#good thing cass is smart and she knows when to back down from her bullshit

[caitlynmeow]

As much as Donna loves her she can be stern when needed and it always works on this wild child.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there. 

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super. 

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door. 

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down. 

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t  d i d  i  f u c k i n g  t e l l  y o u ,  d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection. 

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father. 

okay that was funny. 

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm. 

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends? 

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead. 

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping. 

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that. 

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them. 

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there. 

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

~~

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan  @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption​ @capricorn-stark​ @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer @buticaaba​ 

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[malfoysqueen54]

White Flag  Part 3

Dean and her grew up together, trained together. Also, absolutely can’t be in the same room without a fight ensuing. When she has to come back and help out the boys and their friends. If she stays too long will all her secrets come out. She swore he would never know, circumstances and their friends and family, they might have other ideas.

Pairing- Dean x OFC

Warnings: Angst!, oh and ANGST! Triggers for Alcohol and drug abuse. Anger issues. Dean angry and yelling. (That needs a warning). Eventually smut. Sexual situations, cussing, blood, gore, the usual Supernatural warning.

Thank You @winchest09!! Always you rock and talk and beta for me. You are a Rockstar!!!

Also Thanx to @jensengirl83​ she made sure I didn’t miss anything. Love ya girly!!

Sam was pacing around the room, Benny was making multiple phone calls as Dean drank. Whiskey always cured his troubles.

“Really, I mean I know you don’t care, but you could try to help,” Sam snapped at his brother. Dean’s eyes traced to his sibling who looked very worried. He glanced over at Benny, who mirrored the same expression as Sam. “I do care,” Dean huffed. 

The snappy retort made his brother snort in derision, “Yeah, sure.” 

That rueful smile crossed Sammy’s face. Dean withered slightly, he hadn’t worried about the horrid wench that caused nothing but headaches for him for a while. This time, he had a bad feeling; four months and she hadn’t spoken to anyone. He called to tell her off for the car she bought Jack but she never answered. She hasn’t answered his calls in years. Sam, Cass, or even Jack. Hell, anybody but him, she answered within the hour.

It irked him, but it never bothered him. At least that’s what he told himself. Yet, when Benny came back within the week, checking every home and hideaway she had and there was no answer, he grew concerned. She hadn’t taken any of her go bags, her bank accounts, even the hidden ones were untouched; something was wrong. He felt it in his bones and that feeling never boded well with them. She was in trouble.

Y/n  was a special kinda bitch in his book. Nothing and no one touched her without a crazy kind of surprise, or one hell of a plan beyond monster capabilities. This was a new hurdle.

The fact that Sammy doubted him wanting to find her or know what happened made his skin crawl. They may fight, shit, they hated one another, but he still wanted her safe. He NEVER wished her gone or dead; even if that’s how she made it seem over the years. She forced herself to be a ghost to them since the Mark of Cain.

He didn’t know why or even how the crazy woman did it, but she ghosted them. She was ruthless and wickedly smart, he would give her that. Her scars ran beyond skin though, to her core, and not even Sam knew them all. Hell, maybe no one did, even Benny. The vamp had become her companion, her best friend and he was happy to have him  here, on his side. 

Something was definitely wrong, they just had to figure out what. Sammy even called that bullshit British Men of Letters hunter, Ketch. As psychopathic as he was, was an excellent resource. 

“You heard from Ketch?” he looked at his brother. Sammy just sighed and shook his head, looking down to his phone. No answer from Ketch meant no good news, at all.

Ketch was one of the pricks torturing Y/n, that’s why. Good ol’ Chuck saw his uses and used him. Nothing would stop that ruthless tea-swilling serial killer. Well, at least she had something pretty to look at.

“Well, now are you going to tell us the whole story Ms. Y/l/n?” Ketch asked, sheathing the blade he held.

Y/n’s smirk was her answer but she retorted just the same, “No, Mr. Ketch, but if you fancy a fuck, I am just laying about,” her brow crooked for what it was worth below swollen eyes, cuts that bloodied her vision, and bruised ribs that made it hard to breath.

The Brit turned to her and smiled, “Well, that is a fetching idea. Yet, I’m not allowed to play with God’s toys.” He leaned against the desk eyeing her, “You were always a beautiful woman. A vividly talented hunter, resourceful even beyond your abundance of wealth. Yet you,” his lips smacked in shame, shaking his head, “you stopped at Dean Winchester, what is that man’s pull? Truly, I want to understand.”

“You couldn’t,” she said simply. Looking at him gave a slight shake to her head, “No, not a sociopath like you. No empathy, no morals, you feel nothing. No guilt, no remorse, you hold nothing that would make you capable of wrapping your warped little mind around why I feel like I do about Dean. Plus, he doesn’t know and wouldn’t care.” A dry smirk was thrown his way as she let her head fall back against her restraints.

He eyed her, processing her, “Him knowing how you feel or the things you have done for him, terrifies you. You! I have seen and heard of the things you have fought and done.” He shook his head, folding his hand into his lap, “Yo-you’re formidable,” he shrugged confused.

Y/n snorted, “Obviously not,” jerking her wrists that were tied down for emphasis.

“No, no. it’s something more,” he dismissed her.

“Dean, flaws and all, is something you can never understand or be. Dean can’t help that he cares so much and he hides it. He can’t shake his loyalty, it’s a huge fault. Dean does whatever he has to for whoever he loves and cares about,” she growled.

Ketch smirked in realization, “And that’s not you. He has no love or loyalty to you. That’s why you accept this.” He gestured around, “You believe Chuck is wrong. Dean won’t care about anything you have done. Dean won’t care if you’re gone.”

“That’s right. He won’t.” She knew that for a fact. “I’ll give it to you, he will be surprised, but he’ll shrug it off.”

“Hmm.” With that Ketch got up and left the room. Y/n let her head fall back with force. Good thing she put her affairs in order years ago; everything she had would go to the Winchesters and Benny. Benny deserved a break from her. Benny had stuck by her side for years, put up with her boozing, drugging, and her massive attitude issues with no explanation from her. She even left a few tricks for Rowena. She did adore that sassy redheaded witch.

Ketch entered Chucks office sneering. A roaring fire, mahogany furniture, a desk the size of Sam. God did like to overcompensate.

“How is it going?” Chuck’s voice drew his attention, taking off his glasses with that smile of his.

Pursing his lips, “The same. She isn’t easily persuaded.”

Chuck sighed pursuing his lips rising from his chair turning to face the big picture window. “It’s been months. I might have to approach this differently. She is an anomaly, I can use her. I just need to find out how.”

“Maybe, it might be prudent to find out exactly what she means to Dean. I mean she may not be the chip you think she is to him. From what I know and heard from them, Dean is not a fan.” Ketch interjected.

“Dean also will still protect her, she is like family, and the others love her. So no, I can use her. Especially with the information I have, believe me I know what I am doing.” Chuck’s eyes cut to Ketch with a sneer reclaiming his seat at his desk. “Not only that, but once he knows EVERYTHING,” God’s eyes narrowed cruelly, “It will destroy them both.”

Ketchs brow quirked. “Are you going to kill her then?

The shorter man’s head shook back and forth, and he chuckled. “ Why? She is doing that to herself already. I don’t have to help with that.”

Ketch was confused. “Then why did you actually need her if you know everything?”

Chuck was silent a moment his jaw tensed. “Cause I know what happened, but not the details. I NEED the actual details. Which is why I have you,” he growled.

“Ah, I see. Well, it must be something big, if she is this tight lipped,” the taller man retorted, grabbing a drink from the wet bar.

The twinkle in Chuck’s eye unnerved him. “Oh it is, I heard the rumors, but the brutal truth. Oh thats why she is destroying herself. Fascinating to watch how humans react to things. That is why I need the truth, every nasty detail, of it all.”

@thorne93 @pegasusdragontiger @st-eve-barnes @suz-123 @magellan-88 @my-proof-is-you @carryonmywaywardwriters @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @winchest09 @emoryhemsworth @ formulafun @delightfullykrispypeach @janicho88 @anathewierdo @flamencodiva​

[thepaperpanda]

Sharing Is Caring|| Tommy Shelby x Reader x Alfie Solomons

Summary: You're having double life, one is by Tommy Shelby's side, one by Alfie Solomons. What will happen if they'll find it out one day eventually?

Warnings: none

Words: 2503

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Tommy growled annoyed at bedsheets shifting next to him, it was still early. Too early. Too early even for waking up but he forced himself to open one eye.

His blue orb scanned the figure that still stood next to bed.

"You are up already? And leaving, love?," He asked with his voice still husky because of the sleep. "This is kinda rude, you know? Sneaking out."

You smiled at his words, him being awoken didn't stop you from packing your stuff to leather, black bag that was overhanging by your right shoulder. "The sun hasn't yet dawn, Thomas, you can sleep a little still," you told him, turning to face your boyfriend. You leant down and touched his temple with your soft lips. "I have some things to do and unfortunately, the day has only twenty four hours."

Tommy chuckled and slowly sat up only to leave the bed second later.

His arms wrapped around your thin waist, pulling you closer to his still naked chest. Tommy nuzzled to your hair, inhailing their scent before letting out a sigh.

"You know, love? It's getting really suspicious and what really fucking bother me is fact that my woman try to sneak out of the bed like some kind of whore," last word was nothing but a soft growl, all he wanted was to emphasize what he was having in mind.

You stroked his cheeks with your hands and shook your head like you'd be saying 'no'.

"I understand, love, but you know that I am busy with leading my shop," you explained and slipped out of his arms.

"I can understand that my work can take whole days but a fucking dress shop? Really? I have feeling you are fucking with me now and not in a good way, love," Tommy said with a frown.

"Love, could those eyes of mine ever lie to you?," You looked at him briefly as you left his bedroom and went downstairs, where you took your thick, black coat off the hanger and put it over your shoulders. "I wouldn't lie to you, ever," your voice was sweet and tender, maybe a little too emotions could be heard in it.

Tommy walked downstairs after you, thinking deeply. He didn't like this at all and it wasn't the first time you were running away like that.

You turned to him and walked closer, your hand touched his cheek.

"I love you, remember this," you informed him tenderly before you left.

The morning was rather chilly, wind blew strongly ruffling your locks of your hair.

That day you were walking pretty fast along the street, your heels tapped the sidewalk rhythmically.

After some time, you turned down a side street and almost started running. Finally, you reached the little house with red door and small squared windows in a lead frame that were framed with simple platbands and had an unary sun blind.

You got up porch steps and knocked to the door few times.

The door opened.

Alfie looked at you as he crossed arms over his chest covered with white, crumpled shirt.

"Oh, would you look at that! Fucking princess decided to fucking show up. What? You quit whoring around and decided to come back home, huh?," He said looking down on you with a frown.

You cocked your brows at him. "Yes, Alfie, I'm glad to see you, too," you scoffed and leant against door frame. "I couldn't come earlier. I was busy with my business. May I come in?"

"Yes, yes, I heard it all before. Your fucking business, always fucking out, fucking bullshit," Alfie muttered and walked back to living room, leaving door opened for you.

You smiled to yourself, it was already a good sign that he let you in.

Solomons' house was full of extraordinary things gathered everywhere around.

You followed him to the living room, taking coat off during the way there.

"How have you been, Alfie?," You asked sweetly approaching him and nuzzling to his wide back.

Alfie moved away.

"How do you fucking think? Alone, woman. You fucking just left without a word, pet," man growled and moved to pour himself a drink. "Fucking whore," Alfie said before finished his glass in one big gulp.

You let out a sigh and took a seat on his couch, crossing legs nicely.

It was common behaviour for Alfie Solomons, he was pretty good at cursing and disparaging people.

"Alfie, please, don't behave like a spoil brat who's had his rattle taken away," you used the softest of soft tones you could have made. "We're both adults, you know that I also have my business that needs to be run professionally," you added making sure your dress moved a little up your thighs so your legs were nicely exposed.

Alfie laughed loudly and looked at you.

"You? Business? If you meant whoring around, then you're not wrong, pet," he growled and looked at you. "Guess what, miss? I was getting fucking tired of you sneaking out, so in the end I sent my boys after you. You spent two hours at your stupid, little hole you call the shop and then you got where? Ah, right! To Shelby's house. Was a good, old Tommy Shelby buying a dress from you? Whole fucking night?!," Alfie roared and grabbed you by wrist, pulling you up back on your feet. "You think it's a smart move to fuck with me in that way?!"

His words made your blood freeze. You swallowed saliva and licked lips before you spoke aloud. "Why did you have to do this, Solomons? It was a perfect scheme and you had to fucking destroy it because of your fucking jealousy?!," You pulled hand out of his grasp and went to the window to peek outside.

"Fucking why?! You dare to ask my fucking why?!," He growled and pulled you closer to him, his hands grasped both of your cheeks. "Because the woman that I love fucks this gypsy trush behind my fucking back and treat our bed like a fucking hotel."

You let out a deep, sad sigh and tried to hold tears back.

"I'm so sorry, Alfie... I just... I've met him when you were making businesses with him last year. Few weeks ago we met again, and, I can't explain it... He was charming... You were angry all the time, busy all the time, you were using me only to fulfill your lust and needs!," You said openly, your body shivered.

"You don't fucking sit in my head, woman! You have no idea what I'm thinking about!," He yelled at you. "I worked to make sure you have everything you ever fucking needed but sure! It's simply better to go fuck someone else!," Alfe muttered, letting go of your face.

"Alfie...," You whispered as tear strolled down your cheek. "Please... Forgive me... Please, love."

"Go to that gypsy psycho, go ahead. Doors are there," he said simply, pointing on the door, then he filled his glass again and sat at the armchair to drink its content.

You lowered your head, it was pointless to argue with him and try to explain yourself when he was pissed like a ravenous pack of hounds. You put your coat on , tightening its flaps around yourself and left his house without a word.

-----------

Tommy was getting annoyed without you, he hated when you were gone and he was forced to stay alone.

He decided to do the most logical thing possible, to pay you a visit.

-----------

Tommy's hand gently banged on your door as soon as he was in front of them, after few knocks he waited for you to open.

In the meantime he lighted his cigarette up.

You shifted a curtain aside and peeked out of the window, as soon as you spotted familiar figure at your door, you let out a loud sigh and went downstairs to open them.

"What are you doing here, Tommy?," You asked trying your best to keep voice clear and strong.

Tommy looked at you with a frown.

"You cried," man said bluntly before wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you inside. There was no point in hiding something like this from him, he knew all of this too well. "What's wrong, love?," Tommy asked as his gloved hand gently caressed your cheek.

"Please, don't, Tommy," you asked quietly as you shifted away from him, moving to the living room where you flopped onto the couch. "I've... I've done something bad... Really, really bad and no, Tommy, you can't do anything about this..."

You bursted in tears, they were rolling down your cheeks like little pearls.

He watched you, helpess. Letting out a quiet sigh he started to undress himself from the coat. Soon, he joined you on the couch, his arms wrapped around you just like at the morning.

"Love? What happened? I will pull you out from any troubles, you know this," Tommy said before his hand found your smaller one and grasped it gently.

"You won't pull me out of troubles, Tommy. I'm the fucking trouble myself," you cursed in harsh voice, rubbing your temples. "Listen, there's something you need to know about me. I wasn't fully honest with you that day when you asked me if I have someone."

Tommy looked at you completely puzzled.

Suddenly the door bursted open and Alfie walked inside. He was holding bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

"Okay, love! You were right, I shouldn't behave like crazy bastard I am, so I came to apolo....," Alfie said loudly and walked to living room only to witness you wrapped in Shelby's arms. "Oh, am I bothering? I see you fucking decided to make up your fucking mind," Alfie snorted viciously, throwing bouquet on the floor.

Tommy looked deeply unimpressed.

"What the fuck you want, Solomons, eh?," He growled, protectivly tightening his arms around your waist. "Haven't you fucking heard about knocking to lady's door?"

"Oh, just fucking shut up. I would knock if she would be a lady, but she is just a whore!," Alfie barked back.

You were looking at them both, moving your glance from one to another. You got up quickly and screamed, using all of your strength.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

Tommy was ready to rip Alfie's throat out for you.

"Why?! Look at this fucking Jew, who the fuck he thinks he is to simply burst in here?," He growled.

"This 'fucking Jew' is as close to her as you, gypsy fucker," Alfie stated simply, taking his hat off.

"What the fuck is this maniac talking about, Y/N?," Tommy asked.

"Tommy, he's my partner. Both, in business and in life," you explained shortly as you lowered your head. "I am so sorry. So sorry. Apologies are necessary to both of you. I was leading double life. I couldn't have decided which one of you is better for me. You both are amazing men, you both have something that turns me on..."

"What?! How could you do this?!," Tommy growled surprised and grabbed your hand. "One cock really wasn't enough for you?!"

Alfie grabbed Tommy and easily pulled him away.

"Wo-ho there. No need to be physical, Thomas. Come on now, we need to talk," Alfie asked coldly.

Tommy, still with raging anger inside him, gave a brief nod to Alfie and followed him outside.

You fought with burning need to follow men but eventually you decided to stay home and wait for them to return.

--------

After half an hour or maybe even longer, both men returned. One of them knocked on the door and they both waited.

You opened the door and shifted aside so they could enter.

Both man walked inside.

"So," Alfie began.

"We talked," Tommy finished and looked at Alfie "And we came to some conclusions."

"If you can't chose between us two...," Alfie said and looked back at Tommy.

"We will share," other man finished simply with a sigh.

You blinked and covered your half-opened mouth with curled palm. You sat heavily on the couch, glaring at both of men in disbelief. "I think my ears have tricked me, what did you say?

"We are going to share you," Tommy repeated.

"We will be in relationship that takes three of us together," Alfie shrugged, rubbing his long beard.

"And you have agreed on this, Alfie?," You couldn't believe on what you've heard. "I mean, how do you even imagine this?"

Alfie shrugged once again.

"I would do whatever I could to make my angel happy, so I am even capable to get some agreement with Shelby if it comes to you."

"We'll do everything to make you happy. You're important to both of us after all, isn't it true, dear friend?," Tommy stated as his glance moved from your figure to Alfie.

"Uhm, yea, your happiness is priceless, Y/N, innit, Tommy?," Alfie cocked his brow and massaged his scar.

You watched them with mouth hung open.

"You really want to give it a shout, Tommy?," You asked him as you got up and moved closer to him, playing nervously with hems of your dress.

Tommy looked at you and nodded.

"If this will make you happy, then I am more than eager to try. I just hate to see you crying."

"Would you look at that? Good, old Thomas fucking Shelby is going soft for a woman," Alfie laughed harshly.

"But I am also willing to break this fucker's nose," Tommy growled, throwing mean glance at Alfie.

"Oh, yeah, again? Ain't it enough for you that you almost got me killed?!," Solomons pointed out, crossing hands behind his back and tilting his head.

"Gentlemen, easy," you tried to calm both man down. "Alfie, I know how possessive you might get, are you sure you'll take it?," You asked as your glance moved to rest on his steel blue eyes.

Alfie looked at you and nodded.

"I will. I will do whatever I can, sweetheart. Only to make you happy."

"I don't know how to thank you, both of you!," Another wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. "I don't want you two to kill each other just because of me and my lack of decisiveness. I'll share my time equally to both of you," you assured them with a little smile.

Both men looked at each other and nodded.

