#like Y’know what whatever that’s enough tim positivity for the year

[starlooove]

Hate this vid I just saw

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, ���I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 7

First

Previous

Sorry the chapter is late my schedule got thrown off by a hurricane

Three days after they arrived in Gotham, they officially ran out of cash.

Honestly, it was a wonder they had even lasted as long as they had. Who knew that rich kids had so much money just laying around? Certainly not her, if she had she probably would have reconsidered rejecting Adrien’s old offers to date to make their fans shut up... because damn.

Now, they sat outside Drake Manor.

Marinette sat, back resting against the gate, playing a game with the baby. In an effort to soothe the kid’s need to fall from high places, she had tossed him a foot in the air and then caught him. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to help, but it did entertain Damian. He giggled like a madman (mad...baby?) every time she did it and would yell ‘up!’ every time she tried to stop. Her arms were tired. She’d been doing this for what felt like years, and would be doing it for many years to come. Save her.

The only person that could possibly save her was, unfortunately, busy with other things.

Tim was applying for credit cards. He had stuck his computer and phone through the gate to get their wifi so the company wouldn’t be suspicious (Marinette said they probably wouldn’t be but the king of paranoia had insisted) and was now pressed up against it as far as he possibly could, arms poking through the bars to keep working.

“This is only until we have enough money to get on our feet,” Tim said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tim, I know.”

He nodded a little against the bars that were pressing against his face and allowed the subject to drop -- for now, Marinette knew it was only a matter of time before he said it again.

“At least one of us needs a job at WE, that’s the only way both of us would be able to send the kid to daycare.”

Marinette stopped tossing Damian, considering, only to immediately start up again when the baby screamed “UP!” at her.

“Probably me,” she said, finally. “The you that lives here is a direct competitor, you might get recognized.”

He nodded his agreement.

And then she sighed and set Damian in her lap because her arms were physically unable to lift him anymore. Damian screamed at her but she just wrapped her arms around him tightly and pet his hair until he relaxed.

When he finally shut up, she said: “You know we’re going to have to wait for both of us to get a job.”

He paused in his typing. “What do you mean?”

“Since it’s WE, they probably have pretty thorough background checks. Two adults that seemingly have lived here their entire lives getting a job at pretty much the exact same time is… more than a little suspicious.”

He pulled his head back from the gate and she wondered idly if he was finally done, but then he just knocked his forehead against the bars. There was a resounding clang that neither of them minded, all of this world’s Drakes were currently at work, and he groaned.

“Yeah, that kind of screams ‘we’re using fake identities’, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

He groaned again, louder this time.

“I can stay at home,” she offered, somewhat reluctantly. “I can cook.”

He sighed and shook his head as much as the gate would allow. “No. You’re probably going to have an easier time getting a job, WE accepts basically everyone. We need money, so I’ll be a stay-at-home dad.”

Oh.

She smiled a little and looked down at Damian, who was currently petting her hair like she had been petting his just a few moments before. She blinked but reciprocated the action. Damian lit up and reached his hands up so he could get more of her hair.

She leaned down a little and nuzzled her nose against Damian’s.

She glanced up and saw Tim checking over what he had done so far, apparently thinking the conversation over.

Marinette hesitated. If she really wanted, she could just let the conversation drop.

She mumbled a quiet: “... thanks, Tim.”

He didn’t look up from his screen, but she could see the pink tinge in his ears. “It’s fine. I don’t even know what I’d do yet. I’ve only ever had one job and I got it because of nepotism.”

She grinned. “From rich kid to even richer CEO to trophy husband.”

“Oh, how the mighty hath fallen.”

She felt a hand tug her hair and looked down to see Damian pouting, so she started running her fingers through his hair. It was getting kind of long, she wondered if she should get it cut. She didn’t want it to get caught on something, the kid could get hurt.

A thought occurred to her. She glanced at Tim out of the corner of her eyes. “You know… you’re taking my name and I’m going to be the one getting money… maybe you should grow out your hair and I’ll cut mine. Y’know, to really get into our roles.”

He huffed a little. “Shut up.”

She laughed. “Fine. But, really, I think you should grow your hair out. It’d be pretty.”

The both of them tensed at the implications of what she had said. She wondered if she could play it off as a joke… or maybe she should apologize? The blush that had tinged his ears was now creeping down his neck. Was he embarrassed or flustered or angry?

Before she could figure out what to do, Tim’s phone rang.

He fumbled for the phone and pressed it to his ear, successfully hiding the rest of his face from her view.

“Hello?... yes, this is Timothy Drake… yes, I just applied for a new card… I figured I would have a backup in case one of my others got stolen, you know how it is… can I have the card information in advance?... great, thank you!”

He hung up and turned to her, smiling widely.

“We have money.”

She didn’t react how he expected, no playful grin or witty remark or even just a smile. Instead, she doubled over with laughter. Damian whined a little in protest as she threatened to squish him.

He frowned confusedly. “What?”

She motioned vaguely to his face, giggles still spilling from her lips. “It’s just… you’ve been leaning against the gate for so long that it’s made little lines in your face.”

He huffed. “It’s not that funny.”

She managed to get her breathing under control again. “It’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She opened her mouth to continue the dumb little argument they were having but then Damian yelled: “NO!”

Tim lit up. “HA. He agrees with me.”

She gasped. “Dami, how could you? You’re supposed to be on my side,” she said with an over exaggerated pout.

Damian looked up at her pout for a moment before slowly leaning forward and attempting to wrap his arms around her middle in a hug.

“Oh,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair a few times. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“Weak,” Tim teased.

She looked over to send him a glare, but then she saw the fond smile on his face and relaxed.

“I am. Look at him. He’s so cute.”

“Yeah. He is.”

~

Tim leaned back against the bed frame.

Marinette was out at a job interview for WE. He hoped she got it, he didn’t know what they’d do if she didn’t.

But, he didn’t really have much time to think about that. He was on baby duty.

He’d gotten better at dealing with Damian while doing things, it seemed. He had found a position to sit where one knee was pulled to his chest and the other curled close to him, his legs acting as a chair for the kid. One hand held the kid’s bottle as he drank, and the other scrolled through apartment options on his phone.

They’d probably be in an apartment for at least a while. He didn’t know how homeownership was in this new version of Gotham, but in the old one if you were able to afford a house on your own then you were an immediate target for thieves.

So: apartments.

They could probably get away with a one-roomer, at least while Damian was young. It wasn’t like they needed much room for him, anyway, they might even get rid of the crib since it didn’t look like either of them had the willpower to leave the kid in it all night.

Damian slapped the bottle away, apparently done despite only having drank… all of it. Huh, he must have been more out of it than he’d thought.

He turned off his phone and looked down at the baby. Damian looked back up at him, giving that wide-eyed stare babies were so fond of.

Tim cracked, a smile making its way across his face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his little brother’s head.

“So, kiddo, what do you want to do?”

Damian babbled at him in an authoritative tone. Tim nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood him and was truly considering the idea of whatever it was he said.

“Interesting idea. I think we should watch TV. Sound good?”

Damian nodded, though Tim really doubted that he had somehow managed to say the exact thing that he had.

He pulled the remote out of the bedside drawer and started flipping through channels, looking for something that was bright and colorful enough for Damian to enjoy it but at least semi-decent so Tim wouldn’t be bored out of his mind.

He came upon Monsters LLC and turned it on. While Tim agreed that, considering the way that Mr. Firenoose acted, the company would totally be an LLC, it just didn’t have the same ring to it as Monsters Inc. So sad. The kids of this world were missing out.

At least Damian seemed to be enjoying it. He gasped and pointed at this world’s version of Sully and yelled “KITTY!”

Before Tim could correct him, though, the knockoff Boo said the same thing.

Great. Well. He supposed the kid was close enough. At least there were no monsters in this world for Damian to mistake for cats. It wouldn’t come back to bite them. Probably.

And, so, that’s how the day went. Tim and Damian sat in bed, Damian leaning back against Tim’s chest and watching his movie, a new bottle of milk half in his mouth. Tim scrolled through apartment options on his phone, picking out a few to check out over the next few days.

After a while, Marinette slipped in. She kicked her shoes off, letting them fly in opposite directions, and then trudged across the room.

She dropped onto the bed face down beside the two boys and Tim frowned.

“I’m guessing that means it didn’t go well?”

“No, I got the job,” she said, her voice muffled. “They said I could start tomorrow if I wanted.”

“... then…?”

She slowly picked her head up. She looked absolutely exhausted. “I’m an intern.”

… yikes.

He hesitantly reached a hand out and patted her head a few times.

She rolled her eyes and pulled a pillow to herself so she could scream into it.

Damian looked away from the movie, eyes wide, and then looked at Tim like he would somehow know how to fix it.

… he probably was supposed to. He was the adult here and, supposedly, married to her.

But Tim was a bat. So, he pulled a classic bat move:

“Want to spar?”

“... kinda,” she admitted. “But what about Damian?”

Damian was currently entranced by a movie about… was that unicorn eating trash?

It didn’t matter. (It totally did. What the fuck was going on in this movie?)

Tim smiled. “I’m sure that Kaalki and Tikki can warn us if something is going to happen. Not that it looks like anything will.”

Marinette hesitated before breaking into a smile. “Okay, let’s do it. I’ve been feeling a little antsy.”

He gently picked up Damian and set him on the bed, telling the kwamis to keep him safe for the maybe ten minutes they would be distracted, and then led Marinette a few feet away so they could let out a little bit of their excess energy.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there���s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[awhitehead17]

A Peculiar Situation

Bruce & Kon, Bruce & Tim, TimKon, Humour, Coming Out, Fluff, Good Dad Bruce, High Kon. 

Summary: Bruce finds a high Kon while out on patrol, on the way back to the cave it seems that Superboy has loose lips and he ends up learning new things about his son and the half-Kryptonian. 

Enjoy! :D 

While on patrol Bruce has come to learn expect the unexpected. Considering how long he’s been Batman and has been patrolling Gotham’s streets, not a lot fazes him anymore.

This, however, is certainly new.

Standing on top of an abandoned apartment building, he was preparing to call it a night, it was early by his normal standards but he has a board meeting in the morning which greatly demanded his attention so he needed to go home and get some sleep to be ready for it. That’s when the whole building suddenly starts to shake.  

It only lasts for a few seconds but it was enough to put Bruce on high alert. Without even thinking about it he gets into a defensive stance and scans the surrounding areas for the source. It seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary and he can already exclude an earthquake from the list.

A puff of what looked like smoke soon gets his attention. He turns his attention to the east side of the building and sneaks over to the edge, grabbing some pellets out of his belt as he does so, before carefully peering over the edge of the roof to find the source of the smoke. Within the wall towards the ground there was now a gaping hole in the construction, like something had just gone through it, and the smoke had in fact been lots of dust.

After a few beats of waiting Bruce could eventually hear something moving from inside the building and if he had to guess it was what crashed through the wall in the first place. He grabs his grapple and silently makes his way down to the ground, making sure his movements were quiet and undetectable.

Bruce tenses and prepares himself for a fight as he spins around to face whoever is in the building, only to stumble when he finds Superboy coughing and sluggishly moving within the debris.

He freezes on the spot, baffled by the sight before him. What was Superboy doing in Gotham? Why did he go through the wall? What was wrong with him?

It didn’t go unnoticed that the boy seemed completely unaware of Bruce’s presence or the fact his movements were sloppy as he works to get the bits of debris off himself.

Figuring there was in fact no threat, only questions, Bruce loosens his posture and trails over to help the boy. He ought to leave him and pretend he was never there but he was in fact curious on why one of his son’s team mates were in Gotham without his permission. Tim had never said Kon-el would be stopping by.

Bruce moves a chunk of concrete away and the action finally gets Superboy’s attention.

“a’man? Wha’ you doin’ here?”

The boy’s speech was greatly slurred which was a cause of concern considering who he is but he sends the teen a raised eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question.”

Superboy pushes himself into an upright position and steadies himself, he looks up at Bruce and narrows his eyes at him, “Well, I don’t care, wha you think! I only care bout his heart!”

Bruce had no idea what the kid was on about. He was about to try and question the boy further when his comm went off in his ear.

“Hey B,” It was Dick, “Sorry to bother you but we’re in a bit of a situation.”

Instantly tensing up, Bruce is completely prepared to aid his son in whatever he’s gotten himself into.

“You see Ivy’s somehow gotten out of jail. While Robin and I were the closet we went to check it out, cause you know, that’s what we do.” He sounded both a bit breathless as well as distracted. “Anyway when we arrived Superboy was already on the scene.”

Bruce shoots Kon-el a look. The boy was now trying to stagger to his feet. When he stumbles Bruce puts out a hand to stop him from falling over.  

“Anyway, long story short, Ivy got bored of Superboy, pinched him with something and threw him away. Robin and I are just subduing her now. There’s no need to worry but if you see Superboy he may be in a state if you happen to find him.”

In a state may be putting it lightly. Knowing that his eldest and youngest have the situation handled, finding out how Ivy broke out was a case to solve later on, he turns his attention to the teen before him.

Kon-el was stood up right but was blinking really slowly and had a faraway expression on his face. After a moment he suddenly started to giggle to himself, a goofy smile stretching across his face as he stared into space. It didn’t take much to work out what was wrong as soon as he moved closer to inspect the younger hero.

Superboy was high.

Whatever Ivy had pricked him with, it was strong enough to have an effect on Superboy to make it appear like he was high. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, there was always something. Nothing was ever easy. There was no way he could leave the teen alone like this, not only would his own son be annoyed at him for leaving his friend but he would have Clark scolding at him for even considering it.

He’ll have to take him back to the cave and see if it passes, maybe he can try and do some blood tests while they wait it out just to make sure this wasn’t anything lethal. He’ll most likely just pass him over to Tim so he can deal with his friend.

Bruce reaches out and grabs Kon-el’s elbow, guiding him away from the debris and out of the old building.

“Where we goin? You kidnapping me?”

Bruce ignores him in favour of getting to the Batmoblie just around the corner.

“Your hands are big. Like huge. They’re massive, especially compared to Tim’s. His is tiny. And skinny.”

Okay, so the teen’s speech is improving but he’s rambling. He takes a moment to consider that the boy is on about his son’s fingers but quickly dismisses the thoughts. He didn’t need to have those. Once Kon-el starts rambling again he blocks it out.

They get to the car and Bruce unlocks it, he shoves Superboy in the back before climbing into the front. Once settled he starts her up and begins making his way back to the cave with his passenger sprawled out over the back seats.

“Agent A, are you still there?”

“Still here sir, what can I do for you?”

“I’m coming in with a guest, can you please prepare the med bay and potentially have some snacks ready for when we arrive.”

“As you wish.”

He signs off and for the millionth time thanks the lord for Alfred, the elderly man never asks questions. If it was more of an urgent situation Bruce would have reacted different which would have tipped Alfred off but as this is just a peculiar situation it didn’t warrant urgency.

“You’re Tim’s dad.”

Bruce ignores him still. He looks in the rear-view mirror at the teen and finds him drawing patterns into the seats leather.

“He loves ya you know. Doesn’t admit it, the little freak, but he does. He’s like you in more ways anyone can describe.”

Despite refusing to respond to him, Bruce couldn’t help the warmth that it fills him with hearing that.

“He deserves so much better, y’know. Been through so much crap yet he still fights. I love him and will always look out for him no matter what.”

Bruce hums, “You’re team mates and friends. It’s good to watch out for one another.” He wonders why Kon-el seems so fixated on his son while high.

“No!”

Bruce snaps his gaze to the figure in the back seat who was now sat up and was attempting to glare at him, was attempting because his glassy eyes made it hard for it to be serious.

“No! I love him, with all my heart and I will cherish and protect him. You hear me! I feel bad I was away for the year but I’m going to make it up to him! I promise!”

Bruce was at a loss for what he should do. Was Superboy implying that he and his son were more than friends? The seriousness in the teen’s eyes would suggest so but then there was the factor that he was currently high so that could change context.

“Tim says he’s not ready to tell you but I knows he’s worried on what you think. But I’m not! I don’t care because I love him. I will fight tooth and nail for that ass and challenge anyone who dares hurt him.”

The scales were certainly tipping into the relationship direction which had emotions stirring inside of Bruce because why didn’t Tim say anything to him? Why was he worried? His son shouldn’t have to hide who he was no matter what.

He’ll have to address the matter at a later stage because they were finally pulling up to the cave. He drives in and pulls into the garage part of the cave. As Bruce climbs out he’s greeted by Alfred.

“The med bay is ready sir, I assume you’ve had an eventful night?”

He shoots Alfred a look as he pulls down the cowl and opens the back door. Reaching inside he pulls the teenager out of the car and onto his feet, making sure to keep a grip on him so he doesn’t fall over as he stumbles.

Alfred merely raises an eyebrow at the appearance of Kon-el. Bruce does nothing to stop the elderly man taking the teenager by the elbow and guiding him over to the med bay where he helps him sit down on one of the cots.

As Alfred helps him settle Bruce wonders over to the computer and calls his son, seeing if he was still awake. While Tim shouldn’t be awake considering it’s his night off, Bruce knows his son and figures he wouldn’t have fallen asleep just yet.

He’s proven right because after the third ring his second youngest answers, “Hello? Everything okay?”

Bruce glances over his shoulder where Alfred was now feeding Superboy what looked like cheese crackers. “I need you to some down the cave. There’s been a… situation.”

“What! What happened who’s hurt and what do you need me to do!”

He chuckles at the instant panic and worry that laced Tim’s tone, “Relax, while I was out one of your friends decided to visit and had a very eventful run in with Poison Ivy tonight. I need you to look after them.”

There was a moment of silence before Tim answers again, “Uh sure… who did you pick up?”

“Superboy. Alfred’s currently feeding him.”

“Kon? Okay, I’m on my way.”

Bruce cuts the call and turns to the computer, powering it up so he could write a quick report of that nights interesting events. He types no more than a couple of sentences when a high pitch giggle cuts through the air of the cave followed by a loud shout.

“Timmy!”

Turning around, Bruce finds Kon-el stumbling through the cave over to where Tim was now descending the stairs. His son stops in what must be shock, sending him and then Alfred a look before looking at the meta human coming towards him.

“Conner?” Tim hurries down the stairs and is quick to catch up to the meta and to hold him up before he falls over.

Bruce watches in amusement as Tim fumbles to help balance the half Kryptonian as he gets embraced in a hug. He stands up and makes his way over to the pair, watching as Kon-el tries to kiss Tim’s cheek but keeps failing as Tim shoves his face away.

“Bruce what happened, what’s wrong with Kon?”

“Master Kent has had a run in with Miss Ivy tonight.” Alfred pipes up, coming to stand beside him. “It’s easy to say that he’s been exposed to one of her toxins that has left him high.”  

Tim stares wide-eyed at Alfred like he couldn’t believe him.

“There’s no need to worry though Master Tim, everything is fine with the young sir. Some food and rest he’ll be back to himself tomorrow I assure you.”

That explanation doesn’t seem to do a lot to help Tim relax.

“I love you Timmy. So, so, so, much. I really do.”

While his face flushes, Tim’s expression still softens as Kon-el speaks to him. The meta has now stopped trying to kiss him but was stroking Tim’s cheeks with sloppy but loving movements. He glances down at Kon before smiling softly, “Love you too Kon, now let’s get you in bed huh? You’re going to have such a headache in the morning.”

Even if Bruce didn’t know what he now knew of the couple in front of him, he could see how much Tim adores the teenager in his arms, helping him to stay upright as he’s unable to do so himself. As much as he wants to be annoyed with the presence of the half-Kryptonian he finds that he couldn’t be after seeing Tim with him.

Tim turns them around and starts walking back towards the stairs, Kon-el was mumbling in his ear but Tim was ignoring him for the time being. Just as he was about to get to the stairs Bruce calls out to his son.

“One moment Tim.” He walks over to him and Tim gives him an expecting look, waiting for the catch of his journey being stopped. Bruce reaches him and rests a hand on the shoulder currently not being occupied by a teenager. “I know that you think I’d judge but Tim, I love you okay. You’re my son and I’m proud of you. You don’t have to hide who you are from me.”

Tim gets that same wide-eyed look he had before as Bruce talks to him. His son’s face flushes red and his mouth opens and closes like a gold fish. Bruce gives him a moment to process what he had just said, it was indeed amusing to find his second youngest so speechless.

Making it easier for the both of them, Bruce leans down places a kiss to Tim’s hair before walking away, “Make sure you both don’t stay up too late. And make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.”

Normally he wouldn’t be happy about one of his kid’s partner’s staying in their room with them but he has a feeling Tim and Kon-el won’t be doing anything other than sleeping that night. He’ll have a proper talk about the situation with Tim tomorrow when things have calmed down.

[iwritethat]

Tim Drake: Sister, Sister

Tim Drake x Sister!reader

A/N: This beautiful idea was all down to @comicsgirlimagines who is truly wonderful and an incredible writer also (check them out), credit goes to them for their support and talks when writing this.

Thank you @comicsgirlimagines ♥️

>>>>——————————>

It was ironic, everything around was designed to perfection, to be exactly what you wanted and needed to maintain a positive existence as a reward for your past choices on Earth.

Yes, Heaven may've been perfect and brought you endless happiness but you were conscious enough to find the faults, for a start your brother was absent - which of course was a blessing, you didn't want him to join you for as long as possible, he had his whole life to live after all. It was entrancing, tuning in to the life events of Tim Drake on occasion, your little brother had certainly taken an interesting path - currently he fought with his new brothers, the League of Assassins were after Damian again and it automatically became a family emergency.

They hopped from rooftop to rooftop, battling various members with each vigilante fighting their own battles yet managing to lend assistance when able. However as you watched on, Red Robin seemed to be doubled down - more assassins were upcoming and he was the first standing in their way. You began to panic, was there even a way to get down there?! You'd looked into such things before as soon as you learned of his hobby, sure you were dead but people constantly connected with the spirit world - such a phenomena should work both ways. Or at least it was a theory under construction at the moment.

———

Another down, then another, and another. It became routine, but with repetitive strain came exhaustion and before Tim could react he'd made what was soon to be a fatal mistake, he should’ve ducked the blade gunning for his throat but instead was a millisecond too late to react. His body falling short of available counters and it was then he realised, this was it - after everything, this was finally how he’d go out. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he’d aided more people than he ever thought possible but surely there were things he’d miss out on like having the opportunity to become a father, get married or even see Gotham make progress as a city. Regardless, he had made his peace with that and he’d closed his eyes in acceptance ready for whatever awaited him in the afterlife.

It was a split second - he never thought the white light actually existed but it flashed behind his eyelids rather sporadically and suddenly the breath was knocked out of lungs and it felt as though his head collided with concrete.

"Jeez I'll be back soon, don't worry." His sister gave an exasperated sigh, hands on her hips as her little brother tugged at her backpack.

"But (Y/n)! Please let me come with you!" Tim pleaded, successfully halting her in her tracks.

"No way kiddo, you'll probably fall off of the mountain. But hey, no matter how far apart we are, I'll always look out for you. Okay?" She smiled, tousling his hair as he accepted her justification.

"You promise?"

"I pinky promise."

"Hmm, see you when you get back loser." Tim mischievously commented, his sister rolled her eyes with a sarcastic "Oh haha." before heading off on her rock climbing trip.

That was the last time he'd laid eyes on her, unbeknownst to him at the time. And yet, this light, this warm familiar presence brought back such memories - of that day, of the news, of the funeral...

So then, how is it that he could hear her voice so clearly?

"Get up Tim! C'mon loser, I don't know how long I've got!" It was dangerously loud, demanding almost and it made him consider how things hadn’t changed much.

Tim was coming to, clenching his eyes shut in order to adjust to the bright glow that shrouded the area as he sat up with a squint.

"Argh, (Y/n) what the-?"

The figure kneeling down beside him was easily recognisable, having not aged in the years that had passed without her but the concerned expression she wore was contagious.

"No time to explain, magic spiritual existence or whatever but please get up. Here's your staff." You pulled him to his feet, albeit Tim remained dazed with these developments and stumbled against your figure with a groan. His staff was pushed into his chest and it was only now - dream or not - he spoke his true feelings.

"I missed you, so much..."

“I know...” The sincerity in his voice only made you feel guilty, the accident wasn’t your fault but you still left him and that was a weight you’d carried since you’d died.

Tim was slowly adjusting, finding what seemed to be a brief flash of wings behind you but that must’ve been from hitting his head so hard considering he now stood on the opposing rooftop to previously. Recalling the last moments his hand shot to his throat, more than shocked when his fingers remained absent of blood and his breathing was perfectly normal ignoring the quickness of it, next he looked back to where he was standing beforehand only to find bodies of assassins littering the roof and battles continuing over the street.

“Am I dead?”

“What? No. I’m dead, you’re alive.” You quickly corrected with furrowed brows and a sigh, flicking his forehead as he pushed your hand away in retaliation.

Although he paused, the familiarity of sibling like antics hitting him with an unwanted wave of nostalgia and he looked at you again - really looked. Saw past the golden glow, saw past the perfect skin and any evidence of scathes or aging. It was you but ethereal, you weren’t alive, you weren’t staying and you definitely weren’t coming back to life. That was what made him embrace you, arms wrapping around your torso so tightly that if alive then breathing would be a problem but you didn’t care, his face buried in your hair whilst you held back emotional whimpers. For however long you had been gifted, you’d say goodbye properly this time.

“I’m sorry for breaking my promise, so sorry, please please forgive me Tim -“

“Yo-you didn’t break it idiot.” It was such a soft whisper, an attempt to comfort you even if he didn’t understand your reasoning for profuse apologies.

“I didn’t come home, I left you alone and that’s the worst thing I could’ve done as your sister!” You defended, justifying your beliefs and pulling away from Tim who offered a soft smile amidst his watery eyes.

“You promised that no matter how far apart we are, you’d always look out for me and you have. (Y/n) you saved my life just now - how many people have the willpower to come back from the grave to do that? But you did that for me, you kept your promise.” Tim assured, wiping your tears away before hugging you once more.

“I’m proud of you y’know, kicking names and taking ass.” You weakly laughed, parting to punch his shoulder once regaining your composure.

“So you keep up with the times in the afterlife huh?”

“It gets boring up there okay? Speaking of, you should get back to fighting beside your family - who I love by the way.” You happily informed, gesturing over time the members of the Batfamily fighting various battles with a sad knowing smile.

Tim noticed the sorrow in your irises, the way you turned back to him like it was the last time you’d be with each other and it probably was but he simply sighed and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“You’re still my favourite sibling and as such I guess I should take your advice.” Tim softly commented and with an understanding nod a bright light engulfed his form once more.

This time he’d landed in the most heated area of the fight, landing executed perfectly with an immense rupture of light knocking out every enemy on impact. Tim stood, his family turning to him awestruck at the amount of unfathomable controlled power that originated from his form and how exactly he’d seemingly beamed over out of thin air.

“Later Timbers, and by the way I think you should stop crushing on Steph and ask her out already.” Your voice remained, albeit fleeting, as was your figure standing beside him overlooking your handiwork.

“Wha- you can’t know all of my business zombie!” He went to knock your upper arm, fingers phasing straight through your body and you both mirrored sympathetic expressions, a knowing and meaningful exchange enough to say what words couldn’t.

“I’m so happy for you Tim, stay alive okay?” And with that your figure faded into blissful golden stardust that spiralled into wind up toward the matte sky until they’d disappeared from Tim’s line of sight.

“Goodbye (Y/n)...”

——

“What was that out there Tim? A new gadget?” Bruce questioned his former partner once they returned to the Batcave whilst Tim got out his phone with an absentminded smile.

“My sister.”

“You have a sister, why didn’t you ever mention it?” Dick now inquired, walking in step beside him.

“Because you’d want to meet her and that’s, that’s impossible but her name was (Y/n). Here, this was us a few years ago.” Tim answered honestly, the implications easily read by his family who remained respectfully quiet until Tim handed Dick his phone which displayed a picture of the two of you. The others gathering around out of curiosity.

“Damn she’s hot.” Jason casually commented, reviving a facepalm from Cass and chiding from an irritated Damian.

“Todd, that’s completely irrelevent!”

“She has standards Jay sorry, but, she really likes you guys.” Tim smugly replied, his last words laced with underlying gratitude whilst Jason received over dramatic ‘ooohs’ from the rest of the family after that smart burn. Although Tim saw the contentment on each of them, that despite not knowing you, they had your blessing as his new family which was a very sacred thing in their opinion.

Once he’d regained his own space, he began typing a message he never thought he’d write until after your encounter.

Tim: [Hey Steph, I’ve been told I need to act on things so I was wondering if you wanted to go out this weekend? Not in costume, just as you and I.]

Stephanie: [About time Tim, who do I have to thank for your sudden confidence haha?]

Tim gave a relieved smile at the positive reply, looking up to the sky before asking with a proud yet considerate tone.

“You happy now?”

He would’ve said the sun broke through the cloudy sky of Gotham for a few seconds, golden rays bathing the Manor grounds and his skin - but that was probably unrelated coincidence...

[rorykillmore]

alright and here’s a birthday fic for @transrobro who wanted something with felix & camille!! it struck me while i was tossing around ideas for this that no one on denny has like. done anything with a post-denny au in a CRIMINALLY long time so this is sort of?? an idea for their’s??  combined with the idle passing thought that it’d be fun to write something with the two of them texting since we’ve headcanoned they do that.  think of this as like... an au happy (?) ending for them i guess....

happy birthday jay!!! i can’t put into words how happy i am to be able to mark down another year of being friends with you. i don’t tell you enough how often you make me feel better about whatevers going on in my life just by being around and making me laugh so hopefully in return i can at least brighten up your birthday a little bit with this fic!! camille and felix are another one of those “where the fuck did this come from” panfandom dynamics but i have enjoyed writing them with you SO much and i hope this pays tribute to that in some way. can’t wait to send them spiraling into disaster!,

(also as an added bonus, my mom wanted to tell you happy birthday too. she’s still grateful for the groot ornament.)

she likes the idea of a world where she doesn’t have to say goodbye to him.

To get back to normal, Camille figures she would have had to understand what ‘normal’ looked like to begin with.

But she has to admit, her life in this world has become more or less as stable as it’s ever been. She has a good, steady job and good, steady friends. Or, well. Maybe describing them that way is being generous, but she’s kind of glad it the real truth anyway. She can’t imagine many things more lonely than a world where all her friends have their shit together.

That doesn’t cancel out the important things, though. The little differences that become big, in the long run. On one of her darker days back home, Camille might have curled in on herself, might have disappeared out of sight, into herself, her skin itching as she pretends she’s not craving a drink or six.

Here, on her darker days, she finds that she usually texts Felix.

And he doesn’t ask a lot of questions. Sometimes he invites her out (he’s distinctly more of a partier than she is) and sometimes he just talks to her for a while, but he doesn’t hover, and he doesn’t ask if something’s wrong.  And it usually makes her feel a little... lighter.

Maybe there’s also something to be said for someone who you can also send random, passing thoughts to, day or night, without much fear of judgement. 

camille: [ Do you think everyone goes home eventually? ]

She hits ‘send’ and then lays back against her bedspread, tapping her fingers idly against the edge of her phone. It’s just a minute or two before Felix replies.

felix: [ I mean, everyone goes SOMEWHERE eventually? ]

felix: [ They don’t stay here ]

There’s no debating that, Camille supposes.

camille:  [ Yeah. I just meant, you think maybe some people don’t go back to the world they started out in? You think that’s possible? ]

Another short pause.

felix:  [ Why? ]

felix:   [ Thinkin you wanna go somewhere else? ]

She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t tempting. There’s not much left for Camille in her own world except painful memories, but she’s not sure she’d ever be able to forgive herself for never going back to Curry and Eileen.

And Amma.

As much as she can go back to Amma.

camille:  [ Actually I was thinking of you. ]

It catches Felix off guard. At least, that’s what Camille guesses, because there’s more than just a brief pause on his end this time. Momentarily, she wonders whether she should have brought it up at all. There aren’t many subjects between them that qualify as ‘too grim’, but... maybe the fact that Felix has even less to go home to than she does is one of them.

But then his reply comes.

felix: [ Maybe I should start looking into that ]

Camille fails to fight off a smile. Of course he’d turn it into a joke. She doesn’t call him on it, though, just rolls with it.

camille:  [ Where would you wanna end up? ]

felix:  [ You know ]

felix:  [ Someplace warm ]

felix: [ Maybe perpetually warm. But not like that global warming bullshit ]

Camille manages a laugh this time. It fills the empty space of her bedroom in a way that’s strangely comforting.

camille: [ Well if the opportunity presents itself, you can always come home with me. ] 

Maybe it’s a strange thing to say. At the very least, it suggests a kind of permanency that has always been beyond reach of the friendship they’ve formed here. Something in her chest twinges painfully at the thought of never seeing him again.

camille:  [ Sorry, I’ve had a little bit to drink. ]

Just a glass of wine, actually, but she uses the excuse all the same.

camille: [ My world’s pretty shitty anyway. ]

She doesn’t get the chance to ramble on much further before Felix’s reply pops up on her screen.

felix: [ Hey, can’t be worse than this one right? ]

felix: [ What with the truth compulsion, the body swaps, the.. whatever the fuck happened to us the other week ]

felix: [ Course I’d be down to go with you back to your batshit world! ]

Camille snorts, but some strange sense of fondness warms her chest all the same.

They don’t really talk about it again after that. They don’t need to -- it’s just a hypothetical, after all. Even still, she doesn’t think she’s imagining that it almost feels like they’ve admitted something to each other.

**

And then one day it is real. 

Camille’s actually having trouble processing the realness of it. The open rift in front of them. The hazy, pleasant, sickening image of Wind Gap’s neat little rows of houses swimming on the other side.

If coincidence still exists in a world like this, she’d say it’s coincidence that Felix is with her when it happens. They’re hanging out in her office at the Daily Planet - Felix is there on supposed MLD chief business (clearly, since he brought her coffee and a bagel) - and it just... opens. So casually, so deliberately.

Camille feels immobilized.

“Hey,” Felix’s voice stirs her, gentler than the tone he usually uses, shattering the heavy silence that’s fallen between them. “You should -- uh, do something. Before it closes. You do want to go back, right?”

Does she?

She looks up at him, feeling that odd pain in her chest again. It doesn’t matter what she wants. She should. 

It’s just that she only just now realized that she’s closer to Felix than she’s let herself get to anyone in a very long time.

So it’s a selfish question, admittedly, when she asks, “Do you still want to come?”  And she regrets it a heartbeat later. Stupid thing to ask. Terrible position to put him in. He has a job here, an important one, he’s the only person in who’s been in charge of the MLD in the past three years that’s given a damn about it being halfway decent, and what would happen if he just suddenly disappeared?

For her sake. For her world. Where mothers turn their children into monsters.

“...Well, I’ve never been one to pass up an opportunity.”

His answer jars her out of her guilty thoughts. She frowns.  “Jesus, Felix, I wasn’t thinking about the MLD. Your job. Everything you have here.”

She thinks she can see conflict brewing in Felix’s eyes. Even still, he doesn’t really hesitate. “Good things don’t last forever, y’know?”  

What does that mean?

He shrugs, seemingly answering her unspoken question as he continues, “One of these days, my rift’s gonna come to take me back. And it might not be like this. I might not get a warning.”

It’s a fair point, Camille supposes. If everyone got a warning, if everyone got a choice -- she supposes this would probably be a very different world. Still, she can’t stop feeling like her proposition is selfish. “But --”

“Camille. If it’s a choice between biding my time and waiting for something I can’t control and choosing to go with you, I...”  He furrows his brow, seeming to trip uncharacteristically over his words.  “...I mean. Your world has a police force too, right?”

Camille lets out a small hiccup of laughter. “Yeah, but. I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna work in Wind Gap.”

“Then I won’t work in Wind Gap.” Felix shrugs.  “I’ll check out whatever big city you’re working in, or... I dunno. Guess I could go just about anywhere.”

Maybe it’s dreaming big, but Camille thinks of all the possibilities Felix would have in front of him, and she likes to think it would help him. That maybe he really could be a better person. That they both could.

Besides, she likes the idea of a world where she doesn’t have to say goodbye to him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she jokes a bit weakly, steeling herself up to face the rift again.

Felix only winks at her.  “...So how does this work, do you think? Should we like, hold hands, or...”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his, suddenly instilled with newfound courage (or maybe it’s just recklessness), and steps through the rift back home.

**

They do get out of Wind Gap as quickly as possible, much to Camille’s relief. She doesn’t want to risk the townspeople asking questions about Felix, or worse, what they might tell him in return.

They do run into Jackie before they go, just briefly. She’s... well, she’s Jackie. She makes an inappropriate joke or two and playfully pinches Felix’s cheeks, telling him he’d better not fuck with ‘her girl’. It’s embarrassing as hell, but Camille finds that despite every complication that now exists in hers and Jackie’s relationship, it’s also one thing she missed.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe people do forgive. Maybe sometimes they even move on.

“So...” Felix smirks as he hops into the passengers seat of Camille’s convertible. “She your wacky vodka aunt, or something?”

Camille rolls her eyes as she turns the ignition. “Something like that.”

“I’m kidding. She seemed cool. Totally batshit, but cool. I think she even liked me.”

“A little too much,” Camille puts in as Felix laughs.

It’s an almost four hour drive to St. Louis from Wind Gap, so she figures they’d better settle in, maybe put on some music to pass the time. But when she opens her mouth to make the suggestion, she finds herself saying instead,  “Jackie’s the only person in that town who was ever nice to me. Or, well. Kind, I guess I mean. A lot of people in Wind Gap do ‘nice’, but they never really mean it.”

It’s strange. She guesses she’s going to have to keep reminding herself for a while that now she has someone to talk to.

“Well, maybe someday we can sit down and actually have dinner with her, or something.” Felix pauses, and Camille sees him make a face out of the corner of her eye. “If you think I’d actually survive that.”

She laughs, inexplicably touched, maybe that Felix would risk having dinner with someone just because Camille said they were important to her.  “Maybe.” She pauses. “I don’t really have a lot of people to introduce you to other than that. It’s really just... Curry and his wife, back in the city.”

Her mother is, of course, out of the question, and Amma... well, that just seems impossibly complicated.

(Is another maybe someday too optimistic? Probably.)

Felix, to her surprise, flashes her a smile that almost looks sad. “It wouldn’t be that different if we were in my world. I mean, I didn’t... really have a lot of people left either.”

Her heart sinks a little at the thought. Like her, Camille knows that Felix is used to being on his own. But she also knows - from experience - that sometimes being used to it doesn’t really matter.

Least we have each other now is what she wants to say, but she worries it’d be too cheesy. Instead, she settles for a simple, “I’m glad you’re here, Felix.”

He seems to get what she means anyway. Like usual, she doesn’t really have to explain herself to him. And there’s something a little easier about his smile when he answers, “Yeah? Me too.”

Camille reaches for her music, and finds that it isn’t even all that tempting to get lost in old memories, this time.

[ashley-goranski-blog]

Michael Mell x Reader; Sexual Cravings ((SMUT))

yep this is happening !! i cant believe im doing this im such a sin omfg

— requested; no trigger warnings; i dont think so??? kinks; a bit of hair pulling and dirty talk n some spankings;) — enjoy you dirty children; ps im sorry if this is really bad i tried, i also h ate proofreading so im sORRYthis is also one of my first smuts besides the one i made for a friend of mine;; this is also my first x reader goodness i am inexperienced. i feel so ridiculous aaa (the longer i think about this in my drafts the more i hate it tbh) also i type member and womANHOOD BECAUSE I FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE WITH THAT O K AY ok sorry i need to just post this bc ill stop hating it as much

You and Michael had been going out for a couple months now, your relationship was incredibly healthy and all but there was still one thing you weren’t satisfied with yet. You had an intense sexual craving for Michael. You two have never done anything sexual, I mean—you’ve gotten close. . .the farthest you’ve guys ever gotten was Michael’s kissing trailing down to your chest, you two would’ve gotten dirty then but your moment was interrupted by your mom barging in your room. Yeah, that was awkward. Luckily for you, your parents were going away on a trip for the week—this was your chance to. . .y’know get down and dirty with your boyfriend. You plopped yourself onto your bed, thinking of ways you could tell Michael that you wanted to do things with him. You were a virgin and really didn’t know that much about sex, you knew a couple kinks, you’ve seen porn before, but aside from that you were a bit clueless. Your parents were leaving tomorrow so you had to take this chance, you’ve had this sexual craving for weeks—maybe even months now and it was k i l l i n g you. You got all cozy up in your blankets, falling asleep peacefully as you felt the cold breeze from outside.

You grabbed your backpack by the front door, saying goodbye to your parents considering this will be the last time you see them for the week. You shivered as you felt the cold breeze brush against your skin—it had more of an affect due to your wet hair, you had to take a quick shower since you forgot to last night. You were wearing a F/C sweater with the words, ‘Burr, I’m cold!’ along with jeans and sneakers—you patiently waited for Michael to come running up to you, you two always walked to school together. Only a few seconds later, your stunning boyfriend had run up to you—talk about timing. He put an arm around you, kissing your head. He was only a bit taller than you. “Hey, babe.” He smiled, you looked up at him and booped his nose, “Well hello there cutie.” he blushed a light pink and chuckled at you booping his nose. “You sleep well?” Michael asked, you nodded. Michael was always so caring, you loved it whenever he’d ask if you’ve slept well or if you’ve eaten—he cared so much about you and your health. . .he was just so loving, you couldn’t ask for anything more. You two chatted on your way to school, laughing and smiling—going your separate ways when you reached the school, your lockers were way too far apart for your liking. You bit your lip, thinking about the things you wanted Michael to do to you and vice versa. You shook your head as an attempt to clear your dirty thoughts, if that didn’t do it the bell certainly did. You quickly finished doing whatever in your locker, slamming it shut and running to your class. They always felt like forever and they were always so boring, classes that is. Worst of all—none of them were with Michael! The cutest, sweetest boy in your damn life! The only time you could really see him is at lunch with Jeremy. It felt like forever until lunch actually came, you didn’t really care for your school’s lunch but ate it anyway. You made your way to the usual table where you, Michael and Jeremy would sit—you were the first one to actually arrive at the table, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, scrolling through social media and playing games while you waited for Michael and Jeremy. When they did eventually sit down, you quickly turned off your phone and lifted your head up. “It’s been 5 years.” You joked, both of the  boys chuckled and Michael ruffled your hair—then kissing you, “I missed you.” He said, still close to your face. You blushed, “I missed you too.” you smiled causing him to smile back at you. God, he loved your smile. Actually, he loved everything about you. . .and you loved everything about him. You flinched a bit, feeling him put his hand on your knee—he looked at you, concerned and quickly pulled his hand away, unsure if he just spooked you a bit or you didn’t like it. You shook your head no, “It just scared me a bit.” you told him. He sighed in relief, you looked over at Jeremy to make sure he was doing alright. He was doing great, occupied by his phone. You looked back at Michael, blushing lightly realizing he was still looking at you. You both stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments before Michael blinked, realizing what he was doing and going back into reality. “Michael—” You said quietly, but loud enough for Michael to hear, “Hmm?” he hummed. “I wanna talk to you about something after school.” You said, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. He nodded and kissed your temple, earning a giggle from you—Jeremy looked up, curious as to what was happening both you and Michael looked at him and smiled in unison. Jeremy chuckled and looked back down at his phone.

The three of you made it out of the school, Jeremy said he was gonna walk home today—you and Michael decided not to question it and nodded, going your separate ways. Michael unlocked his car and opened the door for you, “What’d you wanna talk about?” he asked, you got into his car—not responding yet so he closed the door and assumed you were gonna tell him when you were both in the car. He walked around the car, opening the door and getting in—closing the door and starting the car, he looked at you and waited for an answer. “W-Well, my parents are gonna be gone for the week and—” You took a deep breath, “I don’t know, I’ve been like kind of frustrated lately.” Michael grabbed your hand, planting a kiss on it. “What’s wrong?” He asked, you could hear worry in his voice. “N-No, not like that kind of frustrated like. . .that kind of frustrated.” You said, blushing from embarrassment. Michael blushed, “O-Oh.” he said quietly. “B-But I’m not saying you have to!” You said quickly, “I’m just—I’m just saying! God, I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it, you see I just—” Michael chuckled, “Hey, hey, it’s fine.” he cut you off, he found it adorable at how nervous you were. “I-I’ve kind of been. . .yeah.” He said, you looked away still a bit embarrassed. After a minute of silence, you looked back over at Michael. “I can’t take it anymore.” You said, he looked at you—seeing the hunger in your eyes. “M-Michael, I need you.” You stuttered, Michael nodded before driving off to your house. You felt butterflies in your tummy—not that, that feeling was out of the ordinary, Michael always gave you butterflies. . .you were just so excited—in more ways than one.

Michael pulled into your driving lot, taking his PT Cruiser keys out of the ignition. You two got out of the car at the same time—both of you rushed to the front door as you took the house key out of your pocket, trying to quickly unlock the door. You were filled with excitement as well as Michael, you successfully unlocked the door and ran inside, closing the door. Jesus, you two got really horny during that car ride. He pinned you against the door, kissing you deeply. You gasped, allowing him access to explore your mouth. He pushed his body up against yours, his crotch brushing against yours—causing you to let out a small moan. Your lips separated, you stared into each others eyes for a couple moments before he picked you up bridal style and took you over to the couch, setting you down. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Michael asked, you nodded. “One hundred percent.” You assured him, he chuckled and planted a kiss on your forehead. “Well in that case. . .” He bent down, face to face with your womanhood. He put his hands on your knees, spreading your legs—you were leaking through your panties a bit but not a lot. . .still noticeable though. Michael smirked and put your legs back together, “Take off your pants.” he demanded. You nodded and quickly took off your jeans—he spread your legs again and put two fingers at the entrance of your womanhood, “Look at you. . .so wet, so wet just for me.” he smiled, you whined—wanting him to do something to you. “Patience, love.”  He said, smirking and removing your panties. He inserted two fingers into you, you moaned—he tugged at your shirt, signaling you to remove it, so you did. He groped your left breast, earning a gasp from you followed by another moan as his fingers went in and out. “M-Michael...” You whined, “You want my cock, don’t you?” he smirked. . .hearing him say that just seemed to turn you on more—you nodded quickly. He removed his fingers and began to take off his clothes, once he was finished he went back to fingering you, but this time with three fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb—making you become a moaning mess, “I want you to beg for it.” he said making your eyes go big, “W-Wha—” you moaned before you could finish. “Beg for it.” His pace went face, you gulped. “I-I want you. . .t-to fuck me, Michael. I want you to fuck me with your big cock!~” You moaned, he smirked—clearly satisfied. “Alright.” He removed his fingers from your womanhood and flipped you over. He spanked you, earning a small yelp from you as he bit his lip and positioned himself to your entrance. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asked again, he was horny as hell but still wanted your consent. . .what a sweet boy. You nodded, he smiled and pushed his member into gently. You moaned and bit your lip, it hurt a bit but you dealt with the pain—his thrusts were slow at first but within time they started to speed up, “You like my cock, yeah?” he groaned and spanked you—you nodded. “Mhm~” you moaned. He began to pull your hair, but this only made you moan more than you already were. “Your pussy’s so tight~” He groaned, “M-Michael, fuck me harder with your cock!~” you moaned. His thrusts got faster and he fucked you harder—this man was determined to make you scream his name. He gripped your hair tighter and pulled it harder—lifting your body up a bit. He rubbed your clit with his free hand, making you moan loudly and not only that, big boy Michael had just found your g-spot. “M-MICHAEL!” You yelled, “F-FUCK! F-Fuck me. . .fuck me right, right there...” you moaned. He smirked, feeling achieved he had found your g-spot and began to ram into your g-spot—you moaned his name a decent amount of times, suddenly you feel a knot begin to form in your stomach. “Fuck— Michael, I’m so close. . .you—” You moaned but continued your sentence, “make me feel so good~” Michael groaned hearing you say that, “I love you. . .I love you so much, Y/N.” now keep in mind—he may be fucking your brains out right now, but he truly means it. He does love you. He loves you so, so, so, so, so, much. . .and you love him back, you two sometimes argue on who loves each other more—but they’re playful arguments!  “Fuck! Y/N, I’m gonna cum!” He groaned, “M-Me t—” before you could even finish saying what you were gonna say, both you and Michael reached your climax—both of you screaming each others name simultaneously. He let go of your hair and pulled his member out, collapsing down onto the couch. Some of his cum dripping out of you—you collapsed down next to him and it was only now you realized. . .you had forgotten to use something. You looked at him, both of you breathing heavily—he smiled and stroked your hair, “I love you.” he smiled, you loved hearing him say that. “I love you too. . .but we, uh, forgot to use a condom.” You chuckled nervously, Michael looked horrified. You kissed him, “Excitement got the best of us.” you said. He sighed, “I suppose.” you ran your fingers through his hair. “C’mon, hon. Let’s go shower.” You said, you had read on the internet that you should shower after intercourse. Michael nodded—you picked up your guys’ clothes and he picked you up, carrying you upstairs to your shower. (I apologize if you don’t have a two-story house;;)  You dropped the clothes onto the bathroom floor as Michael turned on the shower—he opened the shower door, stepping in and waited for you to step in. You slowly stepped into the shower, unaware if it was gonna be hot or cold. Michael smiled and closed the shower door, it was your usual shower. You and Michael washed each other’s hair and body, he kissed your forehead a couple times and you’d take some of the foam from your hair and put it on Michael’s nose. You actually make a foam beard and pretended you were Santa Claus, earning a small giggle from Michael—he honestly thought it was incredibly adorable. Like, how can a human be that cute? The shower didn’t last too long, you and Michael didn’t play around that much—you both dried off with a couple of towels and helped each other put your clothes back on, Michael picked you up making you giggle. “You’re seriously the cutest damn thing...” He said softly, taking you back downstairs. You blushed lightly, he sat down on the couch and set you down in his lap, “I’d say you’re cuter.” you smirked. Michael gasped dramatically, “Noo! You’re the cutest.” he laughed. “Nuh uh.” You smiled, he tickled you a bit—you giggled and kissed him. “I love you so much.” You muttered, “I love you too.” he intertwined his fingers with yours as you put your foreheads on his. 

[dyketectivecomics]

RobRae Week Day 5: Time Travel

 “Welcome, to the World of Tomorrow”

“Why do you always have to say it that way?”

“Haven’t you heard of a little thing called showmanship?”

-Futurama

(note: also not quite a dickrae fic...)

When Dick had called asking for help in a case his ‘family’ had been working on, Raven didn't question it. When they had to break into Gotham University’s library in the dead of night for some arcane book that even Barbara hadn’t realized was hiding there, she gave them the benefit of the doubt. And even as Dick started carefully laying runes and Babs helped her to gather the needed materials to keep away from whatever villain de jour they were fighting over that book, she felt happy that she had been the first one they had thought to ask.

She should’ve known that Dick’s newest sibling would muck it all up.

To be fair, Tim had been working on his own case with Batman, and neither Dick nor Alfred had seen either of them in weeks.

And with runes placed all around the room, a witch who was enveloped in shadow, and what looked like Dick ready to sacrifice his favorite pet (when in reality Dick had been holding onto Ace to ensure he wouldn’t be a distraction), Raven couldn’t exactly blame Tim for charging in and thoroughly disrupting the enchantment she was trying to place on the house in preparation for a larger confrontation that was to take place.

No, she was going to place that blame squarely on Dick’s shoulders, and his excellent communication skills. 

Whatever she had actually ended up saying in the place of the incantation she had been practicing, was apparently coherent enough to open a portal to... somewhere.

Somewhere that happened to be right into the lap of... whichever Robin that had currently taken up the mantle.

With red hair cropped into a pixie, and green-tinted glasses, this was certainly no Robin she had had the pleasure of meeting before. No, this one certainly seemed to break the mold.

In more ways than one, Raven was starting to notice.

“Um, not that it isn’t fantastic having a beautiful girl drop into my lap, but,” Robin rubbed the back of her neck nervously, cheeks dusted with pink, “Um, who are you?”

Raven scrambled off of her, muttering apologies, accidentally knocking several books out of place, and spilling some coffee that this new Robin had been drinking before Raven had dropped in on her.

Not her best first impression, but Raven was big enough to admit she was never any good at those.

She took in the room around her then, and it looked... mostly the same to the one she had just been sucked out of.

“Is this... Wayne Manor?” she asked the Robin before her as they gathered up books together.

“Uh, yeah... Are you here to see the Boss?”

“The Boss?” Raven quirked an eyebrow at the girl.

“Y’know. Batman,” she put pointed her index fingers up on either side of her head to mimic the ears on his cowl, smiling in jest as she did so, “You look my age, though... What exactly do you want with him?”

“Nothing, actually. Look, I was working with Nightwing and Batgirl when-”

“Uh, wait time out. Batgirl? Are you trying to pull my leg here?” Robin quirked an eyebrow of her own. Finally giving the girl a thorough look over, her eyes started widening in understanding.

“You’re... not from here, are you? As in, here and now?”

“I’m starting to think that might just be the case...”

...

It took a good hour of comparing notes and making sure that they struck that delicate balance between knowing too much and deciphering just enough to confirm that she had, indeed, landed in the future. They had agreed it was better not to see anyone who might recognize her from the past, and Raven had insisted the less she knew about everyone’s futures, the better.

But that didn't stop Carrie from trying in the coming weeks as they researched ways to send her back.

It was little things. Like casually mentioning how Bruce missed his kids, and wished that they’d come by more often. Or accidentally referencing how long Bruce’s retirement had been compared to Nightwing’s or the Red Hood’s or... well, there were many others that Raven simply didn't recognize. She seemed all the more hesitant to continue helping Raven with her research in sending her back to the past after doing some of her own research on Raven’s past... and future.

“You were a Titan,” Carrie brought it up after bringing them both desert to the library. Homemade fudge sundaes. Though, Raven could sense that the topic she was bringing up was going to be far from sweet.

She had been asking for Raven’s advice as she tackled her own college entrance essays and asked for plenty of help on her calculus homework. The American education system hadn't changed much, and it seemed senior year was still just as stressful as ever for a teen who was staring their future in the face.

“I am... was. I was in the middle of moving to Gotham to start college,” Raven explained, “I’m going for something in pre-med. Not sure what yet-”

“You said you liked working with those kids, right?” Carrie asked, almost too eager. Raven smiled. Another one of her ‘not-hints’ about the future. She simply nodded as she took a bite from the sundae and flicked a ‘page’ over on the device they had been using. It seemed internet access was one constant that could be counted on in the future.

“You should do pediatrics, then,” she suggested. “I’m sure you’d be great..” That light dust of pink returned to her cheeks. “And uh, you could help tons of kids that way.”

“I’m sure I could...”

...

A rather compromising position, they had found themselves in. After having tripped over each other in a scramble for the same book, Carrie had landed on top of Raven and was much, much too close for comfort.

Not that Raven actually minded.

The crush Carrie had been developing had been painfully obvious, especially for an empath to pick up in such close quarters that they had been sharing. And she never really made much of an effort at stopping her own feelings from forming.

She leaned in closer, her eyes carefully watching Carrie’s as she did so. And eventually, Carrie met her the rest of the way. A short, sweet kiss.

And Raven began to wonder what she was really going to do about all of this.

It was called a crush for a reason, right?

...

It was a similar scene to what had transpired a few weeks before. Runes laid around the room, the same book, even more worn with age and missing several pages. But everything was in place to send Raven back to where she belonged.

“Is it... selfish that I kind of want you to stay?” Carrie asked, tears in the corners of her eyes.

Raven could feel that same sadness overwhelming her as well, but she was not afraid to let the tears fall.

Like it or not, this mutual crush was merely that. A crush. Something that would eventually hurt them both in the end if they even tried to carry it further than this odd friendship that had been struck.

Although they had already started to compromise even that...

With resolve in her heart, Raven made the promise that she knew would be the easiest one