comfortably, and sit up if needed.

"That looks uncomfortable."

"It sure does, but it's that, or the floor of the kitchen." Poe retorted as he motioned to the floor that was covered in what appeared to be dried mud and hardened old food. You sighed and checked the bed area, seeing it was far cleaner.

"True. Well, come on. I'm fucking tired, and you get the outside. I noticed you get up to piss far too often in the night." You remarked. He scoffed and laughed at you.

"That's because I keep myself hydrated with water, and not liquor."

You quietly unpacked the two blankets and some jackets to use as pillows. Poe spent a few moments firing up the heater in the back, giving it a good few wacks to get it to turn on. It was loud and smelled like burning garbage, but it would have to do. The temperature would drop in a few hours.

You both packed yourselves into the sleeping area and got comfortable. You were ready to pass out after a long day. Poe was always restless before bed. He tossed and turned, he grumbled and muttered about how uncomfortable the slab was. You were mostly fine, using the slope of the back wall for support, so you were almost on your back, and slightly facing Poe.

"This sucks. There's no give to this board." Poe huffed as he turned to face you. Your eyes were closed, arms crossed. A tell tale sign that you were actively trying to ignore him and sleep.

It worked for all of five minutes, then he spoke up again.

"Do you think the next ship we get will be as fast?"

"Don't really care. I just want an actual room this time, and not a closet." You replied dryly.

"Yeah, we can get one with sleeping quarters. Not sure we can afford one with more than two rooms, though."

"Whatever. I just don't want to sleep on the floor any more." You huffed, hoping he would shut the hell up so you could sleep.

"Okay… What if we kept sharing a room, though?" He asked quietly. You cracked open an eye and looked at him.

"Why?"

"It's hard for me to sleep alone. Just hearing your breathing at night helps." He admitted and looked away sheepishly. You closed your eyes and sighed in response.

"Yeah, that's fine. Now go to sleep, Dameron."

"But I can't sleep."

"Occupy yourself then."

"I know what helps me sleep…" He said in an oddly suggestive manner. Both of your eyes popped open and you stared at him, waiting for him to go on.

"I could… You know…" He fluttered his eyelashes at you, causing you to raise a brow at him.

"No, Dameron, I don't know. Please enlighten me." You said flatly.

"May I suck your dick?"

You blinked a few times and stared at him like he was joking.

"Is this a sick joke? Because I am not down for fucking jokes, Dameron." You growled back at him. You couldn't handle more teasing, and you were certain this man just wanted to fuck with you.

"No. It's not a joke." Poe replied, his voice much softer.

"I like you. Like, really you. I have been trying to flirt with you for months." He explained, causing your face to fall into shock.

He was not joking.

"I thought you were just teasing me."

"No. I have been trying to get in your pants for a while. You seem interested, but you never go for my advances." Poe explained.

You were so surprised by his confession. You had thought for so long that he was just poking fun at you, and had not once considered that he was serious. Poe grinned with hooded eyes and he reached out to touch your groin, his fingers grazing along your zipper. Your breath hitched, not believing that this was happening.

"Is this okay? Do you like me back? If not, I'll stop right now, turn over, and we will never speak of this again." He asked, sounding hopeful, but also prepared to be let down. You licked your lips, considering his offer, but you already knew what it would be. Your cock was so hard, pressed tightly in your flight pants, making you unreasonably uncomfortable.

"Fuck, yes! Yes, I want this, and I want you." You breathed.

The second you confirmed with Poe, his hands scrambled to grope and rub you while he unbuckled your belt. You groaned and shifted so you were completely on your back and you watched with anticipation as he undid your pants in record time. He paused and moved in close, his face just a inch apart from yours.

"May I just ask for one thing?" He asked.

"What?"

"Please stop calling me by my last name." He requested, and your face softened.

"Oh… Alright, Poe." When you said his name, he groaned and leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you. You gasped and kissed him back hungrily, hand flying up to his head to entangle themselves into his raven locks.

"Fuck. I love how my name sounds when you say it." He said as he parted for air. You sighed and licked your lips, watching as he scooted down to sit between your legs.

Poe dipped his fingers into your boxers and pulled your aching erection out. It throbbed in his warm hands, making you groan as he made a pleased sound.

"You're beautiful." He murmured, right before he leaned down to kiss the glistening tip. Your cock twitched and your balls twisted.

Poe grinned at you, making eye contact as he enveloped your cock in his mouth. He licked your swollen head, and then sucked gently as his hands came up to grab at your balls. You tried to watch, but Poe suddenly pushed your entire length into his mouth. You mewled out as your head tipped back, eyes closing as he gagged himself on your hard shaft, your cock hitting the back of his throat.

"Oh maker…" You breathed as you refrained from bucking your hips. Again you reached out to grab his head, tugging and pushing on his head. He groaned against your flesh, and you couldn't help yourself as you bucked into his mouth.

He made a strangled grunting noise and started to bob his head while making obscene wet sounding slurping noises. You whimpered, arching as far as you could, before he pushed your hips back down to the hard wooden board.

"Poe… I won't be able to last much longer…" You whispered, voice trembling. You could your orgasm quickly approaching, and wanted to warn him, yet he just kept going with even more enthusiasm.

"Oh maker, Poe! Gonna… Gonna come…" You whined as your breathing got deeper.

The way he was rolling his tongue along the bottom of your shaft, mixed with the way he was cupping your balls, was driving you insane. He hummed loudly, the vibrations sending you over the edge as he pushed you as far back into his mouth as you could go. You pulled on his hair hard, trying to pull him up. You only got him half way, before he stopped you. You came hard, feeling him suck and swallow every drop.

You went limp and laid there as you breathed heavily.

"Thanks… Poe…" You huffed as he licked his lips.

"You're welcome. Now we have something to occupy ourselves with, until we get rescued!"

***

Well. There you go. Was not proofread at all.

Tags: @snippychicke @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @queenotaku23 @clairewinchester14 @promiscuoussatan @mona-has-friends @lazyotakujen @timeless-crow @crazylittlereader2474 @bibibeu @novagonz3elz7799 @theaussiedragon

[batfsm]

@batfam-chaos, Here you go. Putting it in three parts because it's so long.

birds fly in every direction by distracted_dragon Thoughts, Part 1:

Chapter 1)

I'm loving Tim's POV. It's so refreshing in a way. I wonder what made him use Jeffery Anderson as his pseudonym. Of course Tim would make up accounts to get his ideas out there. Of course he would.

^^ The most eye-catching thing in the alley, however, is the motionless black-clad figure sprawled atop a dumpster. Emblazoned across their chest is an achingly familiar blue bird.

Nightwing.

At the other end of the alley, three other people exchange looks and slowly approach the dumpster. Their faces are all unfamiliar, but Tim catches the glint of a gun in the hands of the person in the middle. From what he can tell, their clothes don’t look outrageously expensive. The man on the right has a tattoo on his forearm that looks vaguely like something that he’s seen on a few of Maroni’s men, but it’s hard to tell. Just to be safe, he quietly pulls his camera out from his backpack and takes a picture. He takes care to lay on his stomach, pressing himself as close to the rooftop as possible to keep out of sight.^^

Why is it always Dick Tim seems to find? Like, Jason saves Tim a lot but Dick? Tim always seems to find him in trouble. Or just getting out of trouble.

^^ Luckily, they don’t seem to notice the glint of his camera lens. Tim leans back and pushes his backpack away from the edge of the roof. It nearly knocks over a couple of empty beer bottles, but Tim manages to still them before they could make any noise.

(Was someone drinking on a rooftop? That seems irresponsible.)^^

You mean like you being on the rooftop which isn't yours, Timothy?

^^ His landing isn’t the best but he doesn’t break his camera or twist an ankle or anything, so Tim counts it as a win. He creeps towards the dumpster where Nightwing is lying and sighs in relief when he sees the rise and fall of the vigilante’s chest. Good, he isn’t dead. The two holes in the side of his suit don’t look good, though. Neither does the slowly spreading pool of blood that’s dampening the garbage around him.

“Um, hi” He begins and awkwardly tugs his hood down. Hopefully, it’ll cover his face enough to keep him from being recognized, either by Nightwing or whatever cameras are likely embedded in his suit. Taking care to warp his words into a thick Gotham accent, he adds, “I’m here to help. Are you awake?”

Nightwing grunts.

“Okay, that’s probably a good thing. Uh. Did you already call for help?”

Another grunt. This one sounds vaguely affirmative.

“Good, great,” he says, nodding. At least he doesn’t have to figure out a way to get Nightwing back to the rest of the Bats. “I don’t exactly know a lot about taking care of bullet wounds and I’d rather not get electrocuted by your suit while trying to stop the bleeding, so… I guess I’m going to go?”

Nightwing’s arms twitch and he weakly tries to push himself up, groaning.

“I don’t know if moving is a good idea,” Tim tries, but Nightwing only grunts in response.

Halfway through, he seems to give up and lays back down. The white-out lenses in his suit prevent Tim from seeing exactly where he’s looking, but something tells Tim that Nightwing’s eyes are fixed on him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay until I see that Batman or Robin has come to get you. I’ll stay out of sight, though.” Tim turns and starts to walk towards the other building’s remaining fire escape before he hesitates. He looks over his shoulder and surely enough, Nightwing is still looking straight at him. “Um. Sorry that I couldn’t help more. You do good work,” he offers meekly before turning tail and scurrying up the fire escape. His camera swings about, bumping against his chest with every step.

Heart pounding, Tim flattens himself against the roof and settles in to wait for the cavalry to arrive. He just met Nightwing. Nightwing! He also probably sounded like a complete idiot and he really hopes that Nightwing didn’t realize how young he is. Shadows can hide a lot and he tried to make his voice sound deeper than it actually is, but there’s only so much that he can do.

He clutches his camera protectively and tries to even out his breathing. If he could see his hands, he’d bet that his knuckles are white. Soon enough, the telltale rumble of the Batmobile roars in the distance and Tim sighs in relief.^^

Really Tim? Baby boy, this is going to come back to bite you I don't doubt.

^^ Monday rolls around, ushering in yet another week of school. Tim has a history quiz that he forgets about until fifteen minutes before class. He spends the last part of his English class skimming through his history notes. All things considered, the quiz goes okay. Still, Tim is all too eager to leave class and head to the library for lunch. He nearly misses seeing Jason Todd-- Batman’s current Robin-- as they pass each other in the hallway.

Jason has dark circles under his eyes and his mouth is set in a grim line. He doesn’t seem to notice Tim as they walk by each other, but that’s unsurprising. It’s unlikely that Jason even realizes that Tim exists.

The mass of students swarming towards the cafeteria whisks Jason away. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone.^^

Jason was probably up all weekend helping to look for you, Tim. You really think Jason won't notice you? He might not recognize people but he is trained by Bruce...

^^ Tim thinks of the two bullet holes in Nightwing’s torso, of the concern soaking Batman’s voice as he called out for his son. He thinks of the grim weariness on Jason’s face. He thinks of the photographs buried deep in his closet of Robin and Nightwing grinning as they shout jokes to each other, of Batman smiling and shaking his head at their antics. Of Batman standing on a rooftop overlooking the city, of the stars bleeding into his silhouette.

He hits save on the document and closes it. Writing about attacks so soon after his encounter with Nightwing seems like it would be asking for trouble.

His knees crack when he stands up to get ready for his usual night out on the town. With one of the Bats injured, he’ll need to step up his surveillance game until Nightwing is back in commission. After all, there’s work to be done.^^

Tim, Tim, Tim. I'm glad you have enough sense not to post yet but I got a feeling you'll be looked into even more than you probably are sooner than later.

Chapter 2)

You know I hate how easy it is to say Jack and Janet are bad parents. But canon wise they were very neglectful and left Tim alone alot. Yes, he went to boarding school but still...it doesn't help when fanon writes them because of how they were in canon. Sometimes love isn't enough.

^^ His phone had stopped ringing a few moments ago, but it starts up again rather quickly. Is it an emergency? Did someone die? Images of hospitals and potential accidents race through his head as Tim accepts the call and holds his phone up to his ear. “Dad? Is everything okay?” He tries to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Without preamble, his dad says, “Some of our colleagues have been asking what you’re up to.” There’s an edge of a grumble in his voice. He’s probably upset that he had to wait so long for Tim to pick up the phone.

“Well, I’m in school right now--” Tim begins, but his dad cuts him off.

“Timothy,” his father says curtly. Tim’s blood freezes as ice fills his veins. “I mean college. You need to start bulking up your resume. It’ll look good on college applications and reflect well on us. Your mother and I have emailed you a list of clubs to choose from. Let us know what you’ve decided by the end of the week.”

He leans back against the cold concrete wall and drums his fingers on the grooves between the cinder blocks. “Okay. Thank you.”

His dad grunts. “Oh, and next time? Pick up the damn phone. It’s getting late over here and I don’t want to waste time listening to the phone ringing while I wait for you to pick up.”

“Right,” Tim says. “Sorry, Dad. I was in class.”

“Are you telling me that you’re supposed to be in class right now?” his dad demands. “What are you doing, then? Go back to class! We can’t afford to let your grades slip.”

“I’ll go back right now. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye.”

The call clicks as his dad hangs up. Tim stares at the words “call ended” blinking at him from his phone before he shoves it back into his pocket and heads back to class. His back is still cold from the cool concrete wall, but Tim ignores the feeling as he slips back into his seat.^^

Stupid Jack. Getting pissed Tim won't answer you and then getting mad he's not in class. Make up your damn mind!

Book Club! That means Jason! Yes!

^^ Tim shuffles over and obediently sits in the chair to Jason’s left. He shrugs his backpack off and gently dumps on the floor. “Yeah, I’m a freshman.”

Jason scratches at his chin. “Huh, weird. Your face is kinda familiar. What’s your name?”

“I’m Timothy Drake. I live next door to you,” he explains, resisting the urge to kick his feet like a child.

His eyes widen. “Oh, so you’re the Drake’s kid! Well, welcome to book club. By the way, do you like being called Timothy?”

Tim picks at the hem of his sleeve as he considers the question. “Tim is fine,” he decides. “Or you can call me Timothy. I don’t really mind.”^^

See, Jason knows you. He just doesn't 'know, know' you. At least not yet.

^^ think the younger son did it,” Tim says abruptly. A few heads turn to look at him. “The book mentioned that he used to help his mother with making fertilizer, but it didn’t say anything about using natural fertilizers. That means that he likely has experience in dealing with various chemicals. He could’ve laced her tea with something.”

One of the other students frowns contemplatively. “But why would Jerome kill his mother? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t think that he meant to kill his mother. I think he wanted to kill his older brother so he could take over his general store. His brother had a fancy kettle in his kitchen, but the other appliances were run down. Why would he have a nice kettle if he didn’t like tea?” Tim picks at his jacket’s sleeve. “So Jerome set a trap. He laced some nice Darjeeling with something poisonous and left it in the kitchen right before his brother was supposed to arrive. It would be the perfect trap if his brother wasn’t late, allowing Mrs. Bigby to accidentally drink the poisoned tea first.”

“Don’t spoil it!” someone hisses.

Tim looks up. “I, um, was just guessing. I haven’t read the book before. Did I guess correctly?”^^

Go Tim! You are an awesome detective and you think as fast, if not faster than Bruce. (Which is so not helping my headcanon that Tim is Bruce's biological son.)

^^ This time, it takes Tim thirty-one pages to guess the murderer. Although it technically took him longer to guess correctly than with the first book, the delighted look on Jason’s face makes up for it.^^

I would be delighted also. Well after I got over not figuring it out myself and that someone did guess as we read the book.

^^ Bruce has first editions of Meredith Moore’s The Finding Game and a complete collection of the works of Kartik Mishra. Have you read either of them?”^^

I looked both of them up because of this and got a bit confused because they had another book for Meredith and a lot of people named Kartik Mishra came up on the results. I'll have to try again later on.

^^ Something doesn’t feel right. Why is Jason so interested in him? He didn’t think that he revealed anything particularly noteworthy about himself aside from his newfound ability to guess the ending of mystery novels. His mention of Kartik Mishra was far too obscure to connect him to Jeffrey Anderson, who had only cited Mishra’s work twice, so that couldn’t be it.

Tim pulls on his helmet and kicks his bike into motion with one foot. He’ll have to investigate this matter further.^^

You Tim. You pulled up on Jason's radar, before this probably, Andi won't be surprised if they figure you out because of your voice.

Yeah! Tim gets to meet his grandfather and dad tomorrow! Officially!

Chapter 3)

^^ Obediently, Tim trails Jason over to the car. A somewhat pale, balding man steps out of the driver’s side door and nods at them in greeting. He’s wearing a well-tailored black blazer and dress slacks. “Good afternoon Master Jason, Master Timothy. I am Alfred Pennyworth, Master Bruce’s butler.” He opens the door to the back seat of the car.

“He’s also the main thing keeping Bruce from accidentally burning down the house when he tries to cook,” Jason adds cheerily as he slides into the back seat.^^

I love this introduction. I love how Jason just disses on Bruce. It's so him.

^^ “So, Master Timothy. Do you have any allergies? I was planning on making cookies for you boys, but I would like to make sure that I don’t accidentally poison you.” The car turns onto the main road and Alfred meets Tim’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

His eyes are dark brown and lined with wrinkles. They look like the eyes of any normal human, and yet. It’s so subtle that Tim almost misses it, but something about the way that Alfred Pennyworth looks at Tim makes him feel like he’s able to see the storms lurking beneath Tim’s skin.

He knows. Nobody whose eyes can see that much would be able to work closely with Bruce Wayne and not realize that he’s Batman.

A gentle nudge interrupts Tim's train of thought. He glances over and finds Jason leaning back into his seat. Right, Alfred had asked him a question.

“Sorry, I spaced out for a second. I’m not allergic to anything,” Tim replies hastily.

Unfazed, Alfred turns the car onto the familiar winding road that contains both Drake Manor and Wayne Manor. “All right. And do you have a favorite type of cookie?”

He shrugs. “I’ll eat just about anything. I’m not very picky.”

“I didn’t ask what you would eat, Master Tim. I asked if you had a favorite type of cookie,” Alfred corrects smoothly. “The kitchen is well-stocked, so I can assure you that we certainly have the ingredients for whichever type of cookie you choose.”

Tim falls silent, chewing his lip contemplatively. Choosing a type of cookie is a lot of responsibility. What if Jason doesn’t like it? What if nobody else in Wayne Manor likes it but they have to awkwardly pretend that they do to avoid hurting Tim’s feelings?

“You really can’t go wrong with Alfred’s cooking. His cookies are the best,” Jason interjects. “If you want recommendations, his chocolate chip cookies are great. He makes some mean snickerdoodles and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies too.”

“Chocolate chip sounds good,” Tim decides at last. “Thank you,” he adds quickly.^^

Of course Alfred knows. Alfred, fanon Alfred, knows all.

Tim, don't worry. Alfred's used to Bruce, Dick, and Jason spacing out so you're fine.

Okay, can I eat one of Alfred's cookies? Or his food? Please.

^^ “By the way,” Jason drawls, drawing Tim’s attention back to him, “Do you like dogs?”

“Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

The car pulls in front of the main entrance of Wayne Manor. Like before, Alfred gets out of the car to open the car door for Tim and Jason.

“Thank you very much for driving us, Alfred,” Tim tells him as he straightens up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“It’s my pleasure, Master Timothy,” Alfred replies before he climbs back into the car and drives off.

Instead of answering Tim’s question, Jason walks up and opens the front doors. A very excited German Shepherd darts out, bouncing in place as Jason leans over to run his hands down its sides.

“This is Ace. He’s about six years old and he is a very good boy,” Jason informs him solemnly. “Want to pet him?”

Tim nods and carefully approaches Ace, extending one hand for him to sniff. After a moment, Ace shoves his wet nose into Tim’s hand and gives it a satisfied lick. Taking this as acceptance of his presence, Tim scratches behind Ace’s ears. His tail wags slowly at first but quickly speeds up, especially once Tim starts scratching his chin with his other hand.

“You’re right,” Tim says, looking up at Jason. “He’s a very good boy.”^^

Did Alfred drive to the garage? Why not just go to the garage and then everyone gets out at the same time without wasting gas?

Ace! Ace! Ace! I love Ace! He's such a good boy and he knows Tim is not a bad person do he's extra good.

^^ “All right,” Tim agrees. His school uniform is covered in dog fur, which would normally drive his mother mad, but Tim finds that it doesn’t really bother him.^^

It shouldn't. It just means you got loved a whole lot.

^^ “Dad’s study’s this way,” Jason says, turning back to look at Tim. “That’s where he keeps all of his--”

“Hey, whatcha doing?” A door directly across from them slams open and someone with bright blue eyes, warm brown skin, and a blinding smile bursts out. Their face is oddly familiar. Tim must have seen them before somewhere--

Oh, that’s Nightwing without his mask. Or rather, that’s Richard Grayson, Bruce’s eldest son.

“Jay, you have a friend over?” He tilts his head curiously, peering at Tim. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

Tim forces himself to unfreeze, though the sound of the slamming door still echoes through his head. Pasting a smile on his face, he extends one hand to Richard to shake. “Hi, I’m Timothy Drake. I live next door.”

“I’m Dick Grayson,” says Dick, smiling as he smoothly steps forward to shake Tim’s hand. He steps back and nudges the door closed with a soft click, much quieter than his explosive entrance. “So, what are you planning on doing?”

Jason rolls his eyes and turns to Tim. “Dick’s bored out of his mind. He has this nasty cut on his side that he got from falling asleep on a stapler. He just fell straight onto it like--”

With all of the grace of a professionally trained acrobat, Dick darts forward and lovingly gives Jason a noogie. Tim just stands there and blinks, unsure of what to do. Ace pads up to Tim and shoves his head into Tim’s hand, so he obligingly pats Ace’s head.

“Hey!” Jason protests, squirming in his brother’s grip. He does not, Tim notes, try to elbow him or use any of the combat moves that Tim knows he’s capable of.

It’s likely to protect Nightwing’s stitches, Tim notes absently. The man’s wounds weren’t one hundred percent life-threatening, but they were certainly serious. Reopening those wounds would not be a fun experience.

After one final noogie, Dick releases Jason and ruffles his hair. “In my defense, I didn’t fall asleep on a stapler. There may have been some sneaking out and alcohol involved, though.” He winks at Tim.

“He fell on a vase when he was sneaking back in,” Jason sighs. “I don’t know how, but he managed to shatter it in such a way that it stabbed him. Truly astonishing.”

Dick only grinned. “Don’t hate me because you ain’t me,” he sing-songs.^^

I should have realized Dick would be home.

Really? That's your excuse boys? Alfred signed off on that excuse? LoL it's do flimsy I'm surprised people believe it.

^^ The thought of spending time with Nightwing is a little bit terrifying but, at the same time, very cool. Tim nods and Dick beams, clapping his hands together.

“Great! Come on, I’ll show you where they are.” Despite his still-healing injury, Dick practically bounces down the hallway.

Jason and Tim follow him, albeit at a much calmer pace. Dick stops in front of a set of intimidating wooden double doors and pushes them open, revealing what must be Bruce Wayne’s study. Without skipping a beat, Dick makes a beeline for the towering bookshelves at the far end of the room.^^

You are not helping your excuse at all by acting like that Dick. Not at all.

^^ Jason snorts and turns to Tim. “Dick is a theater kid at heart. He does do some pretty good voices, if you’re fine with him crashing our hangout.”

Tim cracks a smile. “I’m fine if Dick reads.”

“Okay!” Dick chirps and leans back into the couch. Jason wastes no time in wriggling closer to Dick and leaning his head on his big brother’s shoulder as Dick opens Meredith Moore’s The Finding Game. It’s clearly well-loved-- the spine is cracked and some of the pages are dog-eared. Tim thinks of the pristine books in his parents’ office with rigid spines and unmarred pages. Most of the things in their office are too old or delicate for him to touch; he’s only allowed to handle whatever paperwork they ask him to fetch. Envious, he imagines running his hands over the pages of his mother’s copies of excavation reports before he quickly banishes the thought. Their rules exist for a reason.

As it turns out, Jason was right about Dick’s acting abilities. He does a different voice for each character and makes exaggerated faces as he speaks. Jason occasionally chimes in with commentary, but Tim mostly stays quiet and absorbs Dick’s telling of the story.^^

Dick's going to read! I have a couple of books like that I'll admit but I try to read them all. Even if it's only once.

I be absorbed by Dick reading also. In my head, they all have lovely voices.

^^ Forty pages in, Tim is getting restless. He’s been maintaining good posture for most of the reading, but his back is starting to hurt. Also, he’s pretty sure that he knows who the killer is, but it’s hard to tell if Dick will get mad at him if he voices his guess. “Am I allowed to guess the murderer?”

Jason looks over at Tim and snorts. “I brought you here to unleash you on a bunch of mystery books, remember?” He lightly boops Tim’s nose. Mystified, Tim nearly crosses his eyes trying to follow Jason’s finger. “Yeah, you’re allowed to guess the murderer. Who d’you think did it?”

Mollified, Tim picks at the edge of his sleeve as he thinks. “Probably Tom Harbott. If Casey Rogerson died, then his house would become public property and be dealt with by the state. When Harbott is cataloguing the worth of the house, then he could easily take a few items-- some of Casey’s jewels, maybe-- and nobody would know that they were missing. Plus, Harbott strikes me as kind of slimy.”

Both of the Wayne boys turn to look at him, but Tim stares at his hands instead of meeting their eyes. “I could be wrong, though. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“Jay’s right,” Dick says after a moment. “You are really good at this. Nice work, Tim!”^^

He's so amazing and smart and his brothers are going to tell him that a lot. He's also a mini Bruce in detective mode. I thought Jason was like Bruce a whole lot but Tim probably beats all his siblings in being like their dad the most.

^^ Tim takes a cookie and settles back against the couch as he nibbles at it. It’s very fucking good. He’s careful to keep crumbs from getting all over Bruce’s couch-- he wouldn’t want Jason and Dick to be on the receiving end of Bruce’s wrath if he comes home and finds his couch covered in crumbs.

Cookie in one hand, Dick picks up the story where he left off. Tim is content to sit with his hands clasped in his lap and lean back into the cushions while Jason wastes no time in using Dick’s shoulder as his own personal pillow. The floor behind them creaks as someone walks across it. Tensing, Tim immediately stops slouching.

“Hey, Bruce!” Dick calls, twisting around to beam at the man himself.

Bruce Wayne. Batman. The person who Tim has been following and surreptitiously photographing for the past few years.

The Batman suit must have platforms in it because the man before him is ever so slightly shorter than Tim expected. Granted, he’s definitely still over six feet tall, but something about the Batman suit makes him look bigger. More intimidating. Right now, Bruce is wearing a rumpled suit and has a five o’clock shadow.^^

Tim, Bruce isn't going to care. Ace probably jumps on the furniture and gets his fur everywhere so why should Bruce, Alfred really, care if you get crumbs on the furniture? People do all the time! I bet Bruce does!

Damn, Tim was just getting comfortable. He's got good instincts though. I never thought of Bruce using platforms but it makes sense. Throws people off that way.

^^ “Tim and I are in the book club together. It turns out that he’s scary good at guessing the murderer in mystery novels, so I bribed him into coming over with some of your old books,” Jason informs him, leaning back into the couch.

Bruce nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like fun. What did you read?”

“The first book in The Finding Game. Tim figured out the murderer in forty pages,” Jason replies proudly.

“Damn, that’s pretty good,” he whistles and shakes his head before he smiles at Tim. “The first time I read it, it took me twice that to figure it out. Good job, Tim. So, how are you doing? I hope that my sons haven’t been giving you too much trouble.”^^

Bruce tossing Dick out makes me laugh when he stays himself. Bruce is so proud of Tim for figuring out the mystery. Oh my gosh Bruce. You are as bad as Dick. Then again, they get it from you.

^^ “Bunch of privileged ass kids who’ve never experienced a single hardship in their lives,” Jason grumbles.

His words elicit a chuckle from Bruce. Tim reaches down and pats Ace’s head.

After a moment, Bruce’s attention switches back to Tim. “So, Tim,” he begins, “Do you think that your family would object to you staying for dinner? Alfred’s making lasagna. Or we can give you a ride home if you need one.”

Jason twists so he can nudge Tim’s leg with his foot. “You should have dinner with us, Alfred’s cooking is amazing.”

He really doesn’t want to impose, but since he’s been invited and Jason seems to want him there… “My parents are out of town right now, so they won’t mind.” Tim shrugs, smiling. “I’d love to stay for dinner.”

Jason flops back into the couch and pokes Tim with one foot. “Just don’t forget to text someone so your family doesn’t assume that you’ve been kidnapped or something,” he says around a mouthful of cookie.

“Will do,” Tim replies and shoves the remainder of his cookie into his mouth. ^^

Poor Tim. Jason's basically insulting Tim to his face. Well not him but I bet Tim took it that way.

Tim, really? You didn't text anyone...big red flag. Especially for Batman and his sons.

I love the dinner. Tim fits right in. Of course Bruce wanted Tim to walk home with Jason. They are worried and Tim speaking about how only Mrs. Mac comes around and his parents are gone is going to raise more red flags. I'm glad Tim has the rest of the family's numbers. I just hope he uses more than Jason's and Dick's.

Chapter 4)

^^ On Monday, Tim steps into the debate team’s assigned classroom during his lunch period. Multiple heads swivel to stare at him and Tim slips on his best polite smile.

“Ah, hello there!” A blond-haired boy hops off the desk he was perched on at the front of the classroom. “If you’re here for the debate team, then you’re in the right place.”

“Good to hear,” Tim replies and sticks out his hand as the other student approaches him. “I’mTim Drake.”

They shake hands. “I’m Patrick Weston. You’re the Tim Drake of Drake Industries, right?”

“That’s right.” Maintaining his polite smile hurts Tim’s face.

Patrick grins and claps Tim on his back, forcing him to hide his flinch. “Fantastic! You’ll be a great addition to the team. Come over here and I’ll introduce you to everyone. That’s Abigail Mercer of Mercer Incorporated…”

He proceeds to introduce him to several students who Tim has known since kindergarten on account of them running in the same social circles. In short, they’re all a bunch of rich brats.

“So, what kinds of cars do your parents have?” asks Hunter Smith of the Smith Corporation.

Rich, pretentious brats.

Tim does not like debate team.^^

The debate team sounds like they don't even debate anyone. Just gossip. That sucks. Poor Tim. At least he only has to deal with them twice a week.

Tim beating Jason at Super Smash Bros makes me laugh along with Alfred hearing Jason and Dick curse. Why is Dick hanging out with these two? He's off work right now because of his injury but doesn't he have the Titans to hang out with? Not that Tim probably minds....I wouldn't.

^^ Tim tries to spend a handful of hours every night keeping an eye on the Escabedo Cartel’s warehouses. Between homework, gymnastics classes, martial arts classes, working on his latest Jeffrey Anderson draft, and hanging out with Jason and Dick, he doesn’t make it out to Gotham every single night.

As far as he can tell, nothing out of the ordinary has happened at the row of the Escabedo’s warehouses on Seventh Street. Still, something in his gut nags at him. The Odessa mob and the Escabedo Cartel have worked too closely together in the past for Tim to brush them off, especially when it comes to the Odessa’s connections to apparent arms smuggling.

There is nothing to do now but to lay low and wait. And if Tim occasionally spends an extra thirty minutes at the end of the night waiting near one of the Bats’ usual patrol routes for a glimpse of a cape, well. Nobody has to know but him.^^^

Tim's going to get hurt isn't he? I hope not.

^^ Bruce, conspicuously, is missing. Dick mentions a last-minute work trip, but Tim doesn’t worry too much. The news earlier that day announced that the Justice League is fighting some giant robots down in Kentucky. They’ve dealt with worse in the past; Bruce will be fine.^^

Bruce will be but will you Tim?

^^ His parents don’t call that week. Tim bikes to school, does his homework, and hangs out with Jason and Dick. He attends his gymnastics lessons and martial arts classes. Mrs. Mac comes by and leaves meals in the fridge for him.

Drake Manor remains empty, save for Tim wandering about like a ghost.^^

They aren't coming home later that month are they?

^^ He holds his breath and snaps pictures as several people carry cardboard boxes out of the warehouse and load them into the truck. It’s impossible to tell what’s inside, but it’s probably nothing good. After all, why else would they go to the trouble of loading unmarked boxes into a van after midnight?

An unfamiliar man steps out of the warehouse and walks over to the person with the epaulette tattoos. He grabs something from his pocket and holds it out to the man-- money, maybe? Tim shifts, trying to get a better angle, when his foot strikes the metal shell of the HVAC unit to his left.

The clang rings out, unnaturally loud in Tim’s ears. Multiple heads swivel to look up at the roof, but Tim doesn’t stick around to see if they pull out their guns. He’s grabbing his things and getting the fuck out of there.

With clumsy hands, Tim shoves the lens cap back onto his camera. He tosses the entire thing into his backpack before leaping onto the next rooftop and starting to run.

Tim was born and raised in Gotham. He is intimately familiar with the sound of gunshots. Still, he’s never been the intended target before. When he hears the familiar pop pop pop of shots being fired, his heart rises into his through. He has a tiny canister of pepper spray and a Swiss army knife, but neither of those things will help him here. Right now, what Tim needs to do is run.

 And so he does.^^

Shoot!! Run Tim, run!

^^ Around four blocks away from the Escabedo’s warehouses, he jumps across a narrow alley to reach the next roof. It’s a routine jump, one he’s done many times before, but then his ankle buckles when he lands and all of his weight goes onto it and he’s falling. If he wasn’t wearing a backpack, he could roll and distribute the momentum. But Tim is wearing a backpack and his backpack contains his camera.

Tim will not risk breaking his camera.

So he holds out his arms the way that he was taught in his martial arts classes so the force of the fall will be distributed from his hands to his elbows. Tim falls and hits the rough concrete roof with a thump.

For a moment, he’s dimly aware of his throbbing ankle plus a stinging knee and hands. The knee and hands are just scraped, he thinks. His ankle is another matter entirely, but he doesn’t have time to check. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just barely see what looks like a black van.^^

Well he isn't shot but dang is he hurt.

^^ By the time that Tim reaches the front door, his breathing is ragged. From his shin down, his leg feels like it was dipped in magma and then shot. He’s kind of surprised that his foot hasn’t fallen off yet. It takes him longer than usual to unlock the front door, thanks to his shaking hands. Tim manages to haul himself inside and shut the door behind himself. He leans his back against it for a moment, breathing hard, before he slowly slides to the floor

Why does everything suck? Why can’t his body just do stuff and not break?^^

Thank Ra, you got home safely Tim but you're hurt. That's why everything sucks right now.

^^ Tim shuffles around the living room with his chair, grabbing white blankets from the back of sofas. Finally, he picks a spot in front of his favorite couch and sets his sneakers next to it. He lays out the fluffiest-looking blanket before wrapping the others around him. His backpack goes under his foot to elevate it-- he’s pretty sure that he read somewhere that you’re supposed to do that-- and he sandwiches the ice pack between his foot and his backpack. An inelegant solution, but it’ll get the job done.

He closes his eyes and the throbbing in his foot abates slightly. It still feels like a bear is trying to chew his leg off, but the night’s adrenaline has long since worn off and Tim is exhausted.

Tim grabs sleep in short snatches where he sleeps like a rock until the pain in his foot wakes him up. It’s not the best situation, but it’s the only one he has.^^

At least you took the best care you can of your ankle, knee, and hands. Now to explain it to your brothers...

Chapter 5)

Oh boy.....I can just feel the worry everyone will have.

^^ Tim grabs a handful of cheerios and shoves it into his mouth as he types out a message. He doesn’t want to cancel but if any of the Waynes see his ankle, then they’re going to start asking questions. If he texts them now saying that he might not make it because he might be sick and then sends a follow up text later saying that he’s actually sick, then it’ll seem like the natural progression of illness. That won’t be suspicious, right?

Tim [10/07, 11:20 AM]: I might not make it today. I’m not feeling well, but I’ll let you know how it goes.

There, sent. He turns his phone on silent and leaves it face down on the floor next to him. With a sigh, Tim pulls the blankets around himself once more and snuggles into his nest. It’s too late in the day for him to go back to sleep, but maybe he can close his eyes for a while.^^

Good luck Tim. You're getting visitors whether you want them or not.

^^ After a minute, the knocking ceases and he can just barely hear faint squabbling outside. He would be concerned that the people from last night had finally found them if not for two reasons: first, they wouldn’t knock if they were coming to kill him and second, they definitely wouldn’t be arguing outside if they were coming to kill him.

Besides, those voices sound vaguely familiar.

The front door swings open. Hey, didn’t Tim lock the door behind himself when he came home last night?

“Tim?” Jason calls. The door swings shut with a soft click.

A second later, Dick’s voice chimes in. “Tim? Are you alive?”

“I’m here,” Tim says, not bothering to turn over to face them.

“Tim! There you are, we were worried about you,” Dick exclaims.

Footsteps approach him-- exaggerated for his benefit, surely-- and then the Wayne boys enter his field of vision. Their eyes sweep over him as they catalogue the situation. (Ah, the wonders of Bat training.) Tim blinks up at them and yawns so wide that his jaw cracks.^^

I bet they noticed the blood also, there had to be some, on the front door.

^^ Unfortunately for Tim, the spot that Jason chooses to nudge happens to be where Tim’s injured foot is.

Tim just barely manages to keep himself from shouting. What comes out of his mouth instead sort of resembles a choked-off groan or yelp. Immediately, both boys are kneeling next to him, concern written all over their faces as Tim blinks away the sudden tears from his eyes.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry--” Jason begins, distraught, but Dick quiets him with a look.

“Tim,” Dick says, voice firm but gentle. “Where are you hurt?”

He refuses to look away until Tim hoarsely replies, “Left foot.”^^

Dick is such a big brother/mother hen here. Got a feeling Bruce is going to be just as bad. Not to mention Alfred.

^^ “Landed weirdly on my foot,” Tim replies, closing his eyes. “On the stairs.” The lie burns in his chest, but they either don’t notice or choose to not push.^^

They won't push for now. Later on they will.

^^ “Hey, Tim.” Dick’s voice sounds much closer than it previously did. Tim opens his eyes and finds Dick crouching next to Jason at his side. “Your ankle definitely looks sprained, possibly broken. We’re going to take you back to the manor so Bruce can help us figure out what to do, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim mumbles.

Dick smiles gently at him. “We’re going to carry you upstairs so you can grab some of your things, all right? You can hang out at our house and we can help you call one of your relatives or family friends so you can stay with them until you’re better. It’ll be safer to have someone keeping an eye on you instead of letting you hobble around everywhere by yourself.”

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t have any relatives nearby.”

Dick tilts his head. “What about any family friends that you could call?”

Another shake of his head. Frankly, Tim has no idea who his parents’ friends are other than the people who they occasionally chat with at galas, but he’s pretty sure that they don’t count.

“All right,” Dick says. “Well, you can always stay with us, but I bet Bruce is going to need to discuss it with your parents first.^^

Bruce is going to frown and look into Tim faster than he was I bet. Tim better be ready to live at the Manor for a while, if not forever soon.

^^ Both boys’ eyes fixate on Tim’s wrists as the sleeve of his hoodie slides back with the motion. He frowns in confusion before remembering the band-aids covering the scrapes on his palms. “I tried to catch myself when I fell,” he explains and then adds, “They weren’t bleeding too badly, but I didn’t want to get the couch dirty.”

Dick’s gaze sharpens and for a terrifying moment, Tim thinks that he’s going to get mad at him. But then his expression smooths out and he nods thoughtfully. “We can check those out at the manor. Tim, I’m going to pick you up so we can take you upstairs and grab some of your things. Sound like a plan?”^^

Dick isn't mad at you baby boy. He's angry that you had to deal with this alone. No one should have to deal with cleaning up and etc after getting hurt. Not to mention the part about the couch, you probably didn't even realize, caught his attention.

The scene of Tim getting carried upstairs makes me smile.

^^ A pang shoots through Tim’s chest as the front door closes behind them with a click. As they walk away, he looks over his shoulder at Drake Manor, stately and silent as always. He doesn’t know why he expected the manor to look any different without him in it.^^.

Because it looks like you never even lived there Tim. Plus, I'm hoping, it might be one of the last times you see it.

^^ Jason pulls out his phone as they head towards Wayne Manor. “Hi, B.” A pause. When Jason speaks again, he’s slid into something resembling his Robin voice in tone, if not in pitch. “We found Tim. He’s moderately injured. Looks like he has a few scrapes and his ankle is pretty messed up, so we’re bringin’ him back home with us… No, they weren’t there. He says that he doesn’t have any relatives or family friends that he could stay with either.” Another pause. “Nope, nothing… I know, me neither.”

“Have you eaten lunch yet?” Dick asks casually as they cross over onto the Waynes’ property. “We can have Alfred heat up some leftovers for you. He made some really good lemon chicken and potatoes last night that I think you would like. He also makes really good sandwiches and I think there’s some leftover soup in the fridge.”

“...A sandwich would be nice,” Tim agrees after a moment of thought before quickly adding, “But I don’t want to impose. You don’t have to feed me.”

“Nothing urgent,” Jason says into his phone, casting a sidelong look at Tim. “Yeah. Uh huh, all right.”

Dick cranes his neck to stare incredulously at Tim. “Of course we have to feed you, buddy! You’re, what, twelve? You’re still growing and you need the nutrients and energy.”

“Cool, see you soon. Love you, dad. Bye.” Jason puts his phone back into his pocket and turns to Tim. “Sorry, did I hear you say something about us not needing to feed you? What, are you a robot or somethin’?”

“Jason,” Dick says in warning, though his tone remains light.

Ignoring him, Jason barrels on. “Last I checked, you need food. Of course we’re gonna feed you. It’s not like Bruce can’t afford it or something.”

Tim watches Jason carefully, sinking into the back of Dick’s neck. “I know, I just don’t want to impose. That’s all.”

Jason’s face softens. “You’re never imposing on us, Timbo. Now come on, Bruce is waiting for us.”^^

I love how Dick is distracting Tim from the phone call while talking about food. Something was going on there and I bet it has to do with keeping Tim.

You are not a burden, Tim. You are not. You are loved.

^^ He’s smiling, but there’s an air of tension about him. Is he mad? Maybe he’s upset that Dick and Jason decided to bring Tim back to Wayne Manor without asking first. Or maybe he’s mad at Tim for spraining his ankle? Or he could have been doing important Batman business and was interrupted. It could be any number of things. 

“Hey, boys,” Bruce greets them. His eyes flit over them, presumably checking for injuries, before settling on Tim. “Hi, Tim. I heard that you had a rough night.”

Tim shrugs and tightens his grip around Dick’s neck, careful to not choke him. “I guess,” he deflects. 

Bruce’s unnerving gaze stays on him for a moment longer. If Tim didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn that Bruce has Superman’s x-ray vision. When Bruce smiles, Tim feels himself relax. “Let’s get you inside and we can figure out what to do, okay?”

They file inside the manor. As Jason steps past him, Bruce takes one of the bags from his hands and shoulders it. It just so happens to be the backpack that Tim likes to take with him into Gotham at night. The irony of Batman carrying a backpack that contains the camera that Tim has used to photograph the Bats for the past few years does not escape him.

“I’m going to take Tim over to the kitchen and get him some lunch,” Dick tells Bruce.

“All right.” Bruce nods and looks over at Tim. “Jason and I are going to take your things up to a guest room for you. We’ll be down in a few minutes, okay?” 

“Okay,” Tim replies. There are still traces of tension in Bruce’s face and Tim hopes that Bruce isn’t pulling Jason aside to yell at him.^^

No, no Tim. Bruce is not angry with you or your brothers. He probably tried calling your parents and couldn't get hold of them. That's it. He's worried.

Jason isn't getting yelled at. He's telling his dad his side of the events and then will have Dick tell him, his side. He's finding out what happened. That's it.

^^ Bruce hums noncommittally. “That’s good. Do you mind if I take a look at your ankle? Dick said that he’s already checked for any obvious fractures, so I won’t do that again.”

“Go ahead.” Tim nods and slides his now-empty plate away from him. Stepping over to Tim, Bruce removes the ice pack from his ankle and holds it in surprisingly careful fingers.

“That doesn’t look pleasant,” Bruce says, making a sympathetic face as he examines Tim’s foot.

Tim hadn’t bothered to fully check out his ankle yet and he’s inclined to agree with Bruce. In the light of the kitchen, the purple bruises wrapping around his ankle look like some sort of bizarre ankle cuff. The swelling has morphed his foot and ankle into something resembling one of those long, tubular balloons that clowns use to make balloon animals.

Bruce glances up. “Is it okay if I touch your ankle? I won’t check for fractures like Dick did ealrier, just swelling.”

“That’s fine,” Tim replies.^^

Why did Bruce repeat himself twice? To make sure it got through to Tim that he had choices?

^^ “Did you take any painkillers?”

“Um, I took two ibuprofen last night.”

“Nothing this morning?”

Tim nods and Bruce turns to Jason, who is already rummaging around in one of the cabinets.

“Here,” Jason says at last, tossing a bottle over to Bruce.

Bruce uncaps the ibuprofen bottle and shakes four pills into his hand. “I’m going to have you take four. I don’t like the look of that swelling. This will reduce it as well as help with the pain.” He takes Tim’s hand and pours the pills into his palm.

Tim swallows them with a sip of water. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”^^

Wait! Didn't Tim take some this morning also? Did he just forget?

I'm glad he's going to see Leslie. Especially since he hasn't seen a doctor in years it seems.

Awe. Jason and Dick both gave Tim piggyback rides. He deserves them. Now Bruce just needs to carry Tim.

I adore how Tim just wonders if the photos have the Justice League in them as he goes into Bruce's bathroom. The bathroom has to be huge! It's got to be the size of a room. At least it seems that way.

Bruce explaining what he is doing is great. Tim might think Bruce is doing it only to humor Tim but it's because no one knows how Tim will react, it gives Tim something to focus on, and even if I knew what they were doing, I want to be told. Besides I bet you Bruce does it to Dick and Jason all the time. Same as with Tim, it gives them something to focus on besides their pain.

Distraction from the pain is exactly what Tim needs and talking about Ace in his own train makes me smile. Especially when Bruce says they need to get Alfred's permission, not his. Alfred's in charge. Bruce is just the figure head.

^^ “Boo hoo, trust fund baby,” Jason retorts.

Without looking up, Bruce remarks, “You know, you probably wouldn’t have gotten so dirty if you hadn’t decided to do the worm in the dirt.”

Jason opens his mouth to say something, but Bruce quickly adds, “Please don’t subject me to hearing my children make jokes about Dick being dirty.”

“Do you know how many tabloid covers I’ve seen speculating about your love life?” Scoffing, Jason throws his arms in the air. “Too damn many, that’s what.”^^

Jason, you are a trust fund baby also.

Oh, Ra. Well y'all are certainly distracting Tim. Even if he is getting a little bit anxious.

^^ Some of the tension leaves Tim’s shoulders, but he doesn’t bother to fix his posture. It feels better, safer, when he’s curled a little bit into himself. Bruce hums and wordlessly continues bandaging Tim’s other hand. The next few minutes pass in silence as Bruce ties off the bandage on Tim’s hand and begins working on his knee. He moves quickly, efficiently, like he’s done this before. Then again, Bruce probably has lots of experience with patching up his own wounds.

At last, Bruce finishes wrapping Tim’s knee and gives his calf a light pat. “There, you’re all done.” He announces, taking a step away from Tim.^^

Thank you Bruce for seeing how Tim was feeling and calming his brothers down. You're a great dad right now.

(I know, I know they aren't brothers yet but they are acting like ones.)

^^ Bruce nods and turns to Tim. “I’m going to carry you down to the car, okay?”

He stares at Tim and it takes a long minute for Tim to realize that he’s waiting for Tim to respond. “Sure, okay,” he says. That was… weird.

Only then does Bruce step forward and slide one arm under his knees while the other wraps under his arms. Bruce effortlessly picks Tim up and strides out of the bathroom.^^

Thank you! I was hoping Bruce would get to carry Tim and he is.

Tim, you are worrying your family but they will be there for you. I'm glad they all are going to Leslie's. Well except Alfred but he's probably making sure everything is good for Tim to stay besides the room. (Which is going to become Tim's room correct? Or will he move closer to Jason later on?)

Bruce is such a dad ordering now ruff housing and seatbelts.

Chapter 6)

From the summary of the chapter, it looks like Tim is coming home to the Manor. Which is good even if Tim doesn't think so.

I love Leslie being the family doctor and Bruce just putting on a cap and sunglasses as disguise. He can't be seen in Crime Alley but his sons can? Weird.

Dick being the one who checks Tim in makes me grin. Bruce probably knows a lot about Tim already but he has to act like he doesn't and Dick knows more because of hanging out with Tim. That and to probably protect himself.

Bruce carrying Tim makes me smile. It's like he can't get enough of it but he's also not doing it without permission. The way he wraps the blanket around Tim....it's like Bruce is hugging him as Tim gets looked over.

^^ “I was told that you injured your ankle,” she says as she takes a clipboard out of a drawer. “I’m going to take a look at that, but first I’ll need to gather some baseline health information.”

“Okay.” Tim picks at the edge of the bandage on his hands instead of looking up at her.

“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs first to make sure that everything is functioning properly, okay?” Dr. Thompkins walks over to Tim and pulls out a stethoscope. “It has to go under your shirt and it’s going to be a little cold,” she warns.^^

Leslie is literally starting from the beginning because she does with all new patients and she has to make sure she is getting everything done correctly for future use and the case for Bruce to take Tim home with him and keep him.

^^ Dr. Thompkins looks through something in her clipboard. “All right. Now that we’ve gotten through all of the general check-up items, let’s talk about your ankle. First things first: what happened?”

“Fell down the stairs,” Tim explains. “My ankle buckled and I fell on my face. That’s how I got the scrapes, too.”

Her gaze flits to the bandages on his hands and knee. “Bruce already took care of those for you?”

“Yeah, he rewrapped them and everything.”

“Hmmm.” Dr. Thompkins writes something down on her clipboard. “All right. When did the injury occur?”

Tim shrugs. “Last night. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, so I went to sleep.”^^

Tim, Tim, Tim. You need to stop lying. They both have an idea you are. So please stop. Tell the truth. Please.

^^ Dr. Thompkins nods. “Oh, Chile sounds fun. I’ve never been. Do you know when they’re getting back?”

They’re approaching dangerous waters. Tim takes his nervousness and shoves it down, down, down. He swallows his fear and lets it sit in his stomach like a rock. “Later this month.”

“Do you have an exact date?”

“They haven’t scheduled their flight yet,” Tim says in lieu of actually answering her question. He’s well aware of Bruce’s eyes on him as he silently watches the exchange.

“And who’s watching you while they’re gone?” Dr. Thompkin’s voice remains frustratingly calm.

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Our maid, Mrs. Mac.”

“Where was she today?”

“Today’s her day off,” he replies, omitting the fact that she also has Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday off as well.

“Hmmm. When does she usually work?”

Tim tilts his head, regarding her. He thinks of his mother, her eyes as cool and unyielding as steel, toppling businessmen with poisoned words and a smile as sharp as a knife.

He takes the pain in his heart, sharp like shards of glass, and lets it slip into his words. Let him be cold, let him be unyielding. Let his raw, bleeding heart freeze over until it’s as cool as ice.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Dr. Thompkins, but you seem to be implying that my parents were unable to raise me to be a functional human being. I can assure you that is not the case.” He smiles, leans forward. “Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it.”

Dr. Thompkins raises an eyebrow and stares him down. Tim meets her gaze evenly, but she doesn’t flinch.^^

Tim, you are an idiot. A lovable one but still an idiot. She's asking questions because you are young and alone. Which you should not be.

^^ Leslie’s shoulders are tense as she leads Bruce into her office, shutting the door behind them. He doesn’t usually drop by during the day-- it feels different in the daylight. Fewer shadows, more peeling paint. How Leslie is able to hold her clinic and every person that passes through it together with her bare hands, he’ll never understand.

“Sit,” Leslie orders, gesturing at the worn leather chair sitting across from her desk.

Contrary to popular opinion, Bruce does actually have a sense of self-preservation. He sits..^^

Oh, different point of view. Leslie is on a war path. Bruce is also. I'm glad the two older boys came along so Tim is distracted as Leslie and Bruce talk.

^^ “The floor in his house wouldn’t have been enough to tear up his skin enough. The stairs outside his house could’ve done it, but Dick and Jason didn’t see any traces of blood. I think he fell onto something rough, possible concrete.” Bruce pauses and weighs his next words. “He would’ve had to be moving quickly to fall hard enough to skin himself like that.”^^

So Tim didn't leave any blood on the door.

^^ He shrugs and pushes the mental image of Tim fleeing from some unknown terror out of his head. “It’s a possibility.”

“Okay.” Leslie closes her eyes briefly. “He mentioned his parents’ flights. Did you check them?”

“They’re scheduled to fly out of Brazil and arrive in Gotham during the afternoon of October 25th.”

“And Tim doesn’t know,” Leslie says softly, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off an impending headache.^^

Sorry to disappoint you Bruce but Tim was fleeing from a van. So not really unknown but unknown enough.

Shit, the Drakes really are annoying. Not telling Tim? They probably won't say anything until they get home.

^^ He frowns and thinks back to what Jason told him earlier that day. “Tim doesn’t like anyone helping him with his homework. He acts like-- like he has to prove himself. When we ask him to choose something like food or an activity, he always says that he doesn’t mind and that he doesn’t want to impose. It’s like he’s not used to having an opinion. He’s nervous around me too, more so than around Jason or Dick."^^

That is because of Jack. I'm surprised Leslie isn't sending the report in. I guess they don't have enough evidence. At least Tim will be with Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Jason.

^^ Tim smiles, but it’s a little forced. They mean well, he knows that, but Tim would really like to be alone in a room for a while. He’s been around more noise today than he has for the past week and he kind of wants to scream.^^

Poor Tim. He's not used to being around a lot of people. School is different. I'm glad the others seem to understand that he needs time and space and are giving it to him.

^^ He ducks into his room and lets out a sigh of relief as the door closes behind him. Finally. Hobbling over to the bed, Tim carefully rests his crutches against the headboard before he flops back onto the bed. As much as he’d like to take a nap like he told Jason and Dick, he does actually have things to do.^^

Sleep boy! Youy parents will probably get hold of Bruce first, I'm hoping. Though I pray they won't take it out on you but they probably will make it seem like your fault.

Yes! I'm glad you slept but that fall had to hurt.

^^ Jason jabs the button for the first floor. “It’s so fuckin’ good, man. He taught me how to make it but I can never get it quite like his, you know?”^^

Jason, you are going to get caught cursing. Bad boy.

Ah, so Dick is working again. He should just move back home. I mean how many minutes would it take him to get to work and back? Love Jason's explanation on their proper goodbye. Like he didn't cry the first time Bruce left for a day or so without him. I'm sorry, nearly cry.

^^ Tim frowns, confused. “...isn’t Blüdhaven only a three hour drive away?”

“Yeah, but Dick is nineteen and living on his own. Plus, Bruce and Alfred are secretly worrywarts and big ol’ softies,” Jason blithely informs him. “Dick can take care of himself, but it won’t stop everyone else from fussing over him.”^^

Bludhaven is three hours away? I thought they were closer than that? Then again Wayne Manor is technically outside of Gotham, or is it? Where exactly is Bristol (?) compared to the city?

^^ “You’ve already hugged me,” Tim points out and hopes that he doesn’t look too excited at the prospect of another hug. He wouldn’t want the Waynes to think that he’s weird, or anything.^^

It's Dick. Dick gives out hugs like they're going out of style soon. Especially to family. So yes, enjoy your big brother hugs Tim. I would if I got one from Dick. Heck, I enjoy hugs from the whole family.

Tim's in the family chat! I want Ace pics now, please ans thank you.

Now what were you researching that you needed to know about knives Tim? Of course Jason sleeps through his alarm. He's tired from running around Gotham. Tim never had anyone to wake him so he isn't like Jason and Dick, who was probably like Jason until he woke up.

^^ “Sorry for waking you,” Bruce whispers through the narrowly opened door. “I’m just checking in on all of you.” Translation: he just got back from patrol and wanted to make sure that nobody died in their sleep while he was away.^^

Tim, you really aren't helping me think you're Jack's son thinking this...also, you cant sleep because you're used to running around Gotham. I wonder how Bruce stays awake during the day? Cat naps?

^^ Time blurs into an incoherent mass of grays and deep blues, the same color as the shadows around his room. Eventually-- finally-- Tim falls asleep.^^

Bet you it is around 3 or 4 am when he fell asleep. So if Tim is lucky he'll get about 3 hours of sleep. Which isn't good but at least he slept.

Chapter 7)

^^ As usual, Tim’s alarm blasts the sound of distressingly cheerful chimes at seven in the morning.

Groaning, Tim rolls over and hits the “stop” button on his phone’s screen. He takes a moment to blink at the ceiling above him before he remembers the events of the previous day. Sprained ankle. Wayne Manor. Right. He drags himself out of bed and uses his crutches to hobble over to the bathroom so he can shower before facing the horrors of Gotham Academy.^^

Oof. Two hours it seems. I wonder how many hours he usually gets? Heck, I wonder how many hours any of them get? Especially Alfred who is probably up way before anyone else.

Bruce, no! Why are you giving Tim coffee?!!? Alfred, why are you letting him?!?! Why do I have a feeling Bruce is the start of Tim's addiction?

Wait, you let him have it because he's a guest? You do know Jason's going to grab a full cup...you are bad Bruce. Bad.

LoL I love that Bruce literally made it a rule about the music in the car. He had to otherwise his kids will fight about the music Everytime they are in a car. Good job Bruce.

^^ School is school: occasionally interesting, but mostly boring. Jason carries Tim’s backpack for him between classes. Tim goes to the debate team’s biweekly meeting during lunch and silently looks through that week’s assigned debate reading. The other students make a few attempts to talk to him, but for the most part, they’re too involved in their discussion of which Ivy League colleges consider them legacies to try to rope him in.^^

This is making me think they don't debate at all. They all just joined to have credit on their applications, like the Drakes made Tim.

Tim, Bruce just wanted to pick you two up. Parents do want to spend time with their kids.

Jason, I swear your answers would make people think. I'm surprised Alfred lets them keep the chips and other snacks in the house. He also knows where the hiding spots are.

^^ This also seems to be the wrong answer. Bruce sighs and Tim watches him carefully, but Bruce only shakes his head. “Okay, let’s reset. What I mean to say is maybe you should take a break. Dinner is almost ready. After dinner, how about you work for an hour and then take time to relax?”

Tim blinks at him. “What?”

“You’ve been working nonstop since we got back from school,” Jason pipes in from his spot on the floor next to Ace. His nest of papers disappeared into his backpack a while ago.

“Yeah, because I have a lot of homework.” What is Bruce trying to say?

Bruce crosses the room and sits across from Tim on the couch. “How much of it is due tomorrow?”

“I’ve already completed everything due tomorrow, but I have a few papers and long-term projects that I want to work on.” Tim untucks his legs from under himself so he’s sitting properly. Bruce probably hates it when people put their feet on the furniture.^^

Bruce is trying to get you to relax Tim. You need to be a kid, not an adult. The feet thing he's used to. His sons do it all the time.

^^ Ace’s tail thumps against the floor and Bruce leans over to scratch him behind his ears. “Good. Oh, and Tim, I wanted to let you know that I was able to get in touch with your parents this afternoon. They agreed to let you stay here until they return.”

Jealousy curls in Tim’s stomach before he can stop it. Why did his parents talk to Bruce but not Tim? Maybe they were busy; they probably have a lot of work to do. Yes, that must be it. “Oh, thanks for letting me know,” Tim replies.^^

Stupid Drakes. They're going to blame this somehow on Tim, I know it. Even though he did everything he could to get hold of them.

I love Jim just emailing the Shadow to make sure he's okay. It's such a nice thing to do.

Tim fits right in with his family. The way they all include him somehow but also let him relax is great.

^^ To: Timothy Jackson Drake <tjdrake@drake.com>

From: Janet Lynn Drake <jldrake@drake.com>

October 18th, 12:01 AM (8 hours ago)

Subject: Re: Change of plan

Thank you, sweetie. Good luck with your sprained ankle and make sure to be a good guest for the Waynes.

We’ll be back in a week. In the meantime, look at these gorgeous photos that I took when we were in the Andes!

Love,

Mom

Attached:

Andes Santiago view 1.jpg

Andes Santiago view 2.jpg

Andes alpaca.jpg

Andes cloud forests.jpg

To: Janet Lynn Drake <jldrake@drake.com>

From: Timothy Jackson Drake <tjdrake@drake.com>

October 18th, 8:14 AM (just now)

Subject: Re: Change of plan

Hi Mom,

Those pictures are lovely; the Andes must be beautiful. I would love to see more pictures if you have them. You and Dad will have to tell me all about your trip once you’re home!

Are you in Brazil now? How is it?

Do you have a timeframe for when you’ll return? I know that you and Dad must be tired from how busy you’ve been and I’d love to do something special to mark your return.

I can’t wait for you to come home. I love and miss you both!

Sincerely,

Tim^^

Wait, Tim emailed and called them on the 7th but it took until the 18th for them to even email him? They talked to Bruce but can't even tell their own kid anything until it's like 11 days later.

^^ Tim watches, bewildered, as their heartwarming reunion quickly devolves into a lighthearted pillow fight. They don’t use any fancy fighting moves that they couldn’t be expected to know, but Dick is unnervingly good at somersaulting away from Jason’s pillow. The pillow fight ends with them both on the floor as Dick does something with his legs to pin Jason’s arms.

“It’s over, Anakin. I have the high ground,” Dick announces dramatically. He gives Jason one final whack in the face with a pillow before releasing him. Jason sticks out his tongue at Dick before crossing the room to wrap Tim in a hug.

Still tense from the fight, Tim leans into Jason’s hug and closes his eyes. Why are all of the Waynes so good at hugging?^^

You'll get used to it Tim. You just need to be shown that not every reunion ,etx is going to have someone get hurt or be angry.

Blame the hugging on Dick. Dick is a tactical person and Bruce and Alfred learned to adapt and then just kept it up with Jason.

^^ have a busy day planned,” Alfred says as he carefully watches Tim chop kale. “Most slow cooker recipes only require a few minutes of preparation and can be left unsupervised for eight to ten hours.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim says as he carefully scoops the chopped kale into a bowl. “I could start dinner and still not be late to school.”

Alfred’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Precisely. I shall send you the recipe for this kale and lentil soup. It’s one of Master Bruce’s favorites. It’s also excellent for growing children, as kale contains lots of calcium and iron.”

“Huh,” Tim says as he measures out the dried lentils. “Well, it looks good already.”

“Just wait until it’s done cooking, Master Tim. It will be delicious. Now, would you mind peeling these carrots for me? I need to check on the sourdough.”^^

Alfred's teaching his youngest grandson how to cook and it is making me smile. Tim, you won't have to use this recipe, hopefully, for a long time. It's for when your at college or in your own apartment, not now. Still good to know though.

^^ “He wouldn’t have to see your pictures. I mean, I think all of us would love to see your work, but we wouldn’t have to.” Jason pauses, eyes narrowing. “You don’t have to be scared of Bruce or hide stuff from him, you know. He’s not going to stop you from taking photos or judge you or anything. If anything, he’ll read a bunch of articles on photography and then buy you an obnoxious amount of equipment.”

A soft huff of laughter escapes from Tim before he can stifle it. “I’m not hiding anything,” he defends. “It’s just that I don’t usually show my photos to other people.”

There’s a long pause as Jason watches him continue to clean the camera. At last, he says, “I could mention it to him if you don’t want to tell him. I think he’d be thrilled, honestly. It’s a cool hobby and I’m sure that you’re really good at it. None of us will go snooping around for your photos if you don’t want us to.”

Tim shrugs. “If you want,” he says.

Jason leans forward, eyes bright. “So you want me to tell him?”

If he says yes, then he’ll hand Bruce a way to link Tim to Gotham’s Shadow. If he says no, then he’ll look suspicious and Bruce might start sniffing around more. It feels like there’s no right answer. Looks like Tim will have to pick his poison.

“Sure,” he replies. “I don’t mind either way.”

“All right,” Jason says, watching him carefully. “It looks like you’re busy, so-- see you later?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Jason stands up and walks out of his room. The door closes behind him with a quiet click, leaving Tim to continue cleaning his camera in peace^^

This whole section has me in love with it but this part especially. Jason saying Bruce would buy Tim photography stuff? Just because Tim is into it? Does Tim even realize that he's part of the family and this is Jason's way of telling him?

Bruce might not know your Gotham's Shadow yet Tim but he does know you need help. Yes, he might figure it out but I think it'll be good for you in the long run. That way you have backup in the future and your as safe as you can be which will be a relief for your family.

(Did Jason take a break from being Robin with Tim there or does he only go out in certain nights, which seems to be a fanon thing?)

^^ “I guess. I don’t take that until junior year, I think.” Tim half-shrugs and watches Bruce cautiously, waiting for his reaction. What does he want? Ever since Tim arrived at Wayne Manor, Bruce has routinely subjected him to questions about his activities. He’s still not entirely sure what Bruce wants to hear, but he’s usually satisfied after extracting a few inane details about Tim’s day. Bruce’s interrogations aren’t necessarily harmful, just confusing.^^

He's being a good and interactive parent Tim. Something guardians and parents are supposed to do. Which you aren't used to.

^^ It’s no big deal. They’re busy, so I guess they forget. Besides, they’ve got problems too and I can take care of myself,” Tim defends. “I can cook and clean up after myself. I can get to and from school. They even left me with one of their credit cards so I can buy whatever I need. I don’t need to be watched like a child.”

“Tim,” Bruce says patiently, “That may be true, but you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself like that. You’re thirteen, so you’re still legally a child. Just because you have financial resources doesn’t mean that you’re in a good situation.”

Tim frowns. “But my situation is good,” he snaps. “My parents are busy people. Between the two of them, they’re running an entire company and doing important archaeological research.”^^

^^ Tim fumes all the way over to the elevator and into his room. He angrily drops his backpack next to his desk and slides into his desk chair. Why can’t people just leave him alone?^^

Bruce points it out Tim. You are a child. A child should not have to take care of themselves. Adults are supposed to. I know it seems as if they are ganging up on you but they are worried. They want to help. Please let them help. Please.

Chapter 8)

Some email. I know they are going to be bad because of the warnings at the beginning but still...

The dinner sounds amazing. I hope at least Tim gets to enjoy it.

^^ Without any people in it, the manor feels like a ghost house. Tim turns on the living room lights and heads up the stairs. Bruce and Jason follow him. He tries to pretend like he doesn’t notice them looking around as they take in the house.

He nudges open his bedroom door and drops his school backpack next to his desk. “You can put my stuff down wherever.”

Bruce sets the duffel bag and crutches down next to Tim’s bed. Jason adds Tim’s night backpack to the pile before walking back into the hallway.

“I’m gonna put away the groceries,” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Thanks!” Tim calls back.

The room is quiet for a moment as Bruce glances around before his eyes settle on Tim. “I know that your parents are coming back tomorrow, but you know that you can call us at any time, right? The reason doesn’t matter. You can be sad or scared or injured or happy. And if you want one of us to come get you, we will. It can be the middle of the night and we’ll come. All right?”

Tim nods, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I know.” Not that he’ll need it, but the offer is nice.

Bruce watches him for a moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied. “Okay. I’m going to help Jason with the groceries.” He reaches out and pats Tim on the shoulder. Tim gives him a half smile before Bruce strides out of his room.^^

Of course they are looking around. They're looking for proof to get Bruce custody.

Thank you Bruce for reiterating that Tim can rely on you all. Here's hoping he actually does call. Even if it is not right away.

It took them until 10 pm to get home and they didn't tell Tim?!? He didn't even eat because he was waiting for them!

^^ Hand hovering over the doorknob of the front door, he hears one door click shut. He waits for a moment, but there’s no other sound. One door closing means that they’re sleeping in the same bedroom. Good; they’re probably not fighting right now. Smiling, Tim slips outside and starts hauling luggage inside.

Before he goes to bed, he makes sure to clear the table and load all of the dirty cooking dishes into the dishwasher. Tim grabs his backpack before he goes upstairs-- he doesn’t want to leave a mess in the living room, after all-- and heads up stairs.

He pauses for a moment, listening to the soft snores coming from behind his parents’ bedroom door, before he ducks into his room. It’s nice to hear the house sound alive for once.^^

Ugh, they are going to yell about Tim leaving their luggage down there aren't they?

Tim, your backpack is showing the house is lived in. It's not making a mess. Their luggage is making a bigger mess than you ever will.

You're so used to how lively Wayne Manor is now you didn't even realize what you thought, Tim.

I'm glad you can't go out into Gotham yet but I am also glad that you're at peace with riding your bike.

Uh oh. Stay safe Tim!

^^ At six-thirty, Janet sweeps through the front door, arms laden with takeout bags. “I bought us dinner from that Thai place you like,” she says, smiling.

It’s been years since Tim has eaten there, but he remembers their food being pretty good. “Thank you, Mom!” he chirps as he hobbles over to the cabinets to gather dishes to set the table with. Tim had hoped that they would be able to postpone last night’s dinner to today, but he doesn’t want to let the food his mother brought go to waste.^^

But your food can. That can wait, Tim. Have them enjoy the food you made! That can be dinner tomorrow.

I'm guessing the dinner went bad and got thrown out. Which sucks.

^^ At the end of his algebra class on Tuesday, his teacher passes out the tests that they took last week. Tim looks at the face-down paper on his desk, heart racing, before he steels himself and flips it over.

A bright red 82 stares back at him.

Eighty-two? His stomach does somersaults. It feels like something is squeezing his heart and filling his chest with lava. His skin is buzzing. Eighty-two is a B minus, not even a B.

The paper shakes in his hands, so Tim quickly stows it in his backpack before anyone can see his grade. Dizzy, he waits for his teacher to dismiss the class before he calmly walks to the bathroom and vomits into a toilet. He can faintly hear the muffled stampede as students rush to their various buses and chauffeurs.

Tim kneels on the cold tile floor and tries to control his breathing as he waits for the rush of students to die down. When it sounds like the main wave of students has left, he stands up, flushes the toilet, and washes his hands.^^

I would be happy with an 82. I hate when guardians and parents act like you need to be perfect. An 82 is great!

Tim needs a hug from his brothers now! It's going to be bad...I hope not but I know it will be.

^^ Numbly, he drops his backpack next to the front door and walks over. “What is it?” he asks as he takes a seat across from his mother and next to his father.

Jack slides a piece of paper across the table to him. It’s a print-out of his online grade report. This one is from his algebra class and displays the grade he received for each assignment. The most row containing the recent test is highlighted in glaring yellow.

“Notice anything?” his father asks mildly, eyes hard. He’s angry, Tim can tell. His shoulders are tense and he’s practically vibrating with it.

“I got an eighty-two on my algebra test,” Tim mumbles. His tongue feels too big and clumsy for his mouth.

“What was that?” Jack growls, leaning forward. “Repeat yourself. Louder, this time.”

“I got an eighty-two on my algebra test,” he repeats.

Janet watches him, eyes cool. “Tim,” she begins, “Do you know where these sorts of grades will get you?”

Tim swallows. “Not into the CEO’s office.”

She nods. “Exactly. These grades are unacceptable. You must not forget that your classmates will be your competition in the future. Everything-- your grades, comportment, everything-- can be used against you. We’re trying to prepare you for your future. If you continue like this, you’ll be a laughingstock. Build your armor now before you can be attacked for it later.” Seemingly done for now, Janet leans back in her chair.

“Right.” Tim nods. “Of course. I’m-- I’m sorry.”

“Your mother is right. And did you ever stop and think about how this will reflect on us?” Jack reaches out and slams his hand down on the highlighted 82. Tim flinches at the sound. The cursed number glares at Tim, yellow and garish, from the page. “You’re a Drake, Tim. What happens if, say, LexCorp finds out about this? They’re going to think that the future CEO of Drake Industries is weak and useless, and that will be like blood in the water.”

Absently, Tim notices moisture gathering in his eyes. He blinks, willing it away. “I’ll try harder next time. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Jack leans forward in his chair. “You’d better. Because you know what these grades are going to do for you? They’re going to--”^^

They can't even fucking call rhwie kid everyday but they can check his grades and get mad at him for not being perfect. B's will and are CEOs! Tim needs to understand that his parents are being assholes right now.

^^ Finally, he’s dismissed. Tim grabs his backpack and heads up to his room as quickly as he can with his foot still in the walking boot. The sound of his door closing behind him is a welcome relief. Tim lets his head drop for just a moment as he wills away a sob. Chest tight, he drags himself over to his desk and takes a seat. It would be best to avoid any more poor grades this week, so he opens up his algebra notes and starts studying where he went wrong.^^

You did nothing wrong Tim. Nothing! You shouldn't have had to apologize or even think you did something wrong.

^^ Tim focuses on his homework and tries to wait out the fight. Finally, someone-- Tim suspects that it’s his mother-- shouts something and there’s a loud clang downstairs. It doesn’t sound like something shattered, so he doubts that anything is broken. Good, that will make for less of a mess to clean up tomorrow.

Someone goes up the stairs and Tim recognizes his mother’s footsteps. They’re louder than usual; she must be angry. His guess is confirmed when she stalks down the hall and the door to his mother’s bedroom slams shut.

So they’re back to sleeping in separate bedrooms, then.

Algebraic equations blur as Tim’s eyes go unfocused. He hopes that the argument wasn’t over him. He’ll have to try harder next time if he wants them to stop fighting.^^

Why do you need to clean up their mess? They should do it. It's not your fault Tim. It isn't.

^^ Tonight, though, is Halloween. Every Gothamite knows that nothing good happens on Halloween, which is precisely why tonight is a good time for Gotham’s Shadow to reappear. There’s sure to be some sort of mischief going on that Commissioner Gordon will want to know about.^^

Lord please be careful Tim. Please. Something is going to happen and I don't think it will be good. I'm hoping I'm wrong though.

Scarecrow makes me mad and I'm sad for the kids. They just wanted one day to have fun and couldn't even get that.

^^ “I can’t believe the kind of nutcases in this city,” Jack says at breakfast the next morning. He gestures at the newspaper sitting in front of him and shakes his head. “It’s ridiculous. You’d think that Arkham would discipline the crazy out of them, but I guess not. They must be getting soft.”

Tim puts his now-empty cereal bowl in the dishwasher. “I’m going to head out. Don’t want to be late for school and all that.”

Sipping on her coffee, Janet barely glances up from her phone. Jack keeps talking animatedly, even as Tim grabs his bike helmet and slips out the door.^^

Jack sounds old school, like he want them to use electric shock and etc on them. I'm glad Tim got out of there safely. Hopefully he'll stay safe.

Chapter 9)

I'm scared for Tim just from the chapter summary. Here's hoping he goes to the Wayne's for help.

^^ Tim is pretty sure that he read something in the news about Batman and a few members of the Justice League fighting some killer robots in Star City earlier this week. And where Batman goes, so does Robin. At least Jason doesn’t look injured, so it seems more likely that his absences were due to him simply not being in Gotham rather than him suffering some terrible wound.^^

Not all the time since Bruce has been gone and Jason has stayed behind. Dick also. Especially if Bruce doesn't know what they are fighting which means keeping his sons safe and away from the danger.

^^ He nods contemplatively. “Good. And you’ve been doing the stretches that Dick showed you, right?”

“Yes, Mom,” Tim says, rolling his eyes.

Jason has the good grace to look slightly ashamed, but only slightly. “Sorry for mother henning you. We miss you over at the manor, Timbo.”^^

Love how Leslie gave him stretches but Tim listens to Dick more.

Let Jason mother hen toy, Tim. Let him!

^^ Tim sets down his algebra problems and hurries down the stairs-- there’s no sense in dilly dallying when his parents are in a mood. His parents are still in their work clothes and staring each other down in the kitchen.

“Set the table,” Jack orders without breaking eyes with Janet.

“What should I set it for?” Tim asks. “Do we need spoons, or--”

“I don’t care, just set the goddamn table!” His father snaps.

“Right, sorry.” Tim quickly carries a stack of plates and utensils over to the table. The sound of silverware clanging is loud in the otherwise quiet house. He doesn’t dare to risk glancing at his parents; at times like this, it’s best to avoid catching their eye.^^

Shit, Jack is in a mood. Why the fuck did they stay married if they take their marriage woes out on Tim who has no say in the marriage? He's just their son.

^^ His hands shake as he shoves his algebra homework into his backpack, but he leaves his laptop out since he doesn’t have any essays to work on. Shouldering his backpack, Tim heads back down the stairs.

Walking over to the kitchen table feels like he’s walking to his doom. Tim sets his backpack down next to his usual chair and sets his algebra practice problems in front of him. He sets his phone face down on the table too so he can double check his answers. Grabbing a pencil from his bag, he resumes working where he left off before dinner.^^

Why the whole backpack? The book I understand but the backpack? Especially to the living room.

Jason no! Tim no! Please don't. Please.

^^ “Hang on, Bruce is texting me,” Tim mumbles, frowning at his phone.

“Son,” his father growls, reaching for his phone. “We need to talk. Give me the phone.”

“What? No!” Frowning, Tim tries to twist away from his father’s grasping hands.

Jack looks pissed. Oh, Tim is so fucked. “I said to give me the damn phone!”

He grabs Tim’s upper arm and yanks him towards the head of the table. Tim hisses as his ribs collide with the edge of the table. Shock loosens his grip on his phone and Jack pries it out of his hand.

Before Tim can snatch his phone back, Jack stands up and glowers at him. “I’m trying to talk to you like an adult and all you do is ignore me and look at your damn phone!” he snaps.

“Dad…” Tim whispers. He can feel his heart pumping and his face is way too warm. His entire body is too warm, like he’s burning from within.

Jack turns and storms towards his office. Tim scrambles after him, unable to get his jaw to work properly. He freezes in the doorway as his father heads straight for his excavation kit and pulls out a hammer.

“How do you like this?” Jack snarls, raising the hammer. The screen is the first thing to shatter, but his dad keeps going. “You’re grounded and I’m taking away your phone privileges.”

Each strike of the hammer feels like a physical blow. His entire body is rushing, sinking, burning. He’s frozen in place, an unwilling witness as, piece by piece, his phone fractures into pieces.

When Jack finishes, he’s smiling triumphantly. Tim feels hollow, like someone scooped out his insides. Absently, he wonders if he would ring like a bell if someone hit him with a hammer.

“I won’t be dissed in my own house, son,” Jack says. His words sound very far away.

Tim nods. It’s all he can do. The rest of him is still frozen in place as he stares at the remains of his phone.

“Go finish your homework,” his father orders.

“Yes, Dad,” Tim says numbly.

Somehow, the command is enough to force his unwilling limbs to march back to the dining table. His body takes a seat, but Tim’s mind is still somewhere else, drifting. He feels unmoored. Everything is muffled like there’s a fine layer of snow between him and the world. It feels like he’s looking from the inside of a fishbowl, all smooth, impenetrable glass.

Tim stares at his homework until, mechanically, he picks up a pencil. He absently solves each equation, barely comprehending the numbers in front of him. Apparently it’s enough for his father, who doesn’t reemerge from the office.

Eventually, Jack stalks out of the office and up the stairs. Janet follows suit twenty minutes later, taking her book with her. She turns off the living room lights, leaving only the soft backlighting of the kitchen. Tim stays at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the numbers in the dim light, until his eyes begin to drift shut against his will. Only then does he finally peel himself from his seat, gather his papers, and numbly head upstairs.

The numbness echoes in him until he falls asleep. Even then, it sinks its claws into the fringes of his dreams, turning them gray and murky.

He dreams of sitting on a cool concrete rooftop, its cold permeating his entire body. He dreams of panicked trick-o-treaters running through the streets below as he sits on a rooftop, hidden and forgotten. He dreams of flickers of capes passing him by, of the hiss of grappling guns and delighted laughter fading into the distance.^^

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Damn you Jack! Damn you Janet!

Tim, please tell Jason the truth. Please.

^^ When he wakes in the morning, he still feels off. This time, he feels less like he’s controlling his body from inside a fishbowl and more like… feeling nothing at all. An all-encompassing numbness hugs his chest and nestles somewhere in the space between his ribs. Tim breathes deeply with one hand pressed to his heart. It’s still beating, but its pulse is faint.

He forces himself through his morning routine and his classes are more mind-numbing than usual. Tim shuffles into his usual corner of the library, hidden from the prying eyes of the librarians, and settles into a chair. It feels like he should do something, but what? He doesn’t feel like reading.

Tim ends up staring at the wall, mind blank, until something moves in a blur in front of him. He starts, flinching away from the motion and curling up. He stays like that, dark and safe, for a few seconds until he registers that someone is murmuring soothingly to him.

“Hey, it’s all right. It’s just Jason,” Jason whispers softly from somewhere nearby. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

Slowly, Tim lifts his head up from where he’s pressed against his knees. “Hey,” he says, voice cracking. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

Jason wordlessly spreads his arms, a silent question. Tim leans forward until he can press his face into Jason’s shoulder as the other boy wraps him in a hug.  

“Shhhh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Jason murmurs as he rubs Tim’s back.

A few heartbeats pass and Tim finally pulls away. Jason stands up and takes the seat next to Tim. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tim says hoarsely. “Sorry. I-- didn’t sleep well. Nightmares.” It’s a bad lie and he knows it.

“Are you okay?” Jason asks, brow furrowed. “I just-- you didn’t respond to any of our texts last night. Bruce and I were getting worried.”

Tim shrugs half-heartedly. “Broke my phone.”^^

Jason is so telling Bruce. Especially since he knows you didn't break your phone and how scared you are right now.

^^ He frowns. “You failed a test this week. I really don’t think--”

“But I’ve studied really hard since then and--”

Jack cuts him off, eyes hard. “Don’t interrupt me. Bad grades mean no going out. That’s a rule, son. You--”

Tim interrupts, clenching his hands into fists. “Come on, Dad, they invited me and everything--”

His father’s hand moves and Tim flinches instinctually before the side of his face flares in pain. It takes him a moment longer to process the harsh sound of skin hitting skin. The slap hurts fiercely. Tim raises a hand to his stinging cheek and stares at his father, eyes watering.

“You need to learn how to follow the rules,” Jack says harshly. “I’m doing this for you, Tim. You’ll thank me someday. I can’t just let you run around when your grades are slipping.” He stands up and Tim takes a step back, eyes burning.

Wisely, he keeps his big mouth shut. His face hurts. He should’ve known that asking about this now would be a bad idea. He should’ve known--

His father turns and marches up the stairs, fuming. Tim watches him, rooted in place.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Tim jumps. “Your father is right, you know,” Janet says calmly. “We’re only trying to help, but you keep sabotaging your grades.”

Tim nods weakly. His cheek is on fire and his face is on fire and his heart is burning. He’s melting.

“Come on, Tim,” she orders, shoving him none-too-gently towards the stairs. Tim stumbles forwards, but he’s having trouble getting his legs to work. All he wants to do is hide in a hole somewhere, preferably for the next twenty years or so.

Frowning, Janet grabs his arm. “I said come on,” she hisses, fingers digging into his arm. She yanks on his arm until he finally shuffles after her, head bowed.

 Janet mercilessly tugs him up the stairs and down the hall to his room, her hand like an iron vise. It might as well be wrapped along his lungs because it feels like he can’t breathe. From inside his room, there’s the sound of crashing. Tim’s heart plummets as Jack steps out, dragging Tim’s television along with him.^^

What the fuck? A 98 /89 is not a failing grade! What the fuck is up with these two?!?

Plus taking everything away because he talked back and 'failed'? Fuck them!

I hope to Ra they go to jail and get what they deserve.

^^ Besides, Tim just isn’t feeling it. When he’s in Gotham, he’s closer to the stars than to anything else in his life. Tonight, he’s stuck on the ground, staring up at the insurmountable rooftops like a bird without wings.^^

Tim, tell Jason! Tell him!

Chapter 10)

^^ Tim spends most of Sunday sleeping as the bone-deep numbness morphs into exhaustion. He’s so tired and there’s not much for him to do except for studying, sleeping, and quickly hiding his laptop whenever he hears footsteps in the hallway.

Blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a shroud, Tim stares at his reflection in the mirror. The hit to his face didn’t bruise too badly. It’s a bit swollen, but at least the discoloration is enough that it could be covered with some good concealer. His arm, though, is another matter. The place where his mother grabbed him is marked by a deep blue and purple bruise. Tim can almost see the outline of her fingers. At least it’s only on his upper arm and it’s cold enough outside to justify him wearing long sleeves until it fades.

He leaves his room exactly twice. Once, he leaves to sneak a box of froot loops into his room. He always maintains a stash of nonperishable food in his room, but there’s no sense in depleting his hoard when he could still get food from the kitchen.  The second time he leaves is when his parents call him for dinner. Dinner is quiet and stilted, but Tim will happily take silence over screaming. He excuses himself as quickly as politely possible and shuffles back upstairs so he can collapse into the sweet embrace of his bed.^^

Oh, I'm hoping, and it certainly seems like it will happen, Jason finds out and Tim let's him know everything. Everything.

It'll hurt but also get Tim home sooner to his dad, brothers, and grandfather.

^^ Monday rolls around, but he doesn’t feel much better. Tim goes through the motions of forcing himself to roll out of bed and bike to school anyways. He covers the light bruising on his face with a judicious application of concealer. (Thank god for makeup tutorials on YouTube; they’ve been helping him cover the bruises from his nights out in Gotham for years.)

He has his usual debate team meeting during lunch, so he doesn’t run into Jason. School goes as usual and Tim bikes back home.^^

Damnit! Here I was hoping Jason would see him.

^^ Something about the smile on Jack’s face feels off and Tim doesn’t like it. He steels himself as Jack stands up and strides over to him. Jack lifts a hand and Tim tenses, but he only takes Tim’s hand and… hands him a new phone?^^

^^ They walk up the stairs together and head over to Tim’s room. The first thing Tim notices is the new television on his wall. It’s kind of unnecessarily large. There’s what looks like a wii console under it and a stack of video games.

“Do you like your new TV?” Jack asks, looking hopeful.

Tim forces a smile. “I love it! Thank you.”

“We got you a bunch of games too. Oh! We also bought a new camera for you.” Jack pats a compact digital camera sitting on Tim’s desk. Already, Tim can tell that it doesn’t have the same long-range zoom as his old camera. “It’s brand new. We got you a nice tripod for it too.”

“Oh, wow, thanks! I’ve never used a tripod before,” Tim says. The tripod would probably hold him back when he’s running through Gotham, but he doesn’t mention that little detail.

Jack smiles. “We’ve also increased the monthly spending limit on your debit card from ten thousand per month to twenty thousand. If you ever need more, just use our card instead of yours.”^^

This is creeping me out....are they trying to buy his silence? Because it sure seems like it.

Damn, I hope Tim can get his old camera back.

^^ Tim turns on his new phone and links it to his Drake Industries account. Seconds later, it begins downloading his contacts, messages, and photos from his account. Looks like he has a bunch of missed messages from Jason and Dick. He flips through them, but it’s just them suggesting which movies to watch.

On a whim, Tim starts typing a message to Jason and Dick.

Chat: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and 1 other person

Tim [11/05, 3:41 PM]: Do you know if clones retain all of the memories of the original person, or would it take special technology to do that?

Tim [11/05, 3:41 PM]: Asking for a friend.

Jason [11/05, 3:42 PM]: ????????

Jason [11/05, 3:42 PM]: what the fuck?

Dick [11/05, 3:44 PM]: TIM YOU HAVE A PHONE AGAIN!!

Tim [11/05, 3:45 PM]: My parents got me a new phone.

Tim [11/05, 3:46 PM]: I’m worried that they might have been replaced by clones or something. They’re acting really weird.

Dick [11/05, 3:47 PM]: what do u mean by weird

Jason [11/05, 3:47 PM]: weird how?

Jason [11/05, 3:47 PM]: jinx

Jason [11/05, 3:47 PM]: you owe me a soda

Dick [11/05, 3:48 PM]: fuck u jay

Dick [11/05, 3:48 PM]: ok but tim, what u mean by weird

Dick [11/05, 3:49 PM]: do u need help?????

Tim [11/05, 3:49 PM]: I’m fine, don’t worry.^^

Tim...you just worried your brothers even more.

^^ Tim [11/05, 3:53 PM]: They bought me a ton of video games out of the blue. I think they got me Fortnite. Who even plays that anymore??

Jason [11/05, 3:54 PM]: they got you fortnite?? HAHAHAHA oh my god

Dick [11/05, 3:55 PM]: do kids not play fortnight anymore???????

Tim [11/05, 3:57 PM]: 1) I’m not a kid. 2) No, they do not.

Dick [11/05, 3:57 PM]: wow i feel old

Jason [11/05, 3:58 PM]: you are old

Dick [11/05, 4:00 PM]: thx im really feeling the love 2night

Jason sent 1 picture

Tim opens the picture and laughs. It’s of Jason sticking out his tongue while he flips off the camera.

Dick [11/05, 4:02 PM]: idk much about clones’ memories but i will srsly fight ur parents clones if u need me to

Jason [11/05, 4:03 PM]: wait do your parents not randomly buy you stuff?? they’re rich

Dick [11/05, 4:03 PM]: ooooo jay has a point

Oh no. Abort mission.

Tim [11/05, 4:04 PM]: They buy me plenty of stuff, guys. Like you said, they’re rich.

Tim [11/05, 4:04 PM]: Nevemind, forget I said anything.^^

Case in point.

^^ “Listen, just forget that I said anything about clones or whatever,” Tim sighs, leaning back into the uncomfortable wooden library chair. “Like I told you, it’s probably nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Jason shoots back. “Listen, if your parents are acting weird--”

“Jason, it’s fine.” He throws an arm over his eyes before realizing that his white sleeve is perilously close to the concealer covering the bruise on his face. Primer, setting powder, and setting spray might not be enough to keep the concealer from staining the fabric. Tim pulls his arm back, but he doesn’t see any concealer marks on his sleeve. Good, he doesn’t need anyone asking more questions right now, let alone Jason and the rest of the Waynes.^^

To late Tim. Way to late.

^^ For the rest of the week, Tim makes sure to be as polite as possible. He minds his posture and practices his company manners at dinner. His parents seem relatively pleased, but Tim can’t help but wonder what he’s missing. He has to be missing something. It feels like he’s playing whack-a-mole with his parents’ expectations.^^

I think they are leaving again.

^^ His guidance counselor-- Mr. Williams-- beckons for Tim to come in. “Hi, Tim. You can take a seat wherever you’d like. Ms. Fletcher has some questions for you. I’ll let you both get to it-- if you need me, I’ll be in Ms. Rivera’s office next door.” He stands up and leaves, closing the office door behind himself with a click.

Tim sits down in the seat next to the mystery woman who is apparently Ms. Fletcher. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, extending a hand to shake.

She shakes his hand and smiles. “Hi, I’m Mary Fletcher and I’m a part of New Jersey’s department of children and families. Is it all right if I record our interview?”

“That’s fine with me.” He sets his backpack down on the floor next to the chair.

Ms. Fletcher nods and takes a slim device out of her pocket. After she hits the record button, she leans back in her chair. “I’m Mary Fletcher and I’m interviewing Tim Drake on Thursday, November eighth for the department of children and families.”

“The department of children and families… does that mean that you’re part of CPS?” Tim tilts his head and guides his face into a confused frown. Hopefully his use of CPS instead of the New Jersey-specific CPP will throw her off.^^

Yes, yes, yes! Thank you Leslie! Thank you Bruce! Now please tell the truth Tim. Please.

Wait...oooh! They were trying to buy his silence! Damn the Drakes!

^^ He shrugs. “If I get a bad grade on a test because I was texting instead of studying, they’ll take away my phone for a while so I can actually study.” There, that’s relatively close to the truth. “If I ever get really upset over something and I start getting way too angry, they’ll send me to my room to cool down.”^^

I'm liking the CPS lady. She's a badass and seems like she really wants to help the children out. Instead of only pretending to. Bruce made sure she was a good one, didn't he?

^^ A smile slides easily onto his face, but that speaks more to a great deal of practice rather than any amount of sincerity. “Of course!” he replies, as if the answer was obvious. “My parents love me and are fortunate enough to have more than enough financial resources to be able to provide for me. I’m really very lucky to be in this situation.”

“I’m glad to hear it, honey. You’re a good kid, Tim.” Ms. Fletcher smiles back at him. “Well, I think we can start wrapping things up here.”^^

She got enough. Tim knows she did, she knows she did, anyone with a brain knows she did. No wonder why Tim threw up again. Baby boy needs love and care.

Edit: Okay, I still like her but rereading makes me wonder if the Drakes were the ones who called CPS now. Should I not like her?

^^ “If you’re doing as well in school as you did with this, then you must be at the top of your class,” he remarks. “Speaking of, how is school? Did anything interesting happen today?” There’s a gleam in his eye that Tim isn’t quite sure what to do with, so he defaults to being smiling and polite.

“School was good,” he replies. “There weren’t any quizzes or tests today.”

Nodding thoughtfully, his dad keeps smiling. “I see. Well, keep working hard,” he says, and lets the matter drop.^^

Oh, thank you for not lying but not outright saying you got a visit Tim. Thank you. You just saved yourself from more hurt.

^^ As he pours himself a bowl of cereal, Tim dimly realizes that he forgot to ask where his parents were going or when they would be back.^^

They aren't coming back are they? It seemed like a lot of luggage...

^^ His new camera isn’t nearly as good at his old one, but the docks are relatively quiet by Gotham’s standards. Tim spots a few low-level drug dealers but they aren’t the source of the problem so he leaves them alone. He mostly spends his time revelling in how the cold from the metal shipping containers seeps into his stomach and the feeling of the sea breeze on his face. The docks aren’t as visually pretty as the rest of the city, but Tim appreciates how the reflections of the streetlights dance in the waves.

At one in the morning, he calls it a night and heads home. Exhausted, Tim collapses into bed and thinks of nothing for a long, long time.^^

What happened to his old camera? Did they take it with them? Or did Tim not think to get it?

Sleep Tim. You're going to need it because a talk is coming. A talk that is needed.

^^ Tim stares at himself in the mirror. The seemingly perpetual bags under his eyes look much better and the bruise on his face has faded to an ugly yellow and green. It’s noticeable enough that he’ll need to keep covering it with concealer for a while, but it’s not too bad. The bruise on his arm, however, is a different story. It’s still blue and definitely hand-shaped. Ugh.^^

Good luck because it isn't going to work but I'll still wish you luck.

^^ Sighing, Tim throws an arm over his face. Normally, he doesn’t mind hanging out with Dick and Jason. He enjoys it, even. But right now, it feels like there’s ice spreading through his bones, numbing him. Tim is made of skin and flesh and bone and a terrible emptiness lurking in the space between his ribs. He’s hollow, but his limbs may as well be made of lead.

Jason [11/10, 2:42 PM]: what are you doing rn? you should come over.

Jason [11/10, 2:42 PM]: we can talk alfred into making us cookies.

He sets down his phone and throws an arm over his eyes. Doing anything other than laying on his bed sounds like literal torture. Maybe he should take a nap.

Tim is so, so tired.^^

Tim, baby boy, I just want to hug you do bad. You need it.

^^ “Oh, good. We’ve been trying to call you and I suppose I panicked a little when the boys said that your parents weren’t home.” Bruce admits.

“Sorry,” Tim says after a moment. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“It’s all right, Tim. We’re just glad that you’re okay.” Bruce says gently. There’s the sound of what’s likely Dick and Jason squabbling in the background. Bruce pauses as if listening to someone and then adds, “Would you like to come over for dinner?”

“Make sure to ask if he wants to have a sleepover!” Jason calls, though his voice is muffled.

“Jason is asking if you want to have a sleepover. Dick is nodding,” Bruce adds, amusement coloring his voice.

Tim picks at a loose thread on his sheets. “I don’t want to impose….”

“Tim, you’re never an imposition,” Bruce says warmly. “You’re more than welcome to stay over any time you like.”

He pulls at the loose thread as he considers the offer. “Okay,” he says at last. “I’ll sleep over tonight.”^^

Sleepover forever!

Bruce is not letting you in your house by yourself and you know it young man. So good job on saying yes.

^^ Bruce hangs up and Tim stares at his phone for a moment before sighing. Time to pack, he supposes. First, he should throw on a sweatshirt to hide the bruise on his arm. Next, some jeans instead of his old sweatpants. He packs quickly-- he’s only staying over for one night, after all-- before hurrying into the bathroom to carefully cover up his bruise with makeup.

His setting spray has only just dried when there’s a knock on the front door. Tim shoves his makeup and makeup remover into his backpack before he hurries down the stairs.^^

You think it's only one night. Also, Jason knows about one bruise already and i know Bruce knows so give up and tell them. You won't be able to hide them.

^^ “A little tired, but I’ll manage. I spent most of the morning playing with Ace and keeping Dick from accidentally breaking any more furniture. Then I dealt with some WE business and collaborated with Jason to hide snacks from Alfred,” Bruce replies. “He almost certainly knows that we’ve snuck junk food into the house and is merely humoring us, but trying to sneak past him is part of the fun.”^^

Of course taking care of Dick is a full time job even with him not in the house. How does he manage on his own? He literally eats whatever Alfred packs him. I bet he barely tries the recipes either.

Alfred knows. It's not most certainly, it's certainly, Bruce. He lets you sneak past him. It's fun for him also.

^^ A few minutes later, Tim drops off his things in the guest room that he stayed in last time. Other than the freshly made bed, the room looks largely the same. Afterwards, Bruce walks Tim over to his bedroom, where Dick and Jason are sprawled out on Bruce’s unnecessarily large bed. An assortment of snacks sits on Bruce’s nightstand with more in two trays perched on the bed. He gets the feeling that Alfred was responsible for the platter of sliced vegetables and dip, but hey, it looks good.^^

Time to take over dad's bed! I love when Bruce can't even sleep in his own bed without a kid coming in or he gets kicked out of it because the kids want to sleep but no dad allowed.

^^ Tim hesitates for a moment, looking between Bruce and Jason, before he finally gives in and climbs onto the bed. It’s alarmingly comfortable-- the mattress must be memory foam or something. He crawls over so he’s sitting on Jason’s other side and Dick pushes a blanket over to him. Tim leans back against the mound of pillows and wraps the blanket around his shoulders, pulling his knees up to his chest.^^

Relax with your brothers Tim. Your dad better be getting custody of you. (I'm a bit impatient but I want Tim home.) (Or he's making sure the evidence is airtight.) Let Dick and Jason care for you for a while.

^^ Bruce returns as the third movie is beginning and takes his place between Dick and Jason. They waste no time in curling up against him with Dick’s head pillowed on his shoulder and Jason draped on his side.

“Wait, hold on,” Dick says, rolling out of the bed and walking around to Tim’s side. Perplexed, Tim watches as Dick flops down next to him, leaving Tim sandwiched between Dick and Jason.

“You look like you need some certified big brother cuddles,” Dick informs him seriously, holding out his arms.

“O--kay,” Tim says, drawing out the word as he stares at Dick.

Dick wiggles his fingers impatiently. “Come here, Timmy. You look like you need to be wrapped in blankets.”

“On it,” Jason says from Tim’s other side, peeling several blankets from the outside of his next and dropping them onto Tim.

Finally, Tim gives in and scoots closer to Dick. As soon as Tim settles, Dick manages to wrap an arm around him and Jason wriggles closer, still cocooned in blankets. Jason doesn’t quite use him as a pillow, but he does rest his head next to Tim’s side. It has the bonus of being close enough to Dick that he can gently pet Jason’s hair with the arm wrapped around Tim.

“You guys are a bunch of mother hens,” Tim informs them, but his words lack any real heat.^^

Dick cuddles, Dick cuddles, Dick cuddles! I love this. Tim getting the cuddles he needs from his older brother is pure love.

Awe. :( Why you kick them out Bruce? Let them sleep in your bed! Wait, I mean their bed.

^^ “Do you know when your parents are coming back from their trip?”

He can feel Bruce’s eyes on him. Tim bites his lip and fiddles with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before replying, “I forgot to ask.”

Dick gently knocks their knees together. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Bruce nods in agreement, expression neutral. “Dick is right. Did your parents tell you where they’re going?”

“...I also forgot to ask about that,” Tim says and hastily adds, “Sorry.”

Wordlessly, Dick reaches out and slowly wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders. He telegraphs his movements enough that Tim has time to force himself to relax before Dick gently pulls him closer.

“It’s not your fault. We’ll figure it out,” Bruce reassures him. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ll be honest, Tim. I’d like for you to stay with us until your parents return like you did when your ankle was healing in October.”^^

Considering it was 5:30/6 in the morning, I'm not surprised you forgot to ask Tim.

Yes! Stay! Stay forever!

^^ “They refused to let me come over here the last time that I asked them to,” Tim shoots back. It’s technically a lie of omission: his parents refused due to his poor grades, but Bruce doesn’t need to know that. Lying to the literal Batman makes his skin prickle, but Tim meets Bruce's eyes steadily nonetheless. “They’d probably be pretty angry if they found out you were involved.”

Now, Bruce looks faintly intrigued. He tilts his head minutely. “Angry?”

Next to Tim, Dick tenses slightly before it drains away as if it never happened. He continues to rub soothing circles into Tim’s shoulder.

Tim shrugs and studies the bookshelves behind Bruce. “I didn’t do well on a math test. They were angry that I wanted to come over here instead of study.”

Dick makes a sympathetic noise. Snapping his book shut, Dick sets it on the coffee table before bringing his free hand up to rub Tim’s other shoulder.

“Tim,” Bruce says, painfully gentle, “Does this have anything to do with how you got the bruise on your face?”

Tim freezes, his chest burning white-hot, before he turns to fully face Bruce. “What? How--” He’s been so careful to cover it with makeup every day since the incident. What happened?

“I saw it last night when I was checking in on all of you while you were asleep,” Bruce explains. He’s infuriatingly calm. It kind of makes Tim want to yell, to scream, to destroy something.^^

You did perfectly well on that math test. The Drakes are just assholes.

I knew it! Bet you it was before Bruce even checked on the boys.

^^ “Someone can love you and still hurt you. My goal is for you to be safe and happy, Tim,” Bruce replies, his voice even and measured. “We don’t have to talk about long term plans right now. But until your parents return, I would like you to stay here with us. I want to work with you and help you.” Dick places one hand on Bruce’s arm and gives him a look. Bruce quiets, closing his mouth.

“You can’t just-- just come into my life and uproot everything. I had a life, Bruce!” Tim shouts, balling his hands into fists. His chest burns white hot. Dimly, he suspects that he might be crying.

Bruce’s face remains infuriatingly calm. Part of Tim really wants to punch it, but instead he only clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in trying to help me, but I don’t need you sticking your nose into my business! There are so many other things that you could be focusing on. Gotham needs your stupid help, but you know what? I don’t!”

He stares Bruce down, tears running down his face. Burning hot flames fill his chest and distantly, Tim notes that he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon. It takes a moment for the weight of his words to sink in and for Tim to realize that he just yelled at Bruce Wayne.

Tim just screamed at Batman.

Oh, he’s so fucked.

Tim distantly registers Bruce’s mouth moving as he says something, but the words are lost to the rushing in his ears. Bruce reaches out for him and Tim flinches away without thinking. The weight of Bruce’s icy blue eyes clamp down on his chest and make it hard to breathe. He just yelled at Bruce Wayne.

“--deep breaths, Tim,” Bruce is saying, his words distant as if spoken underwater. “I’m not going to hurt you--”

Tim stares at him, eyes burning with tears and chest burning with fire, and bolts.^^

Well...that's a good way of telling them you know their secret....wait, did they even catch that?

Tim, please don't. Don't run.

^^ He reaches a bedroom door that part of his mind faintly registers as mine, so he darts inside. The door slams behind him and Tim jumps at the noise, scanning the room for hiding places. His eyes land on the closet and Tim barely thinks before he opens his closet door and launches himself inside.

Closets are good. They’re quiet and dark and safe. Tim finds a stack of blankets in the corner of the closet and quickly burrows underneath them. If anyone sticks their head in, hopefully all they’ll see is a pile of fabric.

Tim huddles there in the dark, draped with blankets, and tries to control his breathing. He’s panting, gasping for air like he’s just run a marathon, and his heart feels like it’s trying to claw his way out of his chest. His entire body is buzzing with adrenaline.^^

At least you stayed in the Manor. Thank you for that. Now let them help you. Please. Especially since you revealed even more by running after yelling st Bruce.

^^ Eventually, Tim’s breathing calms enough that he can talk without gasping. The first thing he says is, “Bruce is going to be so mad at me.”

“He’s not mad at you,” Dick counters. “Worried, yes, but he’s worried for you. I promise.”

“He thinks that--” Tim gulps down another breath and wipes away tears from his eyes, “That my parents are bad people. But they love me, I know that they love me.”

Dick pauses. “I don’t think that people are fully good or fully bad,” he says at last. “I think that we all try our best, and sometimes we can love someone but still hurt them by accident.”

Tim sniffles and wraps his arms around his knees. “I just want my life back,” he says miserably. “Why can’t everything stop being so hard?” His voice cracks on the last word as a fresh wave of tears pours down his face.

“I know,” Dick whispers sadly. “Want to come here?” He holds his arms out in open invitation and Tim is so tired and his head hurts and his chest still feels weird and he’s weak and just wants someone to hug him for a bit.

Scrambling out from under the blankets, Tim crawls over to Dick and sits down next to him. Dick wraps his arms around Tim and pulls him into his chest, and Tim starts crying harder. Wow, Dick is good at giving hugs. He keeps up a steady stream of murmured reassurances and things that are soothing to listen to even if Tim isn’t really processing them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad--” Tim gasps, but Dick only kisses the top of his head.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe here,” Dick says gently as he rubs Tim’s back. “We’re not mad at you.”

Slowly, the hot, tight feeling in Tim’s chest eases until it fades back into his usual muffled fog. His tears, too, lessen from a combination of dehydration and exhaustion until they stop completely.

“I’m tired,” Tim mumbles into Dick’s shoulder.

Dick strokes Tim’s hair. “I’ll bet. Does this sort of thing happen often?”

Tim half-shrugs. “Sometimes,” he mumbles. “Not always.”

“Okay,” Dick replies easily. “If you’re tired, you could try taking a nap. What do you think?”

Tim nods and Dick adjusts his grip on him before standing up, carrying Tim like a child. With his usual easy grace, Dick picks his way out of the closet and walks over to the bed. He gently deposits Tim on the bed and grabs a blanket to drape over him.

“You need to drink some water before you sleep,” Dick says, scrounging a glass from-- somewhere, Tim has no clue-- and padding over to the bathroom. Over the sound of the faucet running, he calls, “Do you want me to get Ace for you?”

Tim contemplates this for a moment before nodding. It feels like his brain was run over by a truck and he would really, really like a warm, fluffy dog on his bed. Realizing that Dick can’t see him, he belatedly replies, “Yes, please.”

Dick crosses the room and hands Tim the glass of water. “All right, give me a minute to find him. Drink the whole glass.”

Tim sips at the water as Dick leaves. A few minutes later, he slips back into the room with a happy-looking Ace. Ace wastes no time in hopping onto Tim’s bed and flopping down next to him. Smiling, Tim snuggles into the blanket and scratches behind Ace’s ears.^^

I'm glad thst Dick went up. Bruce would have been to much, Alfred also. Jason would have worked but I also think he would have done something wrong, even if he didn't try it.

Ace is the best. He's exactly what Tim needs and I'm glad Ace can help.

^^ “I’ll let him know.” Smiling gently, Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “And by the way, welcome to the Yelling At Bruce Club. Everyone in the house is a card-carrying member, so you’re in good company.” He leans forward and kisses Tim’s forehead. Tim makes a face but doesn’t really protest.

Dick makes his way to the door and pauses, glancing at Tim and a very comfortable Ace. “Text any of us if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim replies as he rhythmically strokes Ace’s ears.

Still smiling, Dick slips out of the room. It takes less time than Tim would’ve thought for him to fall asleep.^^

Dick is the best oldest brother. I say oldest because it is a tie between him and Jason for being the best older brother.