"Sounds good to me," Tommy agreed and soft smile crept onto his face.

"We have a smart girl," Alfie said proudly and Tommy cringed softly at these words, cold shiver ran along his spine.

"So, I think we have something to celebrate," you grinned at them and wiped your tears away while going to the kitchen. You grabbed three glasses and returned to the living room. Soon, glasses were poured with whiskey. You handled one to Tommy and one to Alfie. "To us," you toasted.

Both men raised their glasses up as well.

"To us," they said in unity.

Pandies🐼: @imidarogerson @grossograsso @thewildgardensstuff @leven-and-ashley @la-verdura @bearded-steve-rogers @sebbystan-plantlover​ @atuckyismylife @krispyjellyfishzombie @personality-within @haseki-huricihan​ @choppedgardenwhispers​ @vroobelek​ @lattimelka​ @chris-beamz​ @hidden-secrets69​ @purepearls​ @volcanoxxx​ @kastrup-sofie​ @mikkal-akasaki​ @withoutashadowofhope​ @radbluebirdeagle​ @marvel-fan-site​ @smutloversblog​ @buquete​ @super-psycho-love69​ @tanglesss​ @peter-sommer​ @baysidewest​ @vegemania​ @philip-stan​ @chodiusmmm​ @subwaystunnel​ @tykorclint​ @dagger-dragger​ @kurant​ @nothing-can-least-forever​ @oxfordkipem​ @deliciousbouquet90​ @tuptuptup​ @hellenna80​ @karina-marina9​ @latimeriaaa​ @bratko​ @wurld89​ @scott-evans​ @kiss-me-rouge​ @ovonel-espaniol​ @dancing-tacco​ @ratugadhi​ @white-tiger-shangrila​ @axn69​ @eternal-life-awaits​ @mrs-laura-harmon​ @artsy-inside​ @gleeeeees​ @darkllaama​ @jatut​ @agawux​ @fuzzy-tigrrr​ @jrjohnsson2​  @maaargoshaaa​ @dontgetmewrongman​ @einexx​ @nwmtagsb​ @anini71 @secretlygrantaire @kyloren-supreme-ben @infinity-stones-seeker @thehappyspider @wings4life  @huxyluxy @dontbeafraidchild @misafiryanki @electronicpatrolcollective @thisismysecrethappyplace @aulika @hidden-secrets69 @a-happy-wolf @creative-seahorse @biologyforliving​

[crime-scene-psychic]

Some of my personal TFW Supernatural headcanons that you can either choose to accept or die

Sam Winchester headcanons:

Sam definitely watched Quantum Leap as a kid. Dean made fun of him because he said the show was nerdy (even though he secretly kinda enjoyed it). Now that they live in the bunker, Dean bought Sam the box set so he can watch it whenever he wants. He has now rewatched the show eleven times. (Sam ships Al and Sam).

 Sam was vegetarian while dating Jess because she was and had convinced Sam to go veg as well. Sam still tries to be vegetarian, but it’s hard while on the road.

Sam was religious growing up because Dean had given him a golden cross necklace that belonged to Mary. Sam keeps it in his secret box.

Speaking of Sam’s secret box, some of the things in the box are movie ticket stubs from dates with Jess, the program from his graduations (which Dean was the only one to attend both), a worn bible he “stole”, both of his diplomas (high school and Bachelors), Mary’s necklace, Polaroids of friends from college, a postcard from that time Jess went to France over the summer (it’s filled with X’s and O’s), a copy of Great Expectations that he had purchased in a used book store when he first arrived in California (it’s very worn and Sam has underlined a lot of passages), one of John’s many Marine medals, the beer cap of his first beer, and finally, a selfie that he and Dean had taken a while ago that Dean didn’t remember, but Sam definitely did. An engagement ring is also in there. It was meant for Jess. Sam was going to propose after acing his law school interview. The day never came to put it on her finger.

Sam considers going back to school sometimes, but isn’t sure it would be for law. He sometimes wonders if Classics would be a good major for him to pick up.

Sam knows Dean would support him going to college at Kansas State, he just is afraid to leave Dean and hunting again.

Sam excessively drinks Respect Wahmen juice.

Sam’s waaay too into politics and forced Dean to go voting (even though he just picks the ones Sam does).

Sam watches Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime religiously and is a Shaniac because Shane reminds him of Dean. He watches Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural when he needs a good laugh. It reminds him of the Ghostfacers.

Sam’s favorite food is mac and cheese with marshmallow fluff to this day.

Sam is a lightweight.

Sam’s favorite color is plaid. 

Sam still doesn’t know a damn thing about cars.

Sam was in a feminist organization while at Stanford.

Sam is proud of being a Midwestern and always retweets those Midwest memes because they are nice and accurate.

Sam doesn’t like to swear, but will when angry, which always takes Dean by surprise. Sam refuses to say “fuck”.

Sam is a bit head over heels for the archangel Gabriel.

But, Sam also loved Eileen Leahy.

Sam Winchester is queer.

Sam likes dogs so much because once when he was three he got separated from Dean in a park and was crying until a police dog came up to him and licked his tears away. The dog barked to notify that Sam was lost and he was found. He now would trust a dog with his life.

That purple dog shirt? His favorite. He didn’t get rid of it, it’s just at the bottom of his duffle waiting for the right time. 

Sam is not a fan of the Hot Dogga.

Sam kissed a boy in high school. 

Sam is into Marvel. He loves Bucky Barnes with all his heart.

Sam is more of a English and History kinda guy.

Trans guy Sam is a good headcanon, let me tell you.

Dean Winchester headcanons:

Dean isn’t sexist, stop that.

Dean is actually smarter than anyone gives him credit for. He dumbs himself down to lessen people’s expectations (especially while in school) and to shine light on how smart Sam is.

Dean is a fan of the Hot Dogga.

Okay, Dean isn’t that into Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, but he likes Supernatural and Ryan because Ryan is a little like Sam (at least to Dean he is).

Dean is an amazing cook.

Dean has actually considered going to community college. 

Dean taught himself how to fix cars.

Dean is really good at math and science. 

Dean dropped out of high school to get a full time job to support Sam.

Dean is more DC than Marvel to the horror of Sam.

Dean doesn’t like pets. At. All.

Yeah, Dean’s into that kinky shit ngl.

Dean’s favorite show is NCIS: New Orleans.

Dean read once. It was awful.

He doesn’t really understand social media, but Sam set him up a Twitter and he kinda just bullshits his way through it. He somehow has over a thousand followers.

He can hold his liquor.

Dean is really good at dancing.

Dean hates sour candy.

Dean used to gamble pool when Sam was a kid so he could afford to buy Sam new clothes and books since all Sam got was hand-me-downs all the time. Sam suspected it was Dean’s doing, but Dea always denied it.

Dean doesn’t mind herbal tea, but he prefers black coffee mostly for the aesthetic. 

Dean collects beer caps in a Mason jar in his room at the bunker.

Dean’s favorite color is black (like his soul).

Dean had an emo phase. It lasted only two months and in those two months Sam roasted the shit out of him.

Dean is a really good singer. He sings Sam back to sleep when he has nightmares. 

Castiel headcanons:

He’s really into John Wayne movies because of Dean. He unironically says “yeehaw”.

He and Sam bond over the belief that all dogs are good.

He has indeed confirmed that all dogs go to heaven and so do cats.

Castiel hates when people write his name as “Cass” because there is only one “s” dammit.

Cas touched Dean’s butt once on accident but now it’s on purpose.

Cas watched porn once. It was alright, he guesses.

He still doesn’t trust snakes on account of the whole Garden of Eden thing.

No cops at pride, just Castiel smiting douchebags.

Sometimes Cas visits Sam’s heaven and talks to Jessica, telling her that Sam will be up soon to see her. She has chocolate chip cookies prepared.

Yes, he and Dean are dating, before you ask.

Castiel can make some mean scrambled eggs. He doesn’t even get the eggshells in anymore.

Cas uses too many emojis while texting. This annoys Dean and amuses Sam.

Cas feeds stray animals when they show up at the bunker.

Castiel misses Charlie a lot. He visits her heaven when he can.

Cas has a pet goldfish in his room. His name is Daryl.

Speaking of which, yes, Cas has his own room even though angels don’t need to sleep. It was Dean’s idea. He wanted Cas to have his own space whenever he needed it. He also wanted Cas to know that he is a part of the family.

Castiel was given a camera from Dean for Christmas and now takes as many pictures as possible. Sam takes him into town to develop them.

Cas is asexual.

Castiel wishes PB&J’s didn’t taste like molecules to him now.

Cas is 100% responsible for finding a bunch of hidden rooms in the bunker. Sam and Cas now have four different forts hidden away from Dean. They go there to read.

[softpunks]

we can fly / jason todd-centric / 3.8k / for jason todd birthday week

“I told you this was stupid.” Jason tells Dick.

“Shut up.” says Dick miserably.

Damian glances at him. “You look stupid, Todd.”

Jason sniffles. “You think I don’t know that?”

AKA: 16 prompts for jason todd’s birthday. 

read it either on the ao3 link above or keep reading

i. — first

The stars are dazzling from this view. This is Jason’s first thought. 

Tim, who is the sibling that ends up riding the ferris wheel with Jason since the only one really willing to ride with Damian is Dick, notices the look of amazement on the older’s face. “Have you ever been here before?” he asks. 

“No.” Jason admits. Entering cost money, and though it was relatively easy to sneak in, it was a bit disheartening to see families and friends enjoy themselves and carelessly spend their pocket change on snacks and games when you were a hungry orphan who didn’t have any of those. Back then, Jason would make sure to not even look twice at the rides, because that would only sour his mood more. “Not if you count loitering outside.” 

“So this is your first time.”

Jason can’t help but bristle, even though Tim doesn’t mean anything bad with his comment. He’s just stating a fact. “So?”

They’re here for Damian, really, because Dick said he lacked a proper childhood — they all did, to some extent, but somehow, none of them turned out as aloof and arrogant as Damian, so — and didn’t know anything about the joy of carnivals and theme parks. From there, it isn’t difficult to see Dick’s logic: exposing Damian to relatively happy things should make Damian a happy kid. 

(Jason did not have to be as smart as Tim or Barbara to know this way of thinking was entirely bullshit, but he also didn’t have the heart to argue with Dick.)

Jason’s never actually been to a carnival or theme park either, since he never thought it was a big enough deal to ask Bruce to visit these places back in the early stages of being his ward and being a lot more childlike and demanding. But he hadn’t wanted the entire visit to be about him because that meant he cared about those kinds of things— and he didn’t, it was just something interesting — so he didn’t say anything. Still, with Damian currently not in the picture and generally not for Jason to worry about, he could pretend like the night at the carnival was meant for him and enjoy it to the fullest, admiring the new sights and experiences with the wonder he could never afford as a kid. 

Tim just shrugs, unaffected by Jason’s attitude. “It’s nice, right.” 

“Sure.” Jason says flippantly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He doesn’t want to admit Tim’s right, and that it’s more than just nice. It’s goddamn beautiful. He’s seen the sky from rooftops when he’d patrol, so it’s definitely not the matter of height, but seeing it from here still feels a lot different. Jason can’t exactly describe it, but he’d like to think that it’s because it’s not often they have times like these, where they get to act like normal people and appreciate the mundane things in their lives when so much other outworldly things occur. Like a reminder that this is why Jason fights crime, besides looking after and protecting those who can’t save themselves. To have moments like these that they can enjoy to the fullest because they’re safe and they’re alive. 

“We’ll come back here.” Tim continues, like a promise even though Jason hadn’t even asked. “We’ll take Bruce with us, next time. And Alfred.”

“Like I care if Bruce is with us.” Jason replies, but it’s half-hearted, because he’s still staring at the bright-lit sky. 

From the side, Tim smiles fondly at his older brother. 

ii. — healing

“Meditation,” starts Talia. “Is an essential part of the healing process.”

“But I’m fully healed, you know.” Jason whines. “I don’t need this kind of crap.”

Talia glances at him sharply and kicks him firmly at his side. Jason yowls in pain and cradles his abdomen. “What was that for?” he demands. “I’m injured!”

“Hmph,” Talia huffs. “I thought you said you were already healed.” Jason just pouts. Talia does not look amused. “This is healing for your mental state. Not your physical one.”

“Whatever.” he grumbles, because it isn’t as if he has brain damage anymore. But Talia clearly isn’t going to budge, and he doesn’t think they’re getting out of this strange zen-like garden in the middle of nowhere anytime soon unless he follows her. 

She closes her eyes and returns to her earlier pose. “Now, let’s continue.”

iii. — unconventional

It's a loose but also the most accurate term they have for it— for their relationship that involves Renee Montoya occasionally running into this Crime Alley kid she caught one night trying to steal Batman's tires. She has the savings to take him in as her own and provide for him, and considers doing it by the fifth time they've met and got to know him better, but every time she'd offer, he'd take off, like the thought of trusting his life to an adult's hands scares him more than anything. Regardless, he always comes back to their meeting place at Gotham Park every Sunday evening. Renee is disappointed, but as Kate constantly reminds her, being a cop doesn't mean you can save everyone, and just because people may need saving doesn't mean they necessarily want it. 

"He's a kid." Renee argues. "Like, ten."

"Then maybe he's testing how long you'll be willing to stick around with him and keep that offer." Kate says. "Maybe he'll come to you when he's ready."

Renee listens to her girlfriend and waits, but that time never comes. It doesn't mean they stop their weekly run-ins, or that she doesn't give him anymore life advice when he voices out his problems. It doesn't mean she retracts her offer because it's been years or she stops paying for his school supplies when he finally admits to her that he decided to go to school so he could get a job and get out of the slums. It just means he isn't officially hers to keep and call her own kid. 

But when he wears her brown leather jacket and says he looks just like her, it feels a lot like that anyway, and she can live with that. 

iv. — open

“I can’t open it.” Damian admits sullenly. The unintentional pout on his face makes Dick coo and Tim look away because it looks embarrassing. It makes Damian angry, of course, but there are currently more important matters to deal with.

Jason simply laughs loudly, clearly amused, takes the jar from Damian’s hands, and twists it open easily. 

v. — grip

Alfred’s grip is so tight on Jason’s clothes that it's enough to rip his worn-out but well-loved clothes off and tear through them with ease. He almost thinks that the butler is angry, for whatever reason, but when Alfred looks up, there is nothing but pride and sorrow in his eyes. 

“How you’ve grown, Master Jason.” he says. “It was as if it was only yesterday when Master Bruce took you home and said you were going to be staying with us.”

Jason’s gaze can’t help but soften. It’s just college, but somehow, Alfred makes it sound like it’s so much more than just that. “I promise I’ll visit.”

Alfred nods before reluctantly letting him go. “I should hope so. As much as Master Duke tries, he’s not as good at helping around in the kitchen as you are.”

“I’ll tell him you said that, you know.” Jason teases. “You’ll break his heart.”

“Just as you’re breaking mine?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” he says, but the reprimand is half-hearted. He beams at the butler. “I’ll be going now. Take care, okay?”

“You too, Master Jason.” 

vi. — siblings

He grew up an only child, so he doesn't know exactly what siblings are supposed to be like. The headlines have said they were always a strange bunch, and given their respective secrets, Jason is inclined to agree. 

Still, he takes his biweekly trip to the Manor and sees Damian angrily chasing Stephanie down with a water hose around the garden, both their faces and clothes dirty with paint. Dick and Cass are sitting right outside the porch, eating popcorn as they watch the entire scene unfold like they're viewing the best movie of the year; Duke can be seen through the window, looking mildly exasperated as Alfred beckons him with a gesture to focus on whatever task they're doing inside the house. 

Tim opens the front door and steps out with a tablet in one hand and a mug likely full of coffee in the other. He looks down at Dick and Cass before gazing straight ahead, where Stephanie and Damian have finally stopped running and have resulted to downright wrestling in front of everyone. "I don't want to know." He says loudly, immediately retreating back into the Manor when he sees the mess outside. Cass and Dick share a look before going back to Steph and Damian. 

Jason may not know what siblings are supposed to be like, but these are what his are like. And though the press may call them strange, this is probably the most normal Jason's ever going to get.

vii. — resurrection

Resurrection is a fickle thing. Or maybe that's just because there are only a few ways to go about it. When Jason died, Bruce mourned him terribly, but never thought about bringing him back. The same way he never thought of bringing his parents back.

Somehow, Jason returned anyway. In the end, Bruce realizes that it's pointless to sweat the details of it— or at least, too much of it — because all that matters is that his son is alive, and he's okay. Sort of. 

But resurrection doesn't solve everything. Not their strained relationship because he refuses to kill the Joker, not those moments when Jason would just shut down without warning and wouldn't respond to anything until he's taken back to his old room in the Manor and looked after by Alfred for a night or two, because Jason's always been attached to him. 

Not the white paper with the doctor's signature that confirms that his son only has five months to live. 

Jason isn't dead— not yet, anyway, but Bruce mourns like already is, and it drives their entire family insane. He wants to leave to find a cure, because for someone as pragmatic as he is, he's also always been good at denial.

"Don't." Dick says, gripping him hard on the shoulder. "Jay doesn't need a Batman right now; he needs a Bruce. He needs his father. You might as well start acting like one now."

Bruce relents. He sits by Jason's bedside and reads him lines from his favorite classical books — the original copies he used to treasure before Ethiopia, because Alfred and Bruce both value sentimentality — as if Jason was still a kid and needed bedtime stories to go to sleep. 

One night, Jason, who pretends not to be bedridden most days because he's always been a proud boy, stops him mid-reading. "You know," he says. "Moments like this make me glad I came back." 

And you'll stay. Bruce wants to say, because the only time he'll ever let himself be naively hopeful is when it's for the sake of his children. Resurrection may not solve everything, but at least it gave him this. 

Instead of talking, Bruce reaches out and holds Jason's hand. 

viii. — protect

“Why the hell are you protecting me?” Tim snaps, and Jason would’ve taken the venom in the younger’s voice a lot more seriously if not for the fact that he was clutching onto his bleeding harm and sprawled on the floor like a wounded animal. “I thought you hated me!”

“That was yesterday.” Jason replies easily, surveying their surroundings. They’re surrounded by around twenty men, but he can take them. “I’m in a better mood now.”

ix. — touch

Though Dick is the most physically affectionate one, Cass communicates with people through touch. Jason is naturally averse to that sort of thing, growing up in Crime Alley where it meant that being touched meant you were in trouble, but she’s his first sister, and he has an undeniable soft spot for her the way the rest of them do. So when she pulls him back to ask something because she’s always spoken softly and doesn’t plan on changing that, he lets her; when she pats him on the head like she’s the older sister even though he’s pretty sure they’re around the same age, he doesn’t protest. 

When she wants a hug, he lets himself melt into her embrace supposedly more for her sake, but actually for his own too. Dick will definitely throw a tantrum later on, but right now, he’s too busy enjoying the warmth only Cass can give. 

x. — another

“Another one for the boy right here.” the man tells the bartender. Jason smiles sweetly at the tattooed woman before turning to the man beside him. Though the forty year old is dressed plainly, there are hints of his wealth scattered around him in the most subtle of ways— the Rolex watch, the gold ring, the manicured nails, the neat way his hair is pressed back, the glasses Jason recognizes to be around triple the price of Tim’s. 

Jason shifts in his seat, thankful he’s already used to wearing fishnets and tight clothing. He hates these kinds of gigs, but it’s what puts money on the table, and Dick says that the deadline for the payment for Damian’s tuition is next week. The cash Jason can nab from this guy should be enough to cover the expenses for that, so Dick’s bodyguard job can pay for their rent instead. 

“Thanks.” Jason says gratefully, when the lady returns and gives him his drink. It burns his throat and he doesn’t like the feeling, but he knows he’ll need this to get through the night. Even if he has to deal with Dick’s incessant scolding because alcohol is a bad vice they can’t afford.

(“Where’d you get all this?” Tim asks later on, eyes wide as he stares at the wads of cash Jason dumps on the dining table the next morning. Damian already left for school, Dick accompanying him as always even though Damian is perfectly capable of going on his own by now. Cass hasn’t left her room, knocked out from returning just a few hours ago from her job at the gym. 

“Oh, you know,” Jason shuts the cupboard with the cereal box in his hand. “I got another job.”)

xi. — hour

It takes an hour of radio silence before Jason grows concerned. “You’ve been gone for quite a while, red.” he says through the comm. “You sure you’re alright? Your boyfriend will never forgive me if I let something bad happen to you.”

“Relax.” Barbara finally says after a few moments, and Jason crushes down the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know you were such a worrywart.”

Immediately, he scowls, even if she can’t see it. “Fuck you. Am not.”

Barbara laughs, but it’s immediately cut off by Bruce’s stern voice leaking through their earpieces. “Break it off, you two. We have a mission to complete.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Jason and Barbara chime in unison, though they’re both snickering.

xii. — time

There isn’t enough time, he thinks, as he stares at the bomb going down second by second in the horror. The doors won’t open, and he hears his mother sobbing. He wishes he had the voice to scream, to comfort her, sit back and make the most out of these last moments he has thinking of all the goodbyes he hadn’t said and all the things he shouldn’t have done. 

But the only thing circling in his head is, there isn’t enough time. There isn’t enough time. 

Bruce might not make it in time. 

xiii. — morning

Jason’s favorite time of day has always been the morning, because it reminds him of the times when he’d catch his mother whistling a happy tune as she waters the plants in their tiny backyard, of his father listening to the radio on the kitchen counter. Eventually, Jason learned to appreciate it for the smell of Tim’s coffee drifting from the dining area to the hallways, the careless padding of Bruce’s footsteps when he’s just woken up and is too groggy to be conscious of his loud movements; the way Dick decides to do his morning stretches right outside the kitchen and how Damian carries around all his pets’ food and meticulously puts them into their respective bowls, while Cass urges Duke to go on a morning jog around the garden before settling down for food. 

Besides, Alfred always cooks breakfast best when there’s someone awake enough to enjoy it, and maybe that’s why he likes mornings the most. 

xiv. — believe

“There is no way the brat is going to believe this.” Jason states, giving Dick a dirty look. “He’s been trained by the League of Assassins and by Bruce.”

“Oh, c’mon, little wing! Damian’s eleven. Kids like those believe anything!” Dick insists. Jason helplessly shoots Tim a look. 

Tim shrugs. “This was Dick’s idea, not mine.”

“Yeah, clearly, because no one would think of something this ridiculous.” Jason rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you do it? You’re the one who actually gives a shit about that kid.”

“He’s right.” Tim agrees, voice slowly fading as he leaves the cave, not wanting to be involved with Dick’s plan anymore. 

Dick crosses his arms. “Because Damian already thinks I’m the jolly guy himself. I need him to believe we’re two different people, so I definitely can’t be in the costume.” The thing is, Jason doesn’t even have the build needed to pull this kind of shit off. Not to mention that it’s, well, stupid. “If you do this, it’ll totally make up for you trying to kill Damian before.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t he be giving me that kind of forgiveness instead of you?” But Dick is pulling the biggest puppy dog eyes he’s ever mustered in his entire life, and while Jason really wouldn’t fall for that, the sight is disgusting enough to make him relent, so it probably doesn’t matter. “Fine. But I don’t owe any of you jackshit for the rest of my life.” 

“You don’t even give us presents!”

—

The plan to make Damian believe in Santa Claus fails spectacularly, of course. Even if Jason did put on the fake belly, he just doesn’t have the Santa Claus vibe, despite having the bulky build for it — because of the muscles, not the fat; Jason will skewer anyone without hesitation if anyone tries insulting him — and Damian is too pessimistic to believe in an old man who loves children with the ability to tell whether they’ve been good or bad and sneak into their houses to give them presents. Damian would rather much stick to his belief that Dick leaves him anonymous gifts under the Christmas tree that somehow always end up being the best things he’s ever gotten. 

“Santa Claus sounds like a pedophile, Grayson.” Damian says. “Why would anyone want to believe in someone as vile as that?”

Jason has to hand it to the kid; he easily beats Jason in ruining any situation. Dick unconsciously flinches, while Tim looks like he has to agree with Damian’s point, no matter how much he also looks like doing so would result in him vomiting in the bathroom. Cass and Duke are ignoring the entire exchange, mostly for Jason’s sake, since he’s still dressed in the ridiculous Santa Claus getup, and way more focused on opening their own presents despite how Bruce told them to wait until tomorrow. 

“I told you this was stupid.” Jason tells Dick. 

“Shut up.” says Dick miserably. 

Damian glances at him. “You look stupid, Todd.”

Jason sniffles. “You think I don’t know that?” He shrugs off the thick red coat before setting the pointed hat on top of Dick’s head and sauntering off. “Christmas is a capitalist movement anyway. You shouldn’t follow it.”

“Jay!” Dick protests. 

Jason says that, but on Christmas Day itself, there’s a gift for each of them under the tree.

(“I thought you didn’t believe in Christmas.” Damian points out after Christmas dinner. 

“Well, I don’t believe that middle-aged men who live in basements and dress in all black can actually save people, but here we are anyway.” is Jason’s only reply to that.)

xv. — over

Jason has nights when he forgets it's already over—the warehouse, the crowbar, the laughter, the bomb — because there will be times when it's the only thing that runs through his head when he dreams. It's likely Fate's design that the nightmares are always at their most frequent whenever the anniversary of his death inches near, so Jason makes it a point to never sleep during that week. Or at least make himself tired enough to just black out so he can't dream. 

"You look like you could use a drink," Roy comments, turning to him and handing him a bottle. "It's on the house."

Jason snorts. "Your boss is gonna kill you for this." 

"Eh." Roy shrugs. "Figured we deserved it. Yesterday's mission was a shitstorm." Jason can't help but hum in agreement to that.

"Well," Roy pours the both of them and glass and raises one in a faux-toast. "At least it's over, right?"

"Yeah," Jason says quietly, glancing at the clock. A few minutes to midnight, and then it'll be the day of his death. The tick of the clock faintly reminds him of the tick of the time bomb, but there is no awaiting explosion here and no death lurking the halls in the quietness of this bar in Star City. Jason's safe and alive. "It's over."

xvi. — robin

"That's a stupid name." Jason states, eyeing the uniform in his hands with distaste. "Robin?"

"It's what Dick chose to use." Bruce simply says. Jason can't help but frown. He doesn't really like it when Bruce talks about Dick, even though he is the first son, because Bruce always tries to hide how sad he really is at the thought of Dick and fails at it. Jason doesn't really understand, not when he's here, the new son, but despite the look on Dick's face when Bruce introduced him to Jason that screamed replacement, he isn't that, really. Or rather, he can't be. Dick is the golden circus boy with jolly laughter; Jason is the dirty street rat with good survival instincts. They're different, so of course things won't be the same. Or at least the same that Bruce unconsciously wants. But that doesn't mean Jason won't make it worthwhile. For both him and Bruce. "You could always pick a new one, if you want."

"Nah." Jason says. Bruce looks at him, and there's a newfound determination in his eyes. "I'll keep it."

"Yeah?" Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What changed your mind?"

"I'm gonna be the better Robin." Jason declares confidently, grinning up at Bruce. "I'll be so good you'll stop moping about the first one. Just you wait."

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Colour Me In Part 3

“Oh that is not good,” Michael cracked up and Calum just glared at him.

“Will you shut up unless you're going to help,” he grumbled fiddling with his bass. Lunch with Eliza had been amazing, and he'd really felt like he was starting to get somewhere with this girl. Kevin's sudden appearance at lunch had him worried.

“Maybe it's better to get it all out now,” Michael tried to sound reassuring.

“Get what out now?” Luke asked, entering the room trailed by Ashton.

“His new girl's best friend is gonna tattle on him before he gets a chance to get it,” Michael told them.

“Wait I thought you weren't talking to Nat?” Luke asked slightly confused.

“No, dummy, the deaf girl, Eliza.” Ashton poked Luke in the side to get him out of his way. “I thought you guys were having lunch today?”

“We did,” Calum told him, “but her closest guy friend, Kevin,” Cal made a face when he said the name, “came out of nowhere and told her I looked familiar. So when I ask her where he works she says he's a model and works the door at Emerald City.”

The guys laugh but Calum cuts them off “and The Chelsea,” the guys stopped laughing, “and Lucky's,” Calum finished.

“Ooooh that fucking sucks dude,” Luke sat down facing him.

“Of all places though, I don't think there's a girl in that bar that hasn't seen your dick at some point,” Ashton laughed.

“You're one to fucking talk,” Calum huffed, “you're worse than me. Didn't you have Cass over last weekend?”

“I did actually, she says hi by the way, keeps joking about wanting a threesome with both of us,” Ashton chuckled.

“She's not joking,” Calum shot back raising his eyebrows.

“Okay so Cass, Kimmie, Jen…” Luke started naming names.

“Hollie and Haley,” Michael chimed in.

“…Alanna, Charlotte, Jay, and most currently Natasha….so yea Calum is a straight up fuckboy.”

Kevin leaned towards Eliza, nodding his head furiously as he signed with quick dramatic gestures.

Eliza, sitting across from him on the couch, threw up her hands in exasperation at the way Kevin was so concerned for her well being over Calum. He'd insisted on her coming over after work so they could talk.

“Did you think I didn't know that? He's in a band. I work for a publicist. Laura, my co-worker even had a thing with his friend Ashton. You and Mags act like I've never encountered fuckboys before. Besides have you seen Calum? I'm trying to have some fun here.”  Eliza’s hands were tense as she signed slowly and deliberately, her face a mask of sarcasm.

Kevin laughed and rolled his eyes setting his phone down so he could look at her while they talked.

“Listen,” he signed,” I just don't want you to get hurt. None of the girls had anything bad to say about him except, the second you fall for him Calum lets you down gently, but he does not stick around.”

“KV, you know I don't have time for a boyfriend. My job is crazy. My personal project, Mr Zachary James, is a little shit who won't stay out of trouble, and my boss is terrifying. I know I'm not as experienced as you, or Calum,” Eliza smirked at him and Kevin flipped her off. “The guys I've dated have been boring or turned out to be assholes. I want an adventure, is that so wrong?”

Kevin rolled his eyes, “This is pointless, all the women in your family are stubborn as hell. Just be careful. I do think it's cute he's learning to sign. How much you wanna bet that's your sister?” He signed as both their phones buzzed.

Open Group Chat

Mags the Mighty Okay today has been insanely busy. I know you two are huddled up discussing lunch with Rock Star. What's the consensus?

Maggie sat back and waited knowing both of them were desperately trying to be first.

King KVN so you already know your sister is impossible, but I found out dog boy has been getting it with all the models, thots, and bad bitches that work at Lucky's and The Chelsea. This bitch doesn't care because she's thirsty. I'm trying to talk some sense into her.

Big EZ basically everything he said is true, but he has to be extra about it. From here on out every time you call him dog boy I will scuff one of your sneakers.

Mags the Mighty so wait you're okay with Calum fucking around like that? I mean he's hot and for a vacation hookup or weekend hookup sure. He's taking you on dates, asking about your family, and even signing… Maybe he likes you.

Big EZ  I don't have time for any of that Mags. Besides look at Patrick and Miguel it's not like I've got a great track record

King KVN those dipshits weren't your fault and I will not tolerate my best friend putting herself down. Miguel was too insecure to handle a woman as smart and beautiful as you and he cheated to compensate. That's on him not you. Patrick is a sad little man with a sad little dick who tries to slide into your DMs WEEKLY even though he's supposedly happy with his girlfriend.

Mags the Mighty You're so extra Kev. we are not here to discuss Eliza's dismal history with men. Besides that was high school and we're all trying to pretend that never happened. When do we get to hang out with rock stars?

BIG EZ I haven't heard from him since lunch. He got all weird after Kev popped up. If you messed this up for me. I swear I will maim you.

Just then Eliza's boss interrupted their conversation with a flurry of text messages. Another client, country music party girl Shelby Keeler, had just been arrested in Texas in a bar fight, and TMZ had footage. Evie already had Maria Reynolds, the only person helping her with the nightmare that was Zachary James, on a plane to Houston to do damage control.

Not only that but his ex girlfriend, model and heiress Daisy Moss, was rumored to be hanging back around. Zachary was smart enough to try and keep this from Eliza and Jeanette, his manager, as their drug fueled bust up in a hotel suite had almost destroyed his career and cost him most of his sponsors.

Zac had been a child actor and teen pop star before washing out at 17. A couple years after that he'd built a following on YouTube with a series of videos documenting his failed comeback attempt, his struggles with mental health, and life post fame. He showed how he cared for his mom who was deaf and had a bad back from a car accident. His sister was in and out of his life as she bounced between rehab and addiction.

He'd developed his YouTube channel as a launch pad for phase 2 of his career getting a reality show on E that was entering its fifth season. However, two years ago he'd met Daisy, and since then his life had been chaos.

Eliza sighed, annoyed that her weekend was now going to be spent worried at the prospect of all her hard work with Zac going to shit. She realized when she finally got home she still hadn't heard from Calum since they'd parted ways after lunch. That was unusual but it was the weekend and Calum was probably at some bar with one of his girls. Eliza was stunned how pissed off the idea of Calum hitting on another woman made her.

Calum didn't know what to do. He wanted to text Eliza and somehow explain himself, but there was nothing to say. Everything Kevin could tell her was true, and for the first time in a long time Calum felt a bit ashamed of his behavior. Not out of regret or a sense of morality, he hated how it looked and what it might cost him. He declined to go out that night, and instead huddled up in his apartment with Duke.

Calum pouted the entire weekend. He didn't leave the house or talk to anyone for two days. Instead he ordered takeout, worked on a song, or watched videos on his laptop. He checked Eliza's Twitter and Insta but there were no posts. He even checked Zachary James’ accounts to see if work was keeping her busy, but found nothing.

Eliza spent the entire weekend with Jeanette keeping an eye on Zac. Daisy was back around and had even come by the house a couple times. Luckily he was ignoring his ex, for now, but between him whining about his failed relationship, and Jeanette bitching about Zac, Eliza was irritated for 48 hours, and it gave her a headache. By Monday morning she was in a terrible mood and took part of the morning off to spend some time with Oliver. They went to Marian's because lemon bars always lifted her spirits.

She saw Calum pulling out of the parking lot as she started to turn in. Eliza thought he saw her, but then he was gone. After placing her order and settling into a table on the patio she found herself distracted, glancing at the entrance hoping to see him walk in. Finally she'd had enough, Eliza wasn't going to let Calum ghost her without calling him on his bullshit.

Haven't heard from you since Friday, makes me wonder if Kevin frightened you off. I gotta admit, I'm disappointed, didn't think you'd scare that easily. I thought you were tougher than that.

She hit send and immediately wanted to take it back. She sent Kevin a screenshot of what she'd done and to her surprise he was awake and answered back.

Yaaasssssss, tell him about himself. I will say this tho… Your boy was nowhere to be seen this weekend. All his boys came out to Lucky's Saturday night, and I know for a fact both Haley and Nat hit him up this weekend.  No one's heard anything.

He could always have girls you don't know about.

Stop that, we all know I know everything

Eliza stopped laughing when Calum’s name popped up

I'm an ass. I knew what Kevin would tell you, and it's all true, I can't deny that. I figured you'd be done so I just didn't feel like talking to anyone this weekend. I stayed home and worked on some songs.

Do you really think I was that shocked? You're in a band, you're young, and hot. You had a hickey when we met up at the dog park. I may not be very experienced, but I'm not some sheltered, naive, stupid little deaf girl.

Okay okay I'm sorry, I should have texted you. It looked bad, but I never ever thought you were naive or stupid. I think you're smart, funny, and charming. I thought a woman as classy as you could do better than someone with my history. Let me take you on a proper date. We can even be chaperoned.

What are you even talking about? Chaperoned?

Yes, let me take you out to dinner and Oliver and Duke can come along and make sure I behave like a gentleman.

You're playing the Duke card, that's completely unfair.  

Tomorrow night? I can pick you guys up.

Tomorrow is fine. Tell me the time and place and I'll meet you there. I’m not ready to have you meet my mother.

Eliza realized she was holding her breath and exhaled suddenly very nervous. Her first real date with Calum, and he was determined to treat her like a lady. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. What she was sure of is that she needed to figure out what to wear. She texted Maggie and Kevin and headed to work.

Eliza glanced back at Oliver in the back seat as she put the car into park. The little dude was smiley and wagging his tail although a bit apprehensive by the unfamiliar surroundings. Eliza has been thrilled when Calum told her he wanted to try Mohawk Bend, it was her sister's favorite pizza place and very dog friendly. The hostess waved to Eliza and Oliver doing a bit of a double take.

Kevin had outdone himself with her outfit tonight. He'd put her in black leggings and her black push up bra that made her boobs look huge. He then wrapped a tan cashmere scarf around her chest, hiding her cleavage so her mom wouldn't bitch. Over that he'd layered a burgundy lightweight dress, that was actually a swimsuit cover-up, using one of his belts to turn it into a cute tunic. They'd decided on simple makeup with a dark burgundy lip, black motorcycle boots and a careful application of gold highlighter to her face, body, and hair to complete the look. Her hair was in a loose Grecian braid with gold wire wrapped throughout helping tame her curls.

Calum saw Eliza walk up to the podium and show the hostess his text message about already having a table. She looked amazing without trying too hard. He'd promised to behave like a gentleman, but as his eyes took in her curves as she walked up the table,  his thoughts turned carnal.  Oliver and Duke greeted each other like long lost friends. Eliza smiled at him and his mind went blank. He grabbed his phone.

I had this really cool plan to impress you with some new signs I learned this weekend, but I'm too nervous to remember any of them.

Eliza wanted to scoff at the idea of Calum Hood being nervous around any woman, but despite looking insanely handsome in his all black t shirt and jeans combo, he was fidgety and sweating.

He let her decide what to order so they could share. She chose the white mushroom pizza and fish tacos to split.

They played with the dogs while they waited for the food to arrive. When it did they took turns going to wash their hands and Eliza couldn't help but notice Calum left his phone on the table when he got up.

Dinner was lovely. They went through extra napkins as they kept getting sauce everywhere. Calum fed her tacos, she wiped sauce off his chin. They kept laughing at jokes no one else got with Oliver and Duke dozing snuggled together under the table. Calum heard an older couple making comments about them being on their phones.

How do you sign mind your own business?

Eliza looked up at him and he shot a quick glance at the older fellow giving them a sour look.

She looked back at Calum signing

“Mind your own business?” he asked out loud as his hands mirrored hers. She nodded and Calum heard the guy mutter “How was I supposed to know.”

Calum insisted Eliza take the rest of the pizza home to Maggie, paid the check with a generous tip, and walked them to her car. Standing next to her car they stood there texting, neither of them quite ready to see the night end or push it further.

Until a text from Evie broke the spell and Eliza needed to go.

Calum held up a hand mouthing “wait, wait” and sent another text.

I remember one of the things I learned now

Eliza looked up and Calum raised his eyebrows and signed “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded and reached up resting her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him towards her as he lowered his lips to hers.

They both melted into the kiss, lips parting, tongues colliding and his hand gripping her hip pulling her closer. Eliza felt him get hard and she pushed her body against him. Calum broke the kiss, panting and looking at her with nothing but lust in his eyes. Eliza wanted him to keep going but he shook his head.

I don't want you to think you're just another girl.

He signed “good night, I'll text you,” before giving her another quick kiss and picking Duke up so he could say his goodbyes.

@wildhearthood @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @cal-puddies @biba3434 @grittyisathot @angelbabylu @itstheholls @irwinkitten @5sos-ficssmut @cal-pal-cuddles @calumh-excess @1dthewantedlove @you-of-ghost @babygirlcashton @sublimehood @sugarcoated-pain @calteahood @the-fifth-season @kchillout @flannelpunkcalum @unabashedlymyself @5-secondsofcolor

[veridium]

just stay here tonight

HEY SO, FRIDAY NIGHT CHAPTER FOR FRIDAY NIGHT? WHO’S WITH ME FOR SOME MAGIC? COLLEGE AU UPDATE COMING AT YOU LIVE!

Get your kleenex out just in case...because...I needed mine...

Episode title brought to you by Augustana and one of my favorite songs from them. :)

fic episode masterpost

--

Thursday is forgettable, with the exception of the mildly entertaining but all-out cringe of Cullen’s appearance in the dorms. Friday, on the other hand? Non-stop anguish. Not the Greek tragedy kind, per se, but wondering: wondering if she knows just exactly what the fuck she’s doing, primarily. For too long, Olivia has gotten used to people chasing her down for exactly what they want from her, and what she wants from them, and nothing else. Indulging people rather than engaging has been her modus operandi since she was on the edge of seventeen.

So, understandably, Friday evening in preparation for her gambit is...interesting.

After spending a couple hours getting it all ready, and packing up the teeny trunk of her vehicle, the task at hand becomes getting her own ass together. Something that everyone wants to have a say in, apparently. Or, if you’re Sera, a knock on her door followed by a “knock her dead, Liv, wear the spiked stilettos! They’d make a clean kill!”

Then, there are the texts:

Ellinor: Hey dude, let me know how it goes, okay? I wish you’d tell me what you’re doing.

Ellinor: Okay I know you have your own life but it’s also like ⅓ mine so…

Ellinor: Fuck I think Cullen might be one of those people who unironically likes raisinettes…

Ellinor: oh my god I’m sorry this is about you but I’m nervous so I keep blabbering WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING SO I DON’T HAVE TO PULL APART THESE RED VINES LIKE A MASOCHIST??

Theia: It doesn’t matter what happens I’m still killing her ok. The bitch has it coming.

Theia: [ CHICAGO . GIF]

Josie: NO YOU ARE NOT. WE HAVE DISCUSSED THIS.

Theia: That...was not meant for group chat. Yikes, sorry babe.

Josie: Right.

Lace: Lol another one for the fuck-up screenshots

Lace: Good gay mojo your way, Liv.

The sentiments are all appreciated, but they don’t really hit home. All alone in her room, putting on makeup and feeling like Mulan in the montage before she rides off to the army, it’s all a wonder as to why Cassandra agreed to go on this escapade. It’s as if she’s been fooled into thinking Olivia has a clue. Or, maybe she’s riding along to witness the impending crash-and-burn. A final act of karmic vindication, perhaps.

She picks out a black tank bodysuit and high-waisted, blue skinny jeans. Besides, where they are going isn’t exactly ‘fine goth attire required.’ However, the one staple that will not be left behind is her black leather jacket. Lacing up her converse and slapping on some gloss, and a hair tie on her wrist, and she’s ready to go.

The walk to their suite is an unfamiliar one, but one Ellinor did enough to be able to tell her off memory where to go. Right down to the number on their door. She should ask Ellinor to make a map, just in case, for teasing purposes -- but she looked too busy on cloud 9 earlier that day thinking about her own plans with Rutherphallus. One day, maybe, she’ll stop calling him by demeaning euphemisms. One day. But that day is not today.

Olivia paces in a weird circle a couple of times just outside the suite, hands on her hips as she does her best to remember she has lungs to breathe with. The actual door, the nice door, the one that looks like it works well and is nicely painted. Dorm room doors aren’t this nice. Crap. She’s quietly holding off an implosion. What if she says no after all this? What if she doesn’t like her outfit? What if she’s mean again? God, she can be mean. But then, she stops. Remembers when Cassandra was cornered in the library, and said with such earnest relief in her face that she felt like she could be herself around her. That Liv didn’t make a big deal of things. Psh, well, that was a misinformed belief. Misinformed but...kind.

Taking one last deep breath, she wipes her palms against her denim and knocks on the door. Within ten seconds, it opens. No monsters or ghosts or natural disasters -- no, it’s her, just her, on her other side. Cassandra, in black jeans and a grey v-neck sweater, and all-black tennis shoes like the ones Olivia would wear in high school, except nicer.

Her heart jumps into her throat as Cassandra grins and steps back. “Hey,” she says, all calm and collected and...and...just...fine.

“Hey,” Olivia gets out, her brows lifted along with her pulse rate. “You...you are awake still!”

“Yeah...you said 11.”

“I did. I did say...11. 11 in the evening. PM. Night...time…” she shakes her head and cuts herself off before she sounds too ridiculous. Maybe it’s too late, though. “Um, yeah. You...ready to head out?”

Cassandra, who’s been watching her feud with herself, only smiles and breaks away from the door. Bless her. “Yeah, I’m good, I just need to grab my coat.’

“Right! Yeah, good idea. Night is cold, and...yep, good call. Smart--”

“Liv.”

She blinks, and realizes she’s been looking off into space while talking. Dammit. “Yeah?”

“You’re not very good this, are you?”

“This...this what?”

Cassandra chuckles, and turns back toward the inside of the suite. “I’ll be right back. Try not to scare the neighbors.” She is back quickly, sliding a dark purple duffle jacket on, keys dangling in her hand as she pulls the door shut behind her and locks it. Olivia rocks on her heels in the meantime, looking down either end of the hall -- not a soul to be seen, for a Friday night -- before Cassandra faces her again.

“Alright, where to?”

“Oh, yeah, my car. It’s...gonna be a little bit of a walk to the parking lot, but, you know the parking pass prices are just...bullshit.”

“Yeah.”

They stand there for another awkward few seconds before Olivia once again has it dawn on her she has to lead the way. Fuck. She kicks herself into gear, and Cassandra follows, staring at her like she’s an animal planet show host taking notes on a creature’s behavior. Or, maybe she’s just...fine...and Olivia feels that. Whatever, same difference, right?

The walk happens silently, save for a few polite smiles whenever one of them opens a door for the other. Oh, and Olivia patting her back pocket to make sure she brought her keys. When they get to the lot, and she sees her valiant steed parked, she feels more at home.

“So, ever ride in a mini with muscle?”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra glances at her as they step onto the asphalt.

Olivia giggles under her breath. “A mini with muscle. You know, one with some….like, ‘oomph’ under the hood?”

“I would not know what ‘oomph’ means, but in your hands, I have my concerns.”

“Hah! Funny, very funny.” They diverge from one another, Cassandra going to the passenger door while Olivia goes around the back. She pulls out her keys and unlocks, sliding in nice and smooth. Cassandra is more polite and careful, but she settles in next to her. She probably doesn't spend much time in small cars. Olivia gets more giddy with anticipation, putting up her hair into a simple ponytail.

“...many concerns,” Cassandra reiterates.

“Psh, what?” Olivia scrunches her nose, her hands falling into her lap. “You think I don’t walk what I talk?”

“No, in fact I’m wondering quite the opposite.”

“Why be afraid of a woman who knows how to handle a good car? I wasn’t afraid of you when we rode on your bike.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, grabbing for the seat belt. “I am going to go ahead and prepare myself the way I should, since I have a feeling as to how this is going to go should I tease you further. Or if I dare ask where it is you’re taking me at this hour.”

Olivia watches her, and she can’t help but smile. She leans forward with one arm on the wheel, and she sticks the key into the ignition. Turning the car on, she can’t help but love the way the engine purrs.

“Don’t worry, Cass. If I did want to murder you, I’d think of something far more theatrical. Public, with live music and dancing, or something.” she sits back, pulling her own seat-belt on. After that, her hand goes to the stick and her foot to the pedal. In response, Cassandra rests the side of her thigh against her door and plants an elbow on it. She looks unconvinced, or intrigued by something.

“What?”

Cassandra raises a brow. “That is the first time you’ve ever called me Cass. Not Cassandra. Or Pentaghast, for that matter.”

Olivia scoffs, and checks her mirror real quick. “No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“...Uh, okay, so what? I mean, you want me not to?” she looks over, brow cocked.

Cassandra shrugs and settles in. It’s impossible to know whether she is pleased or displeased by it. Ellinor’s called her Cass, so has Cullen. But it’s a mystery as to whether either of them ever asked about it. But, to her credit, Cassandra looks ahead.

“Do your worst, Olivia.”

Her tongue presses against her smiling teeth, and Olivia feels the engine warm up at last. “With pleasure.”

--

They drive through town, get on the freeway and past a few exits until Olivia finds the one she’s after. The whole time she is either on par with the speed limits or past them, but once she gets to the outskirts of the county, the traffic goes scarce. Even for a Friday night. A few turns and twists, and she’s on a highway winding incline, up one of the few canyon peaks in the nearby area of rolling hills and flat valleys.

She knows she’s getting close when mostly barren trees start to heavily line the two-lane path, and her mini as always runs like a dream. She has her spotify playing low on the radio, something with a heavy guitar but she can’t quite make out the vocals.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks, as she pulls and hugs tight another sharp turn in the road, engine growling as she accelerates out of it.

Cassandra as far as she has seen, keeps her gaze out the window or on her. Sitting still, but not on edge. “You are asking me for my opinion on your driving?”

Olivia smirks. “I was thinking more about the car, but, I had prepared myself emotionally for your scathing review.” Another turn, this time to the left, and she handles it beautifully. These roads are like the back of her hand, a sight she’s known at all hours and all seasons. Headlights are all she needs.

Cassandra bends her knees a bit more. “I think…” she pauses, while Olivia pulls into what appears to be a destination. Or, rather, a parking lot. “You broke at least three laws in the process, but, I can’t say you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Agh! Bullshit,” Olivia challenges, a subtle laugh in her tone, “I only broke one. Near the turnpike, that’s it.”

“No, you broke three, the second was speeding, and the third was speeding and--”

“Ohoho,” her laugh continues to bubble as she pulls into a parking spot, the only car in the lot by the looks of it, “I sped? No fucking way!” she gasps, pretending to be astonished.

She pushes the stick into place and yanks up the parking brake. They look at each other, now stopped and still, the car lulling. Cassandra doesn’t look flushed or nervous like other people she’s taken along for rides. Maybe she’s been well-conditioned by everything else; too well-conditioned, to be frightened of a fast car and even faster driver. Olivia can only turn the key back and turn off the car; the headlights go out, and the one above their heads comes on.

“Well,” she exhales, adrenaline still surging in her veins, “we’re here.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?”

“A park.”

“A...park?” she looks around, through the windows. Not much to see, though.

“Heh,” Olivia unbuckles herself, “come on, you’ll see what I mean. But I have stuff in the trunk for us.”

“Does it happen to be a shovel and body bag? Or even better, a driver’s ed manual?”

Olivia groans and shoves her door open. “No, I’m afraid those are both in my Barbie pink jeep at home. Resting on the squeaky horn rather comfortably like you are on my last nerve.” She gets out, and Cassandra does too, and for a moment they look at each other over the car roof.

Cassandra unzips her jacket but keeps it on. “Fair enough,” she concedes, and they shut their doors. Venturing into the back trunk, Olivia pulls up the door and finds what she left in there: a basket, with its contents covered by a draped, folded heavy blanket. A two-hand job, but not too bad. She picks it up and manages to pull the door back down, all the while Cassandra stands back somewhat looking like a woman of action left without a an action to commit.

“You need help?”

“No, no,” Olivia teases, hitting the button on her car alarm. The lights flicker and she turns to face her. “I am a capable person, capable of many things besides blatant crime. You just need to trust me.”

“You don’t know what you ask,” Cassandra counters, hands going into her jacket pockets, “but fine, I go where you go.”

“Yes,” Olivia closes in on her, until she’s about a foot away, “and tonight, I go there, over that small bridge and up the trail. Come on!”

More walking, and more silence. It’s weird, just a tad, to be acting so congenial after so much heartache. But on the other hand, it’s something she’s craved the whole time: for them to be as they were, as they could have been, had not her pride or her defenses squandered her good graces. The more time they spend not arguing, or ditching each other, the more Olivia dares to hope it can all be redeemed. As they walk on the dirt and wood chip path with only so much as one iPhone flashlight for a little less than a ¼ mile, she appreciates all Cassandra did to open up to her: all the plans, all the exposure. Because the closer they get to where she wants them to end up, the more nerve-wracking it all becomes. Maybe that’s what’s been making Cassandra chuckle and eye her all evening: she’s watching Liv get a taste of her own medicine.

At last, they come to the top of a hillside, where the view is clear over the city below. The spot is all grass and trail, and what looks to be an old rusty playground at the base of it. No lamp posts, no bike racks, no sidewalk. It’s a bit creepy, if you’re a normal person with the usual and healthy fear of coyotes and forest cryptics. But if you’re Olivia Sinclair, it’s anything but.

“Ah, perfect!” She sighs when they come to a stop. “We can stick it here.”

Cassandra looks around, vigilant. “Are you...sure?”

“Yes, sure as any mediocre man.” She sets down the basket on the ground and picks up the blanket. “Don’t worry, I did bring a source of light for you, a mere mortal.”

“Pfft,” Cassandra comes closer, and takes the opposite pair of edges on the blanket so as to help her spread it out. “What, is this where you tell me you’re a vampire? Make me say it while you breathe down my back?”

“Well, shit, now that the rest of the evening’s plans has lost its mystery…”

“Ugh! Do not even!”

Olivia laughs, and with the blanket all out she gets to work with the array of items she’s brought. Four small mason jars with with small white candles in them that she plants on each blanket corner. She gets out a lighter and goes to work on all of them, Cassandra still standing by, loyal but suspicious, as if one could be both at the same time.

“You brought candles?”

Olivia finishes the last one, setting it back down. “Yeah, I need hot wax. You know, for summoning Satan.”

“Olivia!” Cassandra huffs, before stepping onto the woolen fabric and taking a seat. “You’re lucky I’m not one of my peers from my Bible Study. They would start spraying their travel-sized holy water all over you.”

Olivia laughs again, and pulls out some more items from the basket behind her, before she, too, sits down. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Old habits.”

“Summoning Satan?”

“Nah, teasing you.”

First, Cassandra gives a side-eye, but when Olivia meets her gaze with a warm smile and an offer of peanut M&M’s she softens. She takes the box from her and opens it. “You brought sustenance for our off-grid affair.”

“Yes, I did. Admittedly, it is mostly stuff I was going to bring with me to the movies with Ellinor tonight. I’m a candy smuggler.”

Cassandra smirks. “You had plans tonight with Ellinor?”

“Yeah, she wanted to go see Star Tr--Wars! Dammit, I always get those confused,” she admonishes herself while getting into her own package of sour patch kids. “Anyways, she’s gone with Cullen, so I doubt there’s love lost.”

“I’m sure he’s loving every minute. He’s a huge fan,” Cassandra knocks the first few pieces back. She looks beautiful, with the way her face and neck are illuminated sparsely by firelight. It’s mesmerizing, especially when her eyes light up in their subtle glow. “You broke plans just to...to bring me here?”

Olivia pulls her knees up against her chest. She’s sitting close enough to talk low, hushed and sweet, but far enough for deniability as to her desires. She sucks on a sour piece of candy and looks out at the landscape. “This place is important to me. I go whenever I need to clear my head. Mostly at night, since I go on drives. Ellinor’s been here, and so has Theia. But I don’t bring anyone else here. Not...well, not until tonight, I suppose.”

Cassandra sets down her box, still chewing. “Theia. Is she your friend, the one you were with at the gala?”

“Yes,” she smiles, reaching and taking her hair out of its ponytail. “We’ve been thick as thieves for years.”

“So,” Cassandra chuckles to herself, “that explains it.”

Oh? Olivia looks at her, eyes narrowed unevenly with confused intrigue. “What?” She looks on as Cassandra squirms a bit, in her own kind of way: shoulders tensing, but her expression otherwise hard to read. Her palms clasping together in her criss-crossed lap.

“She looked like she wanted to fight me. That, and...ugh, I shouldn’t say it. It’s ridiculous of me.”

Olivia shrugged. “Cassandra, if anything is welcome around me, it’s being ridiculous. You should know better than anyone at this point.”

She grins crookedly. Reluctance, coming from someone who has the premium on being mature and logical. “I...I noticed how comfortable you were with her. When you came down the stairs, with your arm in hers. I had no idea who she was but I...I got jealous.”

Olivia sucked on her teeth, holding back the urge to laugh from the ludicrous nature of it all, and instead reached for a few more sour patch kids. Fucking hell, Theia was right. Theia and her weird, weird hunches about social cues. God dammit, she would never hear the end of it if she told her that it worked.

“I’m sorry that happened. It was...I don’t know, the whole night was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have gone, but, my Mom makes demands of me that are few but huge. I wasn’t lying when I said my family keeps me on a weird leash, it’s...it’s a long story.”

“No, I get it. Mine does too. No need to apologize,” Cassandra shakes her head, watching as Olivia eats some more. “It was just me being unreasonable. I am guilty of that. It’s sort of my thing.”

“I wouldn’t say…” Olivia scrunches her nose, and swallows her bite. “Well, okay.” She turns herself to face her, crossing her legs like Cassandra has, only a bit tighter. “So, like, first impression of you, alright? On the soccer field, when you and Cullen came up to ask about the Strokes concert. You were intense, and you didn’t waste any time on extra words or...you know, laughing. But you weren’t someone I’d picture when it comes to the word ‘unreasonable.’ Not even when I got to know you. Intense...focused...serious, but not unreasonable.”

Cassandra leans back on her hands, her legs stretching out with one crossing over the other. More relaxed. “Would it be a deal-breaker if I were unreasonable?”

Olivia tucks some hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be one of yours. I wouldn’t think it’d be very fair of me to--”

“Oh, so you think you’re the unreasonable one?”

Olivia blinks, and looks towards the woods ahead of her. “I...uh, well…”

“No, no, Ms. Sinclair. You know your words. Make your case.” She’s smiling softly, in that cocky, half-arrogant sort of way. The way that makes you want to believe every word and every thought she’s thinking before she ever says it.

“Um.” Olivia rubs the back of her neck while her mind does its best to put together a coherent response. Not the easiest thing to be done. “I hate to say it, but...I don’t think it’d be nearly as effective as the case you made.”

At that, Cassandra frowns, and peers down at her lap. “Olivia, I was upset, and--”

“No, the thing is,” she takes a half-breath, “you said it yourself you don’t mistake your words. You were right. I like control...but it’s because I like detachment. I want people to like me but I don’t want to risk them letting me down. Oh, and if we need any other filler information, I’m also the Queen of Death in your local Poli Sci class. I mean, if that’s not unreasonable, then…”

Her mind trails off, getting lost in the insecurities she’s named. Once and for all, they’re no longer elephants in the room -- at least for her. In a bizarre way, here, in the middle of a blanket with only four candle jars to light up her world...her world with her...it felt the safest she had been to be herself outside of her close friendships. Far away from anything and everything that’d make her want to shut herself up. In spite of the solace, it’s also sad, and her gaze wanders down as she fiddles with blanket fabric between her fingers. There’s crickets chirping behind her, but not much else to distract.

“You know, Olivia, the soccer field was not the first time we ever came into contact.”

She looks up a bit. That can’t be right; she had never uttered a word to Cassandra before that day. Sure, she existed, and she had seen her around as another person in the crowd, maybe. But never dialogue, and certainly never introductions.

“What?”

Cassandra smiles, and leans up more. “Poli Sci 234. Social movements.”

“But...but you weren’t in that class. I don’t remember you at all--”’

“It was taught by a Professor I had my first year I grew to like a lot. I wanted to take 234, but it wouldn’t fit. I still stopped in once or twice, sat in the back of the class. I still remember...hah,” she bites back a laugh, “you were wearing this big, black bow in your hair, around your ponytail. I didn’t really know what to make of you. This guy was going on and on about his half-soaked opinions, and everyone in the class was checking out. But then you raised your hand and shut him down so mercilessly it was...like…” Cassandra’s chest heaved again with another amazed laugh. “I thought you were going to make him cry.”

Olivia listens, a bit lost at first, but the memory is too stark for her to forget. Oh, she remembers that man. That horrible, libertarian-sympathizing asshole who thought his voice was that of Jesus himself. She gasps her own laugh of disbelief.

“Payten Thompson. Ugh!” she sounds off in disgust. “We...shit! We were discussing the Gay Rights Movement. I remember. He thinks he knows everything there is to know because he’s gay and on the GSA cabinet, but he can’t name the Black trans woman who threw the first shot glass at Stonewall? Fucking bogus.” She rolls her eyes, already starting to see red just recalling the moment she looked across the desks and classmates at him and obliterated his pacifist, respectability-politic drenched opinions.

Cassandra nods. “Yes. It was...so unexpected. At least I thought so. I went to the Professor’s office after that class to visit and he brought you up. Said you were quiet, but when you had something to say, you didn’t hold back. I assumed our paths would cross in classes eventually, so I didn’t really follow up after. Then months passed, and I started seeing this girl hanging out with her friend on the grass by the field. One with a black bow in her hair.”

That bow was a good look. A very good look. Shit luck she lost it at a party and hadn’t been able to find one to replace it. It was pique aesthetic. Well, that wasn’t the point of this discussion.

Olivia finds herself blushing, and she tries to escape it by watching the city lights. “I...didn’t see you in that class. That’s so funny.”

“I’m not really someone who captures people’s attention. Not like you. But my point is, you’re not the only one who likes distance and control.”

“Yeah,” she replies, dismissive of herself, “what a valuable talent I have, getting attention. I should put it on my CV.”

Out of nowhere, or at least to Olivia, Cassandra sits up and places her fingers along the far side of Olivia’s face. With unexpected care and touch she guides Olivia’s gaze back to her. With shocked obedience she follows along, lips parting and eyes rounding.

Cassandra looks determined, assured of herself. Confident, but compassionate.

“Liv, if it’s one thing that doesn’t look good on you, and one thing only, it is being apologetic of what makes you so amazing.”

Her non-stop blush goes into sudden-fever mode. Thank goodness for the dull lighting. Olivia inhales, but is at a loss for words. Well, until she isn’t: the moment Cassandra tries to withdraw her hand.

“No,” she lets escape, voice cracked. She takes hold of it, and holds it to her lap.

Cassandra’s eyes widen but she goes along. “Liv, are you...what are--”

“Cassandra, I…” oh, crap, she’s done so little thinking about this whole night. For someone who says they love control and indifference, she’s throwing it all to the wind. “Look, can I...can I just be honest about something? About...about tonight?”

Cassandra tilts her head. “What, did you actually not forget the shovel?”

“Ugh, no! It’s...it’s not anything like that. I mean it, I’m…”

“What is it then?” 

Well, fuck. Here...goes nothing. She takes a deep breath, something she’s been doing frequently tonight, and closes her eyes for the beginning. The jumping off point. “I don’t want to be happy if it’s without you. I don’t want to be angry if it’s not with you. You...you drive me crazy, and confuse me, but...but you also make me laugh, and you eat the peanut M&M’s I hate but buy anyway because I think maybe this time around I’ll like them, but I never do so I try to pawn them off on Ellinor, and that’s insane of me, but...but you...you make the insane things I do make sense for some reason. I brought you here because I wanted...to say...I wanted to ask you…”

“Ask me...what?”

She re-opens her eyes, and they are starting to sting from the build-up of emotion. The walls are crumbling away into dust and sand, and all she has is one Hail Mary to throw before it’s all botched for good. This would be her only chance, her one chance -- there could be no more believing it could happen some other day, or in some other universe. She was done with the denial. Surrounded by cheap candles and sugar-salt on her tongue, she was going for broke.

“If...if I could...have another shot.”

Cassandra has the best poker face in the world. It’s a good listening face, though. For every second she doesn’t react, Olivia feels herself sinking a foot deeper into the ground. Asking for something she in no way deserves after all the nonsense. But she’s sick of not trying. Which is why, when Cassandra grins to one side, and tucks a leg underneath the other so as to lean further into her, it’s the closest she’ll ever come to believing in a higher power probably in her entire life.

There has to be a rejection on the wings. All the hints, all the signs that Cassandra didn’t want her anymore. Past-tense was past-tense, right? Well, not exactly.

As Cassandra’s eyes half-close, and she leans in slowly with her lips reaching towards hers, it all feels like some bittersweet recreation of a memory. The couch, in the office, when everything went wrong. Butterflies run amok in her, and she freezes. Now Olivia knows how she might have felt. How could she have had the guts to say no to this?

She just has that much integrity.

But she’s not going anywhere this time. This time, she leans in the rest of the remaining couple inches, and they kiss. They kiss. And it’s cautious, like all innocent first kisses are: far and away more docile than what Olivia’s typically gone for. There’s no clamoring, no rigor. Although, in their place is respect and relief. She’ll happily take that exchange as she closes her eyes and submits, not wanting for anything. Her hands go to either side of Cassandra’s face, sliding them against her skin until the ends of her fingers are in her hair. Her short, soft hair. So soft. Their kiss grows, but is steady in its shyness.

Then, she pulls back ever-so-slightly, and her eyes slit open.

“Um, hey...so, this is...awkward, but, I actually...I got somewhere to be…” she whispers, softly grimacing. What better way to cap off a raw moment of vulnerability than a cringey joke?

Cassandra raises a brow, and her hand slides around to the back of Olivia’s neck. “I was right, you aren’t very good at this.” Her lips graze against Olivia’s. “But fine, I dare you to leave.”

Olivia blushes some more, and arches her back against her. “No, I think I’d rather try my luck at tasting the M&M’s again…” she smiles fiendishly, and her eyes flash into Cassandra’s, before she returns her lips to hers. The way Cassandra feels, the way she kisses her, the way her hand feels sliding down her collarbone and onto her shoulder…the warmth of her breath raising, and their rhythm with each other starting to find its way...

She yearns for nothing and nowhere else.

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

i’ll keep on waiting 🌟

Note: Ik you guys are mostly here for ‘x reader’ content but I was projecting and procrastinating and I wrote a stephcass thing.

Words: 2.2k

Steph is of the opinion that she should really hate Conner Kent. Like, loathe him, actually. Because he just has a way of making a move on everyone she has/had feelings for, and the sad fact of the matter is, he makes it look so easy.

She’s woman enough to admit that. What, with the perfect clone smile and the leather jacket and blue eyes. Of course, she can see what Tim and Cass saw. But that doesn’t mean she has to rationally like him. Yet, she can’t find it in herself to want him dead either.

She has, on occasion, thought about pulling him aside and threatening to shove a piece of Bruce’s kryptonite up his-

“Steph! Hey, how’s it going?”

And there he is, suit and tie and charming smile. She would punch him in the face if she didn’t know he was practically invincible. “Hey, Kon. Enjoying the show?”

He laughs and averts his gaze to the spectacle across the room; Tim and Cass, arms swung around each other, twin Wayne grins and immaculate posture, stealing the souls of a bevvy of old rich ladies.

“It’s creepy that they can just switch it on like that.”

“It’s even creepier when Bruce does it.”

“Bruce is always creepy to me.”

Despite her reservations, she cracks a smile at him and allows him to pull her into a debate about the last Knights versus Monarchs game.

So what if he is Cass’s ( somewhat ) ex, he’s really in the same boat she is. With the exception of the fact that he and Tim are actually dating and she and Cass are well, her and Cass.

She swears, for someone who can level her way through an army with swift and unattached efficiency, Cass is oblivious when it comes to the gigantic, hulking crush she has on her. Or maybe, Steph is just so bad at feelings that she’s the one at fault.

Either way, she has nothing to compare this yearning too. She and Tim started with a brick to the face and the coincidence of being teen vigilantes in the Hellmouth that is Gotham. They were a product of proximity and hormones and though she knows some part of her will always be in love with Tim— the way she’s a little in love with all of them—- they were better off as friends.

The conversation with Conner peters out to a comfortable silence as they watch Tim wrap up his jovial conversation. It’s early enough that Steph knows the schmoozing isn’t over yet, they're going to be at it until they milk all these rich schmucks for what their worth and have the fundraiser’s goal paid in double by the end of the night.

Cass catches her eye across the room, and mouths “You want a drink?”. She signs back, “I need it to live through this,” and feels her whole body flush when Cass laughs.

She makes her way across the room, striding as her dress trails behind her, with two champagne flutes. She and Conner exchange smiles as she approaches, which reignites Steph’s desire to deck him before he goes to take Cass’ place at Tim’s side.

Cass presses the glass into her hand, nose wrinkling in amusement as she watches Stephanie knock it back with no sense of class at all. She’s hoping the alcohol will cover the pink tinge she’s sporting— a recent development, that seems to only happen when Cass comes close to her— and she accepts the second flute and Cass’ wry amusement without complaint.

This little moment, in this little bubble, will be cut short soon when Cass has to go back to being one of the elite Wayne-angel kids. So, fueled by the champagne in her bloodstream, she works up enough courage to ask, “Do you wanna dance?”

Her heart’s hammering in her throat when Cass slips a scarred hand into hers, the other moving to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Steph follows the movement with baited breath, and with what she hopes is a blank expression, when Tim’s voice calls out to them. And the moment, the little bubble, it bursts. Ending with Steph’s tiny glimmer of confidence crawling back into her stomach to hibernate.

“I’ll owe you,” Cass whispers, patting her hand as she slinks off again.

Steph watches her walk away and then looks back at where Conner and Tim are cuddled together, letting the feeling of longing grow and sour inside her until she’s sick of herself.

***

Harper is laughing at her.

She’d stumped her big toe on the foot of their shitty couch and went down on the floor between the living room and the kitchen, arms and legs akimbo and dignity nowhere to be found. That was ten minutes ago, and Harper is still laughing at her, manically. Cullen, who was in his room until his sister started imitating a hyena, takes pity on her. He gives her face one sure look and places a tub of ice cream and a spoon near her head. She takes it with a pathetic wave of thanks and holds it close to her stomach, while she waits for the sweet release of death. She texts this to Damian, telling him he has free reign on offing her. He replies with the middle finger emoji and that gif of Judge Judy rolling her eyes.

“My God, Brown. You really are a mess aren’t you?”

“Physically, mentally or emotionally?” she snorts. “Yes to all of them.”

Harper knows what this is truly about. Because Harper has a way of knowing everything sometimes. She can see right through all of Stephanie’s walls when she really wants too, it makes her brand of tough love pretty great to have around. Except, she isn’t going to offer to fix this one for Steph. Her pining could be easily solved with one conversation, and if Steph is too much of a stubborn brat to have it, she isn’t going to go to Cass and say ‘Hey, my friend is in love with you. You should date her.’ That’s too middle school and she’s sure Cass won’t appreciate it.

“Are you just going to keep lying there? Polluting the apartment with your teen angst bullshit?”

“I’m no longer a teen. And yes. Yes, I am. I’m not moving until I die.”

“ Stephanie .”

“What?”

Harper sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. “How long am I going to have to put up with this?”

“Put up with what?” Her mouth is full of ice cream now, she waves the spoon around as she talks. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just here. Suffering. When will the universe give me a break?”

“Maybe you should stop waiting on the universe and just talk to her.”

“To who? The universe? I’m not really-”

“No, you dumbass .” She flings a throw pillow at her. “To Cassandra. About all of your feelings. And then you can put the rest of us out of our misery.”

Steph drops her hands flat to her sides and nudges the ice cream container away as she thinks. “Nope.”

Harper throws another pillow.

***

She gets into a pissing contest with Damian and Jason on Friday’s patrol. Ideally, she should have known better than to take on their combined force by herself; not when their both cut from the same cloth of anger, violence and ruthlessness that has much to do with Talia Al-Ghul.

They're playing a game of ‘How many criminals can you take down before midnight’, which under usual circumstances, Steph was exceptionally good at. And for the first few hours of patrol, she was. Until Tim informed her through the comms that he and Cass were rooting for her as they watched from the CCTV footage in the cave. It then went from beating Jason and Damian’s sorry asses to look cool, look effortless, look badass because Cass is watching.

Obviously, because sometimes the universe is a tepid bitch that likes watching her suffer, she knocks out two guys with quick jabs and follows the third down a fire escape by attempting to grapple to the ground before he descends the stairs, only to get her wire tangled. Which results in her smacking into the side of the building like George of the jungle. At least, that’s what Tim tells her she looked like as he checks her for a concussion. She’s fine, because she’s tougher than she looks honestly, and all she has to worry about is the sore bruise across her forehead that gets her barred from patrol for the rest of the weekend.

Damian and Jason, the sentimental little pricks, project their guilt into treating her nicer than they usually would. Jason sends her a flurry of blackmail pictures of Dick’s questionable fashion moments over the years that she’s sure he got off of Roy. Damian brings her waffles from an expensive cafe across town and spends most of his Saturday on her couch, watching trashy reality shows. Before he leaves, he fixes her with a look that’s somewhere above his usual range of disdain to indifferent. It’s close to pity, but not quite and it makes him look so much like Bruce for a moment that she finds herself sitting up, paying closer attention.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

He rolls his eyes at her near-confusion, looking years above his age as he says, “You have feelings for my sister. Yes?”

She’s taken aback and almost ready to deny it when she remembers that she isn’t exactly subtle and the only person that really doesn’t know about her crush on Cass, is Cass herself.  “Yes,” she answers, surely this time.

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

“Is this a shovel talk? Are you...are you really about to warn me?” she cackles despite his murderous little face, “You never did this when I was with Tim.”

“You and Drake were a mess, it wasn’t necessary,” he waves a hand in her direction, dismissing the thought. “And no, Brown. I do not need to warn you about what will happen if you screw up, you already know who I am. I’m merely... offering some advice.”

“Which is what?”

“If you wish to have a relationship with Cassandra, you’re going to have to swallow your stupidity and your fear and tell her that yourself. She will not come to you with a proposal, no matter how much you mope.”

With that he exits out the window, leaving her feeling like an open wound. The treads that she’s bound herself together by threaten to unravel on her living room floor, so she retreats to her bedroom and locks the door behind her.

Steph was a smart girl, she knew her friends were right. She knew the only way out of this sick hole of self-pity was to pick herself up and do what needed to be done. But rejection was just a cliff waiting for her to tumble over, and she wasn’t quite sure how she would ever be able to survive the fall.

She took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror. Breathed in her dishevelled hair, Dick’s old Gotham academy sweatshirt that she bummed from Tim after he stole it off Damian, and the stained sweatpants that she took from Harper’s clean laundry pile because she hadn’t gotten around to her own. She felt weird. Floaty. Like she was on the cusp of grief but she was being strong-armed by something else entirely, something delirious. It’s the flitting hope and anchor of lovesickness that had her sticking her ear pods in, music cranked up to full base as she twirled aimlessly around her bedroom. It was a cliched attempt at willing away the tightness of worry in her spine. It works, after a few songs. She sinks into it, almost gratefully, goes completely zen.

She doesn’t notice Cass until she stumbles into her. The window’s cracked open, letting in the cool night breeze of the city. Cass has her hands on Steph’s shoulders, righting her as she sways, a pretty smile tugging at her mouth. Even in her full Black Bat gear, hood pulled back, Cass looks like an unearthly thing, something good, something angelic.

“You’re sad?” she hums, swiping a hand up to Steph’s cheek, and if she had to die right there she’d be fine with that.

“No,” she lies, leaning into the offered comfort. “I’m fine.”

Cass presses a kiss to the sore bump on her forehead, tentatively, like she doesn’t know Steph is incapable of ever moving out of this moment. She takes the earbuds out Steph’s ears, plucking the phone out of her hands and taps until the music fills the room.

“I do owe you a dance,” she says, tugging Steph into a vague waltz.

She lets Cass manoeuvre her, hoping and praying that this is her salvation, finally. That the waiting will pay off, the waiting that she hadn’t even realized she was doing, will culminate into spilled feelings and she’d finally be able to look at Cass with the love-sick smile Tim saves for Kon, Bruce for Selina.

“I have to tell you something,” she inhales deeply, lungs filling with the smell of Cass’s favourite shower gel, sweat and leather. She’s giddy, as she says, “I should have told you sooner.”

“What is it?”

Cass’s forehead is pressed to hers, there’s a hand on her waist, a palm curved into her own and they're own personal, circle of moonlight haloing them. The words fill Steph’s mouth like bundled cotton, she hears Damian’s voice in her head—   “She will not come with a proposal,”— and remembers that Cass’ cornerstone of communication is tactile contact. She leans in, knowing fully well that of this advance was not wanted she’d be on her ass by now, and with as much grace as she can muster, presses a soft kiss into her mouth.

There’s a brief moment, not of shock but perhaps a beat to ground herself, before Cass is tugging her closer, flush against her and weaving a hand into her hair to keep her in place. Bitterly (and pettily) she thinks ‘Suck on that Conner Kent’ before her brain complete shorts out by Cass’ tongue slipping into her mouth. Her heart thuds away wildly against her ribs as Cass gathers her up in her arms.

It feels like days have passed when they finally break for air, noses brushing and lips bitten pink.

“I like you so much,” she admits, finally.

“Really?” Cass teases, soothing her hands down her spine. “I didn’t even notice.”

[ain-t-bovvered]

14x03 commentary

A/N: NOW WITH @waywardbaby 

14x03 “THE SCAR”

zeta: The intro finished. Hush

- not gonna lie.... I’m not excited for this. I’m still salty over the Micheal lasting 2 ep thing.

- THE BEARD JOKE JFC

zeta: it’s just a beard, Duck dynasty called.

- this was the cutest okay?!?!

- S:  Well someone like Sam like that okay? you are just jealous.

zeta: Innocent child

-MMBLREGH! SHARING FEELINGS TIME

zeta: “Michael bailed”

Dean be lying

Sam be knowning

Sam: I know you are lying.

Dean: I know you know.

Sam: I know you know that I know

Dean: Isn’t it nice to be back?

- D “ aaaah it’s nice to be back h- *record scratch*

D : the fuck?! 

zeta: Home?! Wtf  . The shirt and the vest tho.

zeta: Chief?

zeta: Dad is back. Jack is happy

[ENTERS CASTIEL] 

* audience whistle*

zeta: And there’s the happy husband

[COMMENCE THE STARING]

*audience awwwwing*

- D: still okay, I promise”

zeta : still okay

- S, J and C looking at each other : He’s lying 

Us: he’s lying

- I’M SORRY....DID Y’ALL JUST LOSE THAT DAMAGED PERSON WITH SATANIC HEAVY LUGGAGE AND PTSD?!?

- C “why would Micheal just give up his vessel like that “ 

yeah...exactly....waiting for the weak ass explanation

- [ commence Dean’s face melting and feels cooking up]

zeta: Right

zeta: Oh hello

-welp there it is

zeta: Second scar. Tag your porn ffs

- that fucking scar is bullshit ok??

- D” yeah I can handle Cass that “ 

 C “ Dean...”

 D “ Cass...come on...hit me “   ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

 S “ i’m so tired “

zeta: drag it out of me  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

- Can....can I just ...

YES GRIP THAT ARM TIGHT 

..ok sorry *screams into a pillow*

- AAAANYWAY.... fucking Kaya huh?! 

zeta : I need the other sherif tho

Zeta my god down girl

- AAAW CLAIRE 

-This episode is Sam huh huhing 

zeta : Petition for Sam to never shave off the beard

-aww that little push was cute like 

S: Dude come on talk to mom#2

- DUN DUUUUN MONSTER CASE

- Cass doing his hunter backpack IS CLEANING MY SKIN, AND MY CROPS ARE THRIVING

- [enters Jack] ....oh no

- D: “ You are barely an 100 pounds soaking wet “ ...  my EU ass :

- Jack : Damn I wish I went with my dad and got that laser sword tho

- D: “I didn’t mean to be a dick”

- THOSE ARE SOME GOOD AF EYELASHES EXTENSION  I want mine done again *whines*

- Castiel’s hand.....BRUUUUUUUUUUUH GIMMIE 

- “UUUH this might take a while .... you two...go bla bla bla I’ll catch up “

zeta: Both Dads on the same page

- Aww Dean driving how nice.

zeta: Hello, the roar of Baby

- “ Cass can handle it “

yes yes he can ...

- oh wait it the brother in the Impala so....FEELING TIME

- “I didn’t know if you were alive I- “   “I just need you to talk to me “

OOOOOH MY BABY LOOK AT HIS EYEEEEES JARED JFC

zeta: Give Sam a fucking hug. Somebody

- Jody looking like a snac tho

zeta: jODY SMILING JUST CURED MY ALLERGIES

-EXCUSE YOU JENSEN WHAT IS THAT , just kill me while you are at it Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

zeta: She likes the beard, in your face Dean

- “Claire is still.....Claire”

- Sam : 

- That smug face OMG

-Dean is like....NO TIME WASTING KIDS

-jack WAT R U DOING YOUNG MAN YOU R ON THIN FUCKING ICE OKAY?

zeta: WTF is Jack doing?

me: being a terrible child

- Oh I love Castiel with books

- “Like sleeping beauty “ ..... ok your cute ass is forgiven for now.

zeta: like sleeping beauty,... seriously

zeta Are you going somewhere

- Please don’t ever cut Sam’s beard , it’s doing things to me. (lol zeta)

- ....and thing tied around Dean’s thigh are doing god’s work. 

zeta: Those bow legs, Is this the time to mention the knife on Dean’s thigh? 

( lol Zeta#2)

 I should be commenting on the plot too sometimes ( lol who am I kidding right?). Anyway...I think Dean’s is remembering the place.

The directors are loving close ups.....and I’m definitely not complaining .

- Heads on a pike ....yikes.

zeta: what....Kaya?

- Kaya owning three hunter’s asses is life.

- aaaand that is not-Jensen landing on not-Jared. I mean....that’s a not-Jared belly.

zeta: those close ups give me life

- Castiel searching stuff around the bunker with his power ....can you imagine not having to look for the keys anymore??? 10/10 would marry.

- Marked “ Gross stuff” . Dean marked it I fucking swear.

zeta: gross stuff

zeta:” Is that your dad?”    “one of them”

- Yo....Jack needs to stop breaking my heart.

- Ok even before finishing the ep I fucking new that damn pendant had something to do with the spell and shit 

- YAS SAM IS SO SMART UUUUGH

- Bearded Bitchface yaaas

zeta: Sam just wants to punch him in the face

me... with love

...

I’m sorry I need to do this I’ve been laughing for hours

- me to Castiel : Speak Latin to me 

- Well that didn’t work      zeta: that didn’t go well

- “FIRST LOVE STRIKES QUICK “

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh heck yeak

zeta: I need Kaya’s coat

zeta: Right in the face

- Yeeeeah...Dean’s in that autopilot state that he was when Jack let them see Mary alive and being tortured.

- “....and weak “

zeta: Sassy. “you are much weaker£

Bitch the fuck

- Okay I know that SPN is not famous for the special effect and shit...but those prosthetics are wack

- “ ..you let her die “ .... why is jack testing me so much ?!?!?

zeta: poor baby jack

- Seeing Castiel feeling pain seeing his son in pain is giving me pain STAPH IT

-Yas Jack baby use that smart af brain your other dad gave you

- D: “We need to break her, right here right now”

  Jody:  Wha

 D: “I’m gonna do whatever it takes”

mmmmm flashbacks and deja vu

- oooooh damn Dean mad is kinky tho , proofs follows:

- sorry I need to go change now.

zeta: the fucking close ups

--- I NEED A PAUSE OKAY?? ---

zeta: Holy fucking yes, clever baby jack

- LIKE....THAT PROUD DAD FACE CASTIEL IS WEARING IS ILLEGAL

zeta: Proud father

- [flashback]  seee I told ya

- evil Kaya: “ You are scared...and you are weak “ oh boi

zeta: I’ve sensed you

- Michael with his damn hat and suit“ I’m here to make you an offer “    

  my italian ass : 

[fight]

Micheal not using his friggin’ archangel’s powers with a...like...a kid

zeta: Yeah I should not like this so much

- Well that was underwhelming anyway ( still hot tho). 

- Y’all I wanna see how they intent to explain all of * gesture* that.

- also that fight with the bad special effect teeth werewolf was disappointing ....I mean wow....ok.....

zeta: They are getting their ass kicked

- #stopbreakingJodysbones2k18

- Kaya yeeting out this bad writing is mood 

zeta: she fucking bailed----or not

- JUST GiVE THEM THAT DAMN SPEAR

-” Dean Winchester you have nothing to apologize for” Jody is the better Mom

- “I just fear that I’ve already lost before I could even begin “.... wow ok thank Jody. Also I’ve read how someone saw Bobo’s mourning over wayward sisters and I AGREE *slams fists on the table with tears in my eyes*

zeta: just dreading those consequences

- “The mind of a hunter and the heart of a hunter “  *sobs*  “Maybe we could go on a hunting trip “ ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS JFC CASTIEL YOU ABSOLUTE ANGEL DAD I CAN’T.

zeta: Cas smiling....rare

- Jack coughing “ I’m fine “ 

zeta: What is wrong with baby jack?

me : OH LOOK that’s another thing he got from his dads,

- D : “ You were right...”   S: wha

  D:” I don’t want to look at it, what Micheal used me for”    “ and it wasn’t a blink “

Oh FUCKING GREAT I KNEW IT

“I remember most of what Micheal did with me” 

OH

“...drowning , and that I remember. I felt every second of it, clawing , fighting for air “

zeta: Drowning FUCK

“ ...and it’s all on me man “

SAM: 

JFC JARED you are killing me this season

zeta: If they kill Jack I’m rioting

- ......HMMMMMM WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ?!?!?

.

.

.

.

WELP I’M TIRED , SAD AND AROUSED . So nothing new here right?

I DON’T KNOW WHO TO TAG, send an ask HERE if you want or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @destiel-honeypie @mariekoukie6661 @dragontamerm  @closetspngirl 

[dcladies-secretsanta]

Bats In The Belfry

TO: @bottomless-pit-dweller

FROM: Your Secret Santa 

"Who are you?" A quiet voice asks hours later, Steph drenched in sweat and fists wrapped but still aching something awful. If she weren't a bat she wold have jumped; she was a bit caught up in her head, didn't even hear the girl come in. She couldn't be Batman.

"I'm the new Batman." She answers with a resigned sigh, turning to face the girl.

"Hey Steph, can you do me a Solid?" Tim's voice started when she picked up the phone, and she groaned in frustration because that voice was the 'I'm going to ask you do do something you don't want to do' voice, but it was Tim, so it was also the 'You'll do it anyway' voice, and she just wanted A Day Off.

"What's up, Tim?" She sighed, and got gratification from the 'ah' that always accompanied that uncomfortable-guilty cringe he did. Good. If she had to deal with his bullshit, then he probably deserves the discomfort.

"So. Don't hang up-" he says, and, if Steph was stupid enough to believe Tim hadn't done something to remotely disable the Hang Up button on her phone, she definitely would have. Heck, she kinda wanted to try anyway, and he hadn't even said anything yet. "But.Um. So."

"Get to the point, Tim." Steph gritted out, and Tim heaved a sigh of his own.

"So. Dick's off planet with Duke and Babs for some peace talk." He started and yes, she already knew this, and he was clearly and blatantly stalling for time, and she didn't want to deal with this bullshit.

"Yes, Tim. I was there when Ol' Batty went over the plan. You're Batman- sorry for your luck-, Damian's Robin and training that girl from his school- that's honestly kinda cute- and Cass is flying back in to fill in for Nightwing. Cullen gets to try his spot at Oracle. Harper stays Batgirl, I stay awesome, Jason stays Redhood, and Bruce stays in bed on Alfred's orders. Seriously, Get To The Point or I'll just drop the phone and leave." she threatens, and Tim is silent long enough that she almost starts celebrating a rare bullet dodged, because whatever he's trying to ask is not gonna be good. But, Alas-

"Damian snuck onto the ship with the others. And Zeta beams as well as Communications were quickly disabled." Tim doesn't know how to blink first. Figures. She mutters a curse as she figures something else out, fingers turning white in her grip of the phone, because-

"They left a week ago, Tim. Ever think that maybe this is information you're supposed to share with the class?" She nearly growled, because she loved Tim, but he's also the absolute worst sometimes.

"I didn't want to worry anyone! We can't really do anything about it besides hope everything's fine and try to fix it from our end, and The Leauge is already working on that. I've been training Olive, and it's been a quiet week. I didn't need a Robin." He defends himself, and there's a bit to unpack and talk about there, because he must be woried out of his mind and it's bullshit that he didn't tell any of them, but there are more pressing matters.

"I'm sensing a 'But' here." she says hesitantly, reminded of Pandora and her Box.

"But," he obliges, "I'm a little...Shot, right now. Ok. Maybe a lot shot. I'm on bed rest for the foreseeable future. Bart dragged me to Titans Tower because Alfred's so busy with Bruce. I had to blackmail them into letting me have this call instead of passing out." He admits reluctantly and yeah, now that she's listening for it instead of just being angry at him for talking, she can hear his breathing and he's talking a little slow, which is the Bat Equivalent of slurring your words.

"What the hell Tim." she groans, feeling a headache start to form.  "Seriously, spit it out. What do you want? What is this about?" She asked, anger masking worry.

"You are my last hope." he starts, and that's not good. "I swear Steph, I wouldn't ask if you weren't. I need you to be Batman."

Steph is silent. She freezes. she's clenching one fist hard enough to draw blood with her nails, and the other hard enough to crack the phone in half if it wasn't a BatPhone designed to keep sturdier then a fucking Nokia. It makes sense, given ho angry people get when talking to Bruce. After the seventh that broke being thrown against a wall and the 12 that was snapped in half and the 3rd ground into bits under someone's heel, they went through some revisions.

"Please Steph. I'll delete that blackmail from Star City, you know the one. I'll give you eternal access to whatever you want. I'll dress in drag and do the Hula. I'm actually begging here. Harper can't be Batman. Jason *laughed* at me when I asked. Cass is dead set on Nightwing, something about a bet. Kate doesn't have time to be Batwoman right now, let alone Batman. No one can get a hold of Azreal. Jim's too old, even with the mech suit. You're the only option." He rants and wow, either pain or drugs is really getting to him because he sounds almost hysteric.

"Fuck you." she snarls. "Fuck you sideways. Fuck Everyone in this god forsaken family. Fuck Damian in particular, little brat. Fuck you." She spits, because she;s a fighter and this is the best she can do. "Seriously. Fuck You. My revenge will be slow and painful, and you owe me so many things, and I'm dying the BatSuit purple out of spite. All of them. Except Cass's, because I love her. Once you heal, I'm kicking your ass." She grumbles and promises and goes on, but it all boils down to her reluctant defeat.

"Thanks Steph, yes I know I suck, you're the best, Goddess amoung Mortals, yes I know you hate me, sorry steph-" Tim indulges her rant because he's a good friend and a smart guy like that, and she only stops when he actually starts slurring words.

"Go The Fuck To Sleep, Boy Wonder." She growls and he hums a good bye and hangs up. She almost buries her head in her knees and pities herself, but instead goes to the BatCave and works through her anger with a good old fashioned punching bag.

Fuck This.

READ ON AO3

[redrobin-detective]

Batfam brotherly bonding if ur still taking prompts?

Always love these crazy losers

“Out of the way, Pretender!” Red Hood shouted, just barely avoiding colliding into Red Robin as he went after a collection of goons. The young er boy snarled, ducking out of the way and turning to another couple of bad guys.

“Take care of your own bad guys, Hood!” He responded, getting two criminals with a well aimed strike of his bo. “Stop stealing mine!”

“Well I wouldn’t need to if you were actually taking care of them!” Hood retorted back, putting a knife into the knee of a man trying to shank him. 

“Hey! We agreed nothing lethal!” Nightwing shouts from the other side, his big brother instincts somehow sensing that the Hood was acting out.

“He’ll live, get off my back, Wing!” Hood snarled, ripping out the knife before slamming his elbow into the mook’s face. “Don’t act as if you’ve never injured anyone, I know you nearly killed that clown after he hurt your precious baby bird. At least you cared about one brother enough.” 

“I will not be lectured by a known murderer,” Nightwing answered testily. This had been a long patrol that ended up worse when the four of them somehow ended up at some sort of massive villain hideout. There were plenty of small fry, nothing they couldn’t handle but its exhausting none the less. He just wants to go home. 

“Funny coming from you when you let the ankle biter follow you around,” Red Robin commented bitterly. “Hood’s right, you’re such a hypocrite.”

“Please continue, I would relish an excuse to finally remove you from our ranks,” Robin hissed, throwing small shurikens at the villains immobilizing them but not critically injuring them. It was a tedious effort and pointless in the long run but Nightwing, Batman, insisted. 

“No one is removing anyone!” Nightwing shouted, glaring at each of his brothers individually. “Let’s just focus on getting this done and head home.”

“Easy for you to say when you have a home to return to,” Red Robin sneered, punching once, twice, and sending the poor man flying.

“Oh will you stop it with your martyr bullshit? The only home I got to call my own is a goddamn coffin,” Hood snaps, turning on Red Robin. 

“Please, you’re both wastrels. Can you stop bickering for a moment so I can concentrate, some of us care about the quality of our work,” Robin stated, catching the punch of a man and twisting his wrist so violently it broke. 

“Shut up, you’re what? 9? You’re as fucked up as the rest of us if you’re out here in tights and a mask,” Hood retorted. Robin dispatched with the few remaining criminals around him and spun to face Hood. Before he could escalate the fight any further, a black blur sped past them and obliterated any of the thugs remaining. The boys had whittled them down pretty good but the remaining quickly fell under the Black Bat’s practiced fist. The Robins lowered their weapons and sat back to watch their sister work.

“Nice work as always,” Nightwing said cheerfully as he dialed the GCPD on a burner phone and tucked it into the pocket of an unconscious criminal. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Black Bat said, stepping forward. “Oracle said, stop pretending. It’s late, you’re tired. No one is here.”

“You tell that bitch to mind her own damn-” Hood, Jason, growls before stopping and sighing, the tension leeching out of his shoulders. Babs was right, as normal, he was exhausted from too many late night patrols and the usual teasing, heated banter wasn’t fun anymore. “Right, okay.”

“Sorry I called you a murderer,” Dick whispered reaching out to stroke Jason’s arm. Jason allowed the contact but he did resist the urge to lean into it like he wanted. Maybe another night.

“Same,” Tim said softly to Damian who pursed his lips and nodded curtly to avoid mentioning how deep the comment had stung. But they all said cruel things to each other in battle, keeping up the persona of bickering brothers. It was nice sometimes just to put all that aside and admit that they cared. 

“You two aren’t a waste, your presence is both valued and necessary,” Damian answered as Tim playfully ruffled his hair.

“Alright, who wants to raid the Bat’s fridge for ice cream and watch Golden Girls,” Jason asked, putting away his weapons. 

“Can we find something from this decade?” Tim asked with an amused little smirk.

“Hey, they’re classics, cheeky brats like you wouldn’t understand,” Dick grinned, pulling Timmy under one arm. He saw Damian eyeing the motion and pulled him close with his other arm. 

“I don’t care,” the youngest brother muttered, “I just want to see Titus.” 

“Alright, last one back to the cave has to put away the gear!” Jason shouted, suddenly sprinting towards the exit. The other paused for a beat before following after, shouting about how unfair the challenge was even though they were going to give it their all. Cass smiled fondly at her brothers, so smart and strong but also very stupid in not realizing when it’s okay to just let everything go. She trails after leisurely knowing that she’s going to leave them all in the dust.

[chibinightowl]

Ain’t No Shame

For Day Five of JayTim Week 2018 - Fake/Pretend Relationship

“Want to be my fake boyfriend?” Jason blinks, his sandwich raised halfway to his mouth as he stares at Tim. “What?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly. Admittedly it’s not the strangest thing his replacement has ever said to him but it still sends him for a loop. Tim gestures breezily, his own sandwich abandoned on his desk in favor of the coffee that Jason brought for him. They try to have lunch together every few weeks to shoot the shit and bitch about their respective family. It’s therapeutic. “Not that I don’t think you’d be great boyfriend material but there’s this one woman who’s been really on my case recently about my dating life.” “You mean lack of dating life.” Jason can’t help but laugh. Tim doesn’t date. At all. His last relationship ended two years ago with Tam Fox throwing a glass of champagne in his face at one of the biggest social events of the year and stalking off, never to be seen around Tim again. Tim mock glares at him over the rim of his thermos. “Like you’re one to talk.” “Ain’t no shame in my game,” Jason says around a mouthful of his sandwich. “You have no game.”

It’s sad but true. Like Tim has any room to talk though. “So why do I get to be the fake boyfriend then?” he asks instead of replying to Tim’s comment. Tim huffs a sigh, the force of which displaces his bangs from where they hang over his eyes. The young man is always in need of a haircut. “A number of reasons, really. First, she’s the daughter of a rather influential society maven who actually has brains to go with her money.” “That’s rare.” “Tell me about it,” Tim replies sourly. “But her mother has her set on a good match and apparently she’s set her sights on me. We’re pretty close in age.” His disgust at being called a good match is clear and makes Jason laugh again because this is just too funny. “So I need to be your arm candy in hopes of scaring her off by pretending to be bi?” It’s not a bad idea but they all know rich people are into some pretty kinky shit behind closed doors. Tim shrugs and finally picks up his sandwich. “That’s the hope. I already know she doesn’t like lesbians. She made a comment about Steph and Cass the last time they made an appearance together.” Jason makes a face at that. “Talkin’ shit about my two favorite gals? I already don’t like her.” “She was tolerable until that point,” Tim nods in agreement. “But I can’t just tell her off. I made a point to remind her that she was talking about my sister and one of my best friends. She apologized, but it was easy to see she didn’t mean it.” “Why can’t you tell her to piss off?” Tim sighs again. “Because I have a reputation to maintain. If I’m perceived as being difficult, then it makes it harder to do my job.” He gestures to the nice office they’re sitting in at WE. During the last year that they’ve been hanging out, it’s been a common complaint that no one at WE takes him seriously because of his age. At 23, Tim struggles with being acting CEO for the often absent Bruce and balancing college classes on top of his role as Red Robin.

A role Jason can’t help but notice Tim is letting slide more and more. Over the last few weeks in particular, he’s only heard Red on the comms maybe a half a dozen times. He settles a thoughtful eye on the young man. “Shit goin’ down here too?”

Tim runs a tired hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and quietly glares at his desk. “That’s putting it lightly,” he finally says. “I’d rather be going toe to toe with Killer Croc in a dark sewer than face the complete and utter bullshit that’s corporate America.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Tim takes a deep breath and looks up again, settling back in his chair. “So, fake boyfriend. It’ll help relieve some of my stress if you give me a hand.”

Jason pointedly rakes his eyes up and down the young businessman. Tim looks smart and professional in his suit, even if the tie is already at half-mast and his collar undone. But underneath the façade, and what’s probably a ton of concealer, he can see how tired Tim is. Those blue eyes that normally sparkle when he finds something funny are dull, with barely a glimmer of what Jason knows is a situation they should both be finding hilarious.

“Why the hell not?” he agrees. If anything, this will let him keep a better eye on the smaller bird. Sue him if all of this isn’t getting his mother-hen instincts going. “So, what’s the plan I know you’ve already got cooked up in that big brain of yours?”

“Well, since you asked…”

~*~*~*~

It starts simple enough. More public and frequent lunch dates. Trips to the office with coffee during the day. After a month, Tim has them go to a restaurant opening together where they get photographed for the first time. Jason makes it a point to always wear his reading glasses when they’re in public to help dispel any questions about his resemblance to a deceased Wayne adoptee.

There’s nothing complicated about things. They enjoy each other’s company and Jason enjoys the free meals. It’s also a great excuse to make sure Tim is eating too. Red Robin still isn’t on the streets much but the bags are starting to disappear from under his eyes and the gleam is returning when Tim finds something amusing so Jason takes that as a victory. He’s joked before that Tim is the least annoying of his brothers and it’s true. Really though, Tim is closer to him than any brother. Family has always been complicated for Jason and he’s found that he’s more comfortable with forming relationships of his own choice rather than those forced upon him by so-called familial bonds.

That’s what he tells himself at least as it also helps keep people at a distance.

The morning after their first dinner date, Jason’s awakened early by the ringing of his phone. He groans and fumbles for it, the only light in bedroom from the slit in his blackout curtains where he forgot to close it all the way and never bothered to fix it. The phone rings again, and Jason swipes at the screen without really seeing who it is. “Someone better be dead or dying,” he growls hoarsely into the device.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” Tim chirps in an overly cheerful greeting. “Did someone have a long night?”

Jason groans and rolls over onto his back, rubbing a hand absently over the bare skin of his stomach. “I didn’t go to bed until after five.”

“I thought you stayed in last night after dinner?” Tim questions, sounding slightly distracted now as he apparently starts pulling up reports to see why he would have been out. “Something about too much wine?”

“Yeah, I did. Just me and Jane Austen, having a grand old time.” Jason yawns and stretches. It’s too early, whatever the hell time it was. “Is there a reason you’re callin’ at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s after ten. I waited.”

“Gold fucking star. So what is it?”

“Check your texts,” Tim replies. “We made the front page of the society section.”

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, but Jason grunts and does as he’s been asked. He’s long since learned that when it comes to dealing with Tim, sometimes it’s just best to humor him. Less painful that way.

Tapping on the link Tim sent, Jason squints at the screen, his eyes trying to adjust to the brightness. The picture doesn’t look too bad, actually. They were sitting close together, and his head was bent down to listen to whatever it was Tim had been saying. They’re even smiling, small unguarded smiles that any publication would probably pay through the nose for if it came from Tim Drake-Wayne, one of the most eligible bachelors in the US and probably the world.

“Okay, so we’re not caught with forks in our mouths,” he finally offers.

Tim laughs, that low little huff Jason knows means he’s more amused than he’s letting on. “It’s a great picture actually. Guess who’s already called me about it?”

It takes Jason a moment to remember. “What’s her face…Brittany?”

“Bree,” Tim replies. “Bright and early, left me a message demanding that I call her right away. Says we need to have a little chat about last night.” It’s clear what Tim thinks about that and Jason can’t help but laugh at the disgusted tone.

“You call her back yet?”

“No,” Tim says flatly. “I’m making her stew a little while longer.”

“Brave man. I’ll stop by WE later this afternoon with coffee and you can tell me how that goes. I’m going back to sleep.” Jason yawns pointedly and hangs up without waiting for a reply.

Later that afternoon, as promised, Jason waltzes into Wayne Tower with Tim’s afternoon sugar rush. He wonders if the young executive has realized he’s been sneaking him decaf for the last month and hiding it under an excess of sugar and creamer. The secretary waves him right in, a bright smile on her face as she winks at him while fielding a phone call.

Tim is also on the phone when Jason enters the office, closing the door securely behind him. He looks annoyed and is so very ready to be anywhere else but here, but he wordlessly takes the coffee from him and continues pacing around his desk, occasionally interjecting a comment here and there as he listens to someone yelling on the other end.

Jason has a pretty good idea of who that is, so he makes himself comfortable on the sofa and pulls an old paperback out of his jacket pocket, tuning out the escalating argument. He’s moved on to a precursor of Jane Austen’s works, a novel titled Evelina, and is deeply entrenched in it when Tim finally flops down in a disgusted heap next to him.

“Rough day?” he asks mildly.

“It’s been a good day until that call” Tim takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes.

“Bree?”

He nods. “Bree.”

Jason waits and puts his book away. It won’t take long for Tim to speak up.

“It’s working,” he finally says, his head resting on the back of the sofa with his eyes closed. “She kept going on about how she thought we had an understanding. The papers are full of speculation over who you are and what we are, so she’s feeling a little insecure about her place in my world.”

There’s an odd mix of amusement and disgust coming from Tim and Jason can’t help but laugh. “What place?”

“That’s what I said,” Tim replies. “She screamed at me and hung up.”

Jason laughs even harder and sits upright. “Well, that sounds like mission accomplished to me. I say we go out and celebrate tonight. I got a little gang war brewing in the Bowery that I need to put a stop to. Could use the company.”

But Tim is already shaking his head. “Not yet,” he disagrees. “Let’s give it a few more weeks and see what happens.” He cracks open a pale blue eye. “I could use the exercise though. Vent some frustration.”

“Cracking skulls and breaking kneecaps. Time honored coping mechanisms in this family.” Jason nods sagely.

“Amen.”

~*~*~*~

A couple weeks later, they’re having lunch at a little bistro in Old Town that Jason has grown to love. It’s close enough to WE that it’s easy to get Tim out of the office and walk there, with the added bonus of what passes for sunshine and fresh air in Gotham. Today, Tim is unusually quiet. Jason lets him be during the meal, but when the normally contained man starts fiddling with his spoon, he finally speaks up.

“You’re awfully quiet, Red. The board up your ass again or something?”

Tim makes a face and reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a folded piece of paper. “I wish.” He slides it across the table to Jason.

Picking it up, Jason grimaces as he reads the invitation to an upcoming charity event. “That’s a pretty invitation.” He sees where this is going. There’s only one reason why Tim would bring this up.

“It is,” Tim agrees. “And since it’s a Wayne event, my attendance is compulsory.” He levels a tired stare at Jason, who hands the paper back to him.

“Black tie event.” He can’t remember the last time he wore a tux.

“Yup.”

Jason waits, wanting to make him work for it. Tim finally quirks that little half smile of his that used to drive him nuts and slides a hand across the table to pick up his much larger hand. Long fingers rub soothing circles over bruised knuckles before he speaks. “Jason, will you go to the charity gala with me? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Well, that was more than he expects. “Sure, since you asked so nicely. I’m gonna need an Alfred-approved straightjacket, aren’t I?”

Tim’s eyes light up in a way that sends butterflies fluttering through Jason’s stomach. He swallows hard and reminds himself this isn’t real. But as they leave the restaurant, Tim nattering on about where he can get a quick fitting for his monkey suit, Jason can’t help but notice they’re still holding hands.

~*~*~*~

There’s a lot of things Jason doesn’t miss about life as a Wayne heir and this charity event certainly qualifies as one of them. Unlike other events though, he knows the majority of the funds donated tonight actually make it to where they’re needed rather than lining someone’s pocket. He sips at his champagne and does his job, standing tall and handsome next to Timothy Drake-Wayne as the shorter man schmoozes his way around the room.

Someone taps on his shoulder and Jason turns to see a grinning Dick Grayson behind him. He lets himself be pulled aside, Tim not saying a word, but he does get the play nice look before he’s left to the wolves.

“You know, there’s a word for what you’re doing tonight,” Dick says as he plucks the champagne out of Jason’s hands and replaces it with what he hopes is scotch or whiskey.

“Arm candy?” Jason retorts and takes a welcome sip at the darker liquor. It’s scotch. “Whoring myself out to the highest bidder?”

His brother laughs and slaps a hand on Jason’s broad shoulder. “I was going with the former,” he says. “Tim told me what’s been going on.”

Jason shrugs because it’s not like they’ve been keeping things secret. That would defeat the point actually. “Yeah, I’m just helping him out. I get free meals out of it and we all get the peace of mind knowing Tim is eating something other than protein bars at least once every 24 hours.”

“Alfred says thanks for that by the way.” Dick pauses and takes a sip of his own drink. “I also want to give you a heads up…you know who just arrived a few minutes ago. From the glimpse I saw, she’s dressed to kill.”

Jason laughs at that and downs the rest of the finger of scotch in one smooth motion. He hands the glass back to Dick. “Well, whaddya know? So am I.”

With that, he winks and makes his way back through the crowd to take up his position at Tim’s side again. Tim arches an eyebrow at him in question. Leaning down, Jason whispers in his ear. “Bree has entered the building. Dickie says she’s dressed to impress too.”

A small smirk graces Tim’s lips momentarily. “Game on.”

They weave in and out of different circles of people, Tim chatting up donors with a smooth aplomb that only comes from years of practice. Jason doesn’t mind hanging back in the slightest, the social maneuvering of everyone desiring to be seen with Tim making him laugh quietly to himself. He can just imagine how these people would bring up the encounter, relishing the chance to say they’d spoken with Tim Wayne. Maybe if he’d lived, this would be him standing here, doing his best to field questions with answers that mean absolutely nothing at all.

But if he’d lived, then Tim wouldn’t be here. Not like this at least.

His mind must have wandered a bit too much as Tim clenches the sleeve of his jacket tightly. “She’s coming,” he warns quietly.

Jason looks around and spots an absolute bombshell stalking towards them. Dressed to kill may have been an understatement as the brunette is stunning. Tasteful jewelry and a headful of large curls, the red sheath dress she wears reveals everything and nothing at the same time, the fabric clinging to curves that almost make Jason’s mouth water before he remembers she’s public enemy number one. “You didn’t tell me she’s hot,” he mutters back.

“Does it matter?” Tim glowers at him.

“No,” he replies glumly. “Let’s do this.”

The young heiress approaches them, her red lips smoothly sliding into a predatory smile as she greets Tim. “Hello, darling. Do you have a few minutes to spare? There’s something I’d like to speak with you about.”

Jason doesn’t miss that she pointedly pretends not to see him standing there at Tim’s side, his large hand resting on the small of his back.

Tim smoothly deflects her. “I believe I said everything that needed to be said a couple weeks ago. I’m quite happy with my current relationship.” He smiles up at Jason for good measure.

If looks could kill, Jason is positive he’d be a dead man for the second time in his life. He wants to laugh because this shit is just too funny. Tim doesn’t seem to think so though, his back tense under Jason’s hand.

“What relationship?” Bree retorts bitterly. “All the two of you ever do is go out to eat. You barely hold hands and never once did my PI catch you kiss.” She leans in close and Jason catches a whiff of a rather nice perfume. “I think this is all a sham. You’re trying to avoid commitment, Tim.”

Jason has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing this time because this chick just nailed Tim to perfection. Commitment phobe, thy name is Wayne, in all shapes and sizes.

Tim tries to keep his reply level and polite. “I can think of many couples who don’t go in for public displays of affection.”

“You did with Tam Fox. You’re comfortable with this man, but nothing in your body language screams couple like it did with her.”

Ouch. Jason will definitely grant that point to Bree because Tim and Tam were adorable together and everyone knew it.

“If we kiss, here and now, in front of all these people, will you leave my boyfriend and I alone?” The question comes out of nowhere and Jason’s mouth dries at the thought of locking lips with Tim. Not that he hasn’t wondered what it would be like, especially of late, but this isn’t quite how he thought (hoped) it would happen.

Bree does not look happy at the offer. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re as straight as I am, Tim, for all that you’re playing around trying to prove your point and get back at me for what I said about your sister. I already apologized for that.” She bats her eyes prettily at the last part.

“I never claimed to be straight,” Tim replies, his voice starting to grow dark with anger. It’s bordering on his Red Robin voice, which makes Jason rub soothing circles over Tim’s back to wordlessly calm him down. No one needs to find out something they shouldn’t, not here and not because of this woman.

Just like the mini-Bat he is Tim chooses action over inaction. He turns and smoothly wraps his arms around Jason’s neck in a move that speaks of long practice and ease rather than the first time. Jason tries to keep the surprise from his face as he settles his other hand on Tim’s narrow waist. “Sorry about this,” he whispers as he rises up on his toes.

“Don’t be,” Jason manages to reply before he’s robbed of his voice by Tim’s lips settling over his. He tries to keep it chaste and clean considering their venue and the people surrounding them who have all been surreptitiously listening into the brewing argument but his will is quickly overpowered as Tim surges forward, licking into his mouth like this will be the only chance he has. Jason lets himself be devoured and tries to reciprocate when Tim attempts to withdraw. He didn’t realize until now just how badly he wants this, wants all of this to be real.

When they finally pull apart, it’s with a number of shorter presses of their lips, neither one of them willing to be the one who ends it.

Jason takes a deep breath when he finally withdraws, winded as though he just finished a wild chase through the streets of Gotham. He takes a small amount of solace in the fact Tim does the same, with a look of utter amazement in his icy blue eyes.

A small round of applause interrupts their contemplation of each other and they abruptly jerk away from each other in surprise. Looking around, Bree is no longer there, but Dick is, grinning larger than life.

“About time,” is all he says before disappearing back into the crowd.

“What?” Jason tries to ask but Tim grabs him by the arm and leads him away, graciously accepting compliments from a few well-wishers as they make their way outside and onto a balcony.

Tim closes the door behind them and leans against it, eyes to the ground as he sorts himself out. That’s fine as Jason’s feeling a bit outside the norm too.

“What just happened?” he finally asks after Tim stays silent for too long.

Laughing eyes meet his, the dull gleam that’s been all too prevalent for months vanished in the blink of an eye. “I think Dick just won a bet.”

“What?” Jason growls, taken aback as this is not anywhere near what he expects the other man to say. He wishes he’d been able to sneak a grapple gun under his jacket as he just wants to be gone from here. “A bet? Is this a fucking joke?”

But Tim’s already holding his hands up and backtracking. “Wait. That came out wrong. I didn’t actually find out about the bet until yesterday.”

“Tim,” Jason says warningly. “Spit it out.”

“I like you,” Tim replies, crossing his arms and still blocking the doors leading back into the hotel ballroom. “I have for a long time but never thought you liked me the same way. Until tonight.”

“You like me,” Jason parrots back. “What is this, high school?”

Tim shrugs, the movement accentuated by the fine cut of his tuxedo. “I have for years, Jason. Years. But I’m also perfectly happy finally having the chance to just be your friend. That alone took us forever.”

Touché. It’s been over five years since Jason last tried to kill Tim. That first year back in Gotham was rough on all of them. “So what was all this then?” he asks, still feeling on the defensive.

“A chance I never expected to have,” Tim replies softly. “The whole thing with Bree was real. As was my request for you to act like my boyfriend for a few months. I didn’t think something like this would happen tonight. I really didn’t. I figured we’d act the couple for a few more weeks and then just drift apart and go back to our usual.”

Jason gets the distinct feeling that’s the last thing Tim wants to do but that he would because he’s not the type to force feelings on someone when it’s clearly not returned. So what does he want then? The thought of going back to their normal routine isn’t something he relishes the thought of. At all. But there’s still the bet.

“What’s the bet, Timmy?”

Tim swallows bravely. “It’s between Dick, Steph, and Cass. Since we started fake dating, they’ve been betting on when it would turn into real dating.”

That’s not too bad actually. He can deal with this. “And you just found out about this yesterday?”

The other man nods.

Jason walks forward, keeping his scowl firmly fixed in place. Tim needs to sweat a little and from the deep breath he’s taking as Jason looms over him, it’s working. “So, is there anything you want to ask me then?”

It takes a moment for Tim to understand. He sags against the door in relief before standing upright again. “Jason, will you go out with me? For real this time.”

Jason raises a hand and runs the tip of his fingers over Tim’s cheek, ghosting them down onto his thin lips. “I suppose so. One thing though.”

“What’s that?” Tim breathes, a warm puff of air against his skin.

“I don’t put out until after the third date.”

Tim groans and wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, nuzzling the skin above the stiff collar. “What do I need to do to change your mind?”

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine 30

Spoilers, obv.

And another quieter issue, where we primarily delineate the other other half of the issues of 28's reveals, while putting those final few dominoes in position. It's also, art wise, a relatively undemanding one.  The rest of this arc is brutally hard, so an issue where the team could take a breath is also worthwhile. A comic series like WicDiv is a marathon made of marathons. You make it all uphill at your own peril.

It's also one of the more classically structured issues for a while. The issue's effective lead is Dio, and his 3-encounters-in-the-underworld structure the backbone which everything else is built around.

I suspect notes on this one will be short, by the way, but whenever I say that, I'm always wrong.

Jamie/Matt's cover:

That this isn't the best cover in the arc only speaks to exactly how great issue 32 is. Some startling design elements here.

Meredith's Cover:

She's always been great, but seeing her cover for East Of West was the thing which prompted us to go and try and talk her into one. It was a pleasure to work with her – all her design ideas were smart and interesting. We ended up here, because frankly, who can resist hot pink? Not us.

Jonathan Hickman's Cover

Talking about East of West. I've always been envious of Jonathan's designer string to his creative bow, so when we were asked if we wanted to be part of the month of his variants, we jumped at it, if only to see how he'd reinterpret our mythology. This is very much the cult-sci-fi novel alt dimension take on WicDiv.

Page 1-3

I'm always interested in the history of the second page reveal. Old school comic writer guides normally suggest opening with the big image, to throw people in the world. That – and, I feel, especially in the 00s – got changed into the delayed reveal. Enter the world in a quieter way, and then do the big reveal. That means you can create some context quickly, and use that big impact for something a little more complicated.

(It also means if you go to a 2-3 page splash, you can make the image bigger. If I remember correctly, almost all the New 52 books hand that rhythm, which I have to presume was an editorial guideline. I may be misremembering though.)

It's worth noting I say “a little more complicated.” I don't say “sophisticated” or even talk about effectiveness – complicated says nothing about a piece of work's quality. I just mean there's more moving parts involved before the reveal. Look at someone like BKV and his love of the opening splash to see how effective the HELLO, HERE I AM, LOOK AT THIS THING! Can be.

In our case, we have this little conversation between Woden and Cass, and then show what we've done to Valhalla. We've been talking about the plans for this gig for a long time, so we really needed to show what that means. Clearly, the gig is going to be key to the back half of Imperial Phase II, so we really let people have a good stare.

The best thing Jamie did here was make sure there's a stage built into Valhalla, as he correctly guessed they'd be one required for next issue. SMART MAN, THAT MCKELVIE.

This is the sort of page which is primarily expositionary, but by having the characters get together and basically scheme it out hopefully carries it. As you can imagine, there's going to be a statement of exact goals next issue in a similar mode.

(Why not say them here? Efficiency. Don't need to know it yet, and we'd have to repeat it next issue anyway. Why burn the page count twice?)

Cass speaks my own frustration at how people use facebook, I suspect.

The idealist/realist exchange on the first page is a good example of what happens when you have the broad strokes of what's going on, and then let the characters respond to each other. Woden has the Valkyries back? How does he act now? How does Cass respond? Where does that take us?

Page 4

I wrote this  with no interstitials, and decided to add them later, when we saw how the issue was working. I looked at the page turns, and decided pushing everything forward one page would be most effective. Plus that the black of the interstitials does lead us into the underworld.

Page 5-6

And we show Dio where we left him last time. There was even the option to use the same panel if Jamie wanted to cut a corner. He didn't.

The page sets up the rhythm that runs through the issue, which happens three times. This is pure fairy-tale, folklore myth structure. It's also joke structure, in the rule of three way. First statement shows a situation. Second statement shows it is a pattern. Third statement subverts the pattern. It's just a very efficient way of doing basically everything... and that natural rhythm being used everywhere means that it always feels part of some longer, primordial sort of storytelling. I think the six panel is leaning into that – I only want five beats. Establish/show Dio's current state/arrival of Morrigan/Dio's response to Morrigan/Morrigan's final statement. Throw away everything which isn't needed for the folk tale.

(The final “Yeah, you won't” leans into the folklore. Dio signals that this is not just stubbornness, but a plan.)

Have I mentioned the Underworld being the inverse of Young Avenger's mother dimension? I probably have. It serves a similar purpose in terms of a direct thing which allows us to strong arm an atmosphere while also being relatively “cheap” to do in terms of Matt and Jamie's resources. I've done 32 of these. I'm sure I'm repeating myself all over the place. These really off the cuff.

Despite knowing everything I knew about the Morrigan at the start, I found it hard to articulate the key difference between her and Dio succinctly. Eventually, it hit me. Dio wants what's best for people. Morrigan thinks she knows what's best for people. Morrigan will sacrifice a lot, as long as they obey her entirely. When I had that in my head, Morrigan became easier. Easier, anyway. She's never easy.

7-8

Another two page scene – the issue very much runs off those short scenes. The hard cut rhythm is a key part of Imperial Phase II, I think.

I wrote the bottom of Page 7 with three panels, in a “Write minimum numbers of panel.” Jamie adds one to really sell it. He actually does a similar thing next issue as well, which proves he must like eight panel grids more than he claims.

The trick of this scene is signalling to the reader that Woden has done fuck all to any of the equipment. A reader would remember that Woden has a camera on Amaterasu from way back in issue 14, but this confirms it's more general than that.

(There's clues elsewhere – his timing when he turned up in issue 12 was more than a little suspicious, right?)

Of course, lying and sarcasm is one of the hardest things to pull off in comics. Comics, for some reason, lends into credulity in the reader. I'm not sure why, though have my theories. In which case, we really push it – look at all the “Er” and the bolded ADDED in the first panel of page 7.

Oh god. Page 8 had me really fuck up in lettering. I originally wrote Cass being snarky here, and glaring at Beth... having failed to remember Cass wasn't in this scene. Beth basically just teleports Cass to where she is. My brain, it no good.

Page 9-10

I basically said everything in the first iteration, right

Hmm. Badb is oddly unsweary here.

Jamie's working the shadows fascinatingly here – the last panel of Dio is also one of the best.

Page 11-12

This is the one sacrifice to the earlier interstitial – that the instagram pages don't appear on a spread. The loss is solely a visual effect.

These are the “two pages I comic but half a page of work for Jamie”. Clearly, Persephone is absent this issue, and we needed to keep her absence a presence, if you see what I mean. Plus the instagram is a way to do the montage-of-time and events. Its placement here is a lot to do with selling how long that Dio has been down this hole.

I actually wrote considerably more comments for each instagram, but there wasn't room to include them in the framing. It's okay. Don't read the comments.

When wrote Amaterasu's Instagram text and then put my fist in my own mouth out of embarrassment. My next career move may be bullshit internet motivational sentences.

Page 13-14

Third iteration.

As I've said, WicDiv is that conflict between this over-planned structural thing and also the discovery you undergo as a writer when exploring these people. Throughout, I couldn't quite work out why I never had a place for Gentle Annie in the story. I actually like writing her – it has the added bonus of her voice really annoying Chrissy, and I'm very pro annoying my editor. But no – Annie's just not around much.

Clearly, thinking about that leads to this scene, where it's the part of Marian that isn't really getting much play any more. It's probably my favourite Annie scene, which is lucky, I guess, considering where the issue goes. The mixture of twee and utterly scary motherfucker was always the line I wanted to walk with her.

Page 15-16

As much as this scene flirts with total disaster, in this ominous fucker of an issue, it's a relative moment of light. Also a chance for Matt to really push the palette. I will never get bored of his Baal lightning.

The Sakhmet cosplay is delightful.

The reds of Amaterasu's lightbeam form, and the blue of Minerva's chair is another great choice.

There was an editorial discussion over whether Amaterasu appearing in the final panel was too much or exactly the amount of too much. We clearly went that way. This is a playful scene.

Page 17-19

Yeah, this isn't. I'm kind of amazed this is only 3 pages. This issue is tightly wound – there's no scene longer than 3 pages, and the majority is 2 pages – but this feels especially so. It's telling that it's here we move to the eight-panel, that most Phonogram of structures.

(A modified eight panel)

I originally had a different idea for the flashback, bringing Leila back to essentially insert scenes into issue 16, but the space wasn't really there, and felt like formalism would be distracting around here. This is complicated stuff, so let's keep it clean. Notice how Jamie changes the panel shapes to separate the sub-narrative from the main narrative – obviously the blue-greys of Matt do most of the work, but it can't be underestimated.

Let's call out some panels – Baph in the seventh panel of 17, hiding behind the shades and the wise-crack. The fifth panel of 18, which in its blissed certainty, the possible single scariest panel of Morrigan in WicDiv. Oh – and Dio's heartbreaking on the third panel of page 19.

Anyway – boys, sitting in the dark, and trying to talk.

Page 20-23

The second interstitial I added, and a little annoying. I thought I had to add 2 to maintain the final page, and in fact I only needed to add one. As in, my first draft didn't end on a left, and I needed to correct that. I suspect I'll drop this interstitial for the trade, and regain the page turn.

In the end, the reveal that Sakhmet is waiting for a chance to strike at Morrigan isn't a huge reveal – it's a telling one, but not one which breaks the scene in a huge way. And of course, people on digital have all movement between pages be page turns.

I didn't actually have any dialogue in the second panel on 21 at script, which is very much me in a “I have no idea why I would do that – that panel clearly needs a sign that Persephone is rushing to the door or something similar.”

“Beware the Honest – they will hurt you just to feel clean” is one of those lines that has been lying around in my notebook since the start of WicDiv waiting for their scene.

The warm browns of the room and Morrigan's cold blues seem really interesting to me here. Strong choices, Matt.

The final page was also an awkward one – I knew the images, but the actual exact nature of the dialogue refused to be wrestled down precisely until the last lettering pass, where it coalesced.

We do kissing, and it's depressing kissing. WicDiv takes the fun out of everything.

Anyway – next issue is at the printers now and will be with you soon.

Thanks for reading.

[speakersdisaster]

GHEMMA’S GAY FARM STORY PART THREE

~~~~~~~~~~~

PART THREE

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Cass arrived at the farm, a nervous half-orc in tow, her parents were inside, in the middle of what seemed to be a heated argument. Ghemma felt uncomfortable entering the room, like she was intruding on something. She just hoped it didn’t get violent.

When the two men saw the new arrivals, they stopped and addressed them,

“Cass, will you please tell Your Father that it’s pronounced ‘bAYsil’, and not ‘bAHsil’ like his silly ass seems to think it is!” one man asked, beckoning Cass into the conversation.

“Cassandra dear, will you kindly inform Your Dad that language is arbitrary and I will pronounce it any way that I see fit!” the other entreated.

“You’re both ridiculous and I’m ashamed to know you,” she deadpanned.

Both men started laughing, before closing in on Cass with a familial hug.

If possible, Ghemma felt even more uncomfortable now than she had when she thought there was risk of marital violence. Unconsciously, she began to back out toward the door, when one of the dads noticed her presence.

“And who’s this dashing figure darkening our doorway?” this was the second dad, the one with a progressive stance on language.

“Oh, this is, um, I didn’t actually catch your name,” Cass turns to Ghemma expectantly,

“I’m Ghemma.”

“Right, Ghemma. She’s been around town looking for work, I figure we could use the help, given Pop’s back and all. Shouldn’t you be resting it, anyway? What are you doing up and about?”

She looks at her father (this one the bAYsil acolyte) accusingly, and he shrinks back and sheepishly sits in a comfortable looking armchair.

It’s clear who is the boss around here, and it’s not either of the parental figures.

“You good with your hands?”

“Uh..yes, I’d say so,” she rubs at those hands instinctively, trying to mentally will herself not to bolt out of there.

“Then you are welcome here! We could use all the help we can get, what with that old infirm lug over there,”

“Love you too, honey!”

And so it was decided, Ghemma would help out at the farm for the time being, in return for room and board.

Ghemma did what she could to be helpful and earn her keep for her time there. Cass’ parents were kind, if a little corny at times, and they made her ache inside and think of Raz.

It was always bittersweet, when she stayed put for a while.

On one hand, the security of knowing where her next meal would come from was nice, and even the cot they laid out for her in the barn was a lot better to sleep on than the cold ground outside.

But on the other hand, as each day passed, she grew more and more aware that this wasn’t her home, wasn’t where she belonged, and that at any moment her luck may run out and she would be kicked to the curb.

Because it always did, without fail.

Sometimes, a few days in her hosts would run out of work, and would come to her apologetically and explain that they only just had enough for themselves, and she would thank them graciously and be on her way.

Other times, it was less cordial, and she was kicked to the curb without a second glance.

One notable time, she awoke to find her host in the room with her, just *looking* at her, and she noped out of there faster than she had ever gone before.

It was with this mindset that she went into the Laoghaire farm, knowing that any day here could be her last, and trying her best to make the most of it while she was there.

The work was hard, but rewarding when she saw that her presence was having a positive impact and lessening the load on her host family.

Cass’ dads were grateful for the help, and when they told her so, it made her feel warm and accomplished.

And being around Cass, well that had its own upsides and downsides.

For the first few days, their interaction was minimal. Passing hellos and dinners with the whole family in which even if Ghemma had felt comfortable enough to speak (she didn’t), there wouldn’t have been space for it amongst the loquacious bickering fathers, after which Ghemma said her polite thank-yous and escaped to her makeshift bedroom.

She wasn’t *avoiding* Cass, per se, except that she totally was.

She had no goddamn idea why the girl unsettled her so much. Like, her initial thought, that it was because of jealousy over the stability of her life and family, rang true in a small way, but if she was being honest with herself (a rare occasion indeed), she knew there was a whole lot more to it. The feeling had only increased since she had started working there, and it didn’t seem to show any indication that it would be slowing down anytime soon.

So she resolved to push it all deep deep down, and ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when she saw Cass heading off to market, or chiding one of her fathers, or, god help her, at the breakfast table, yawning sleepily with unbrushed hair. That last one caught Ghemma’s breath even when it passed through her mind fleetingly.

But none of that. None of the pull she felt toward the blonde beauty. None of it. Ghemma would ignore it, and it would definitely, definitely go away.

Quite predictably, it didn’t.

And after Ghemma’s first Sunday at the farm, she had had to amend her plan to push her feelings where the sun don’t shine when it came to Cass.

It was an unseasonably warm day, and after the morning’s tasks had been attended to, Ghemma had been released for the rest of the day.

She was sitting under a tree and fiddling with one of her rocks, daydreaming about not much at all.

“You’re pretty fidgety, you know.”

The scene was eerily reminiscent of the day she had come to the farm. She didn’t know how Cass kept sneaking up on her like this.

Startled, Ghemma dropped the rock, which rolled a while before coming to a stop. She scrambled after it, *oh god no, I’ve had this one for more than a year. I found it at that creek with the waterfall, I can’t lose it*

After retrieving it, she faltered, realizing how silly she must have looked, lumbering after what appeared to just be a stupid rock.

She turned back, still on her knees, hair falling into her face,

“Oh, um, I know. Restless energy, I guess, haha.”

Cass looked at her, assessing, “Hm. I was the same way, as a child. It was why I learned to knit. That helped.”

Ghemma didn’t appreciate the implication there, at being likened to a child.

“Anyway, I came because I’ve made a pie, and would like some of it to get eaten before Father eats the whole thing when he gets back from town. I keep telling him he needs to watch what he eats, at his age, but of course he never listens. But regardless, there is pie.”

Before Ghemma can even process that this was an invitation, Cass has already set off back to the house. She hops back onto her feet and races after the shorter girl.

The pie is delicious, maybe the best Ghemma has ever had (not that that’s a particularly impressive feat, she doesn’t get sweets on the road much), and the company even better.

Cass invites her into the sitting room to eat, her dads being gone. Ghemma is apprehensive, unsure what Cass would want from time alone with her, but wanting so badly to be around her.

It turned out, Cass was curious, in the way someone who has lived in one small place for their entire life often is. She asks Ghemma questions about herself, where she came from, what she does. Overwhelmed and clumsy with her words, as she doesn’t often use them, Ghemma tries to answer to the best of her abilities, of course leaving out her reason for being on the road now. Cass is particularly intrigued by the monastery.

“So your studies there, what did they focus on? I’d imagine they would have to address the mind-body link considerably.”

“Actually, yah. A lot of what we did was about control and conscientiousness. Knowing your body and mind and being able to sync them in harmony. And, uh, a lot of it was catered to the student past that,”

“Really? What did you focus on?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, control mostly, I did a lot of meditation, and, you know, other stuff.”

“Fascinating.”

It turns out, Cass’ life wasn’t quite the idyllic dream Ghemma had thought it was. She loved her parents, but she was so so smart, and there was nothing here to challenge her, to drive her. She envied Ghemma’s freedom just as much as Ghemma envied her security.

These conversations become a regular occurrence after that day.

Cass is well read, and brighter than the sun, and Ghemma finds herself entranced, day after day, as she gets to know her better. As beautiful as she had thought her upon first glance, that was nothing compared to the beauty she saw within.

Cass teaches Ghemma how to knit, and Ghemma gives Cass some very basic lessons in fighting and meditation. They spend every hour that they aren’t working or sleeping together.

Neither of them have ever had this, a friend that they can relate to on such a deep level. Both of them are intoxicated by it.

Cass tells Ghemma about her dreams to leave, to go off into the world and learn and grow and be someone special.

Ghemma looks at her and thinks *how could you possibly be more special than you already are*

Ghemma tells Cass about Raz, about her fears, about feeling like at any moment she could lose control.

Cass tells her matter-of-factly that this is bullshit, and that Ghemma seems to be doing just fine from where she stood.

They talk about the future, about Ghemma staying on permanently, about renovating the basement that they never use anyway to be *her* room. Ghemma has never felt more hopeful.

A month and a half has passed, and winter will soon begin in earnest. It’s been a tough few weeks of work, as Ghemma has done her best to help prepare the farm for the months ahead.

She looks forward to waking up every day for the first time in a long time.

It’s a cold night, and Ghemma and Cass are curled up with mugs of hot cocoa in the sitting room in which Ghemma had first seen her now friend.

Cass’ fathers have gone to bed.

There’s a *moment* where conversation stops for a second. They had been mid sentence, mid thought, when they both just *stop* and look at each other.

Cass, with her brilliant eyes twinkling in front of Ghemma’s, hiding depths of intelligence, wipes away a smear of cocoa from her upper lip.

Ghemma doesn’t think about it, doesn’t consider what she is doing, what the ramifications of her actions could possibly be, and before she knows it, she is leaning in.

Their lips meet, and Ghemma feels something surge inside of her that has always been there under the surface but never been allowed to break free.

It’s brief, and clumsy, but wonderful, so so wonderful.

Until Ghemma’s mind catches up with her body, as it always eventually does.

She pulls away.

Oh no,

Oh no,

What have I done?

And just like that the moment of serenity snaps like a twig, and Ghemma’s mind is off. She rushes to her feet. She’s not meeting Cass’ eyes. Not looking at her at all. Completely in her own head, running a mile a minute.

“Ghemma?” Cass’ voice is soft,

“I’m, I’m sorry.”

And Ghemma runs. Out the door and into the barn for a brief second to grab her few belongings and away and away and away from the farm and from Cass and from her feelings and from this awful thing that she has done and just, away.

She doesn’t look behind her, but if she had, she would have seen the face of her friend from the house’s doorway, confused and bereft.

Ghemma can’t breathe, can’t think, just knows that she has to get away from this, from everything. Never mind the cold of the oncoming winter or the fact that she was so so happy at the farm, she can’t go back now.

Ghemma never goes back to Bird’s Hollow. Tries her best not to think of the time she spent there or the person she had almost allowed herself to become there. She tries to move on, to not let herself get her hopes up like that again, because she knows that she will always, always mess it up.

She pushes it all down, will never think about that night again, about the way that Cass made her feel, or the press of lips against hers.

And she never, ever allows herself to consider the fact that Cass Kissed Back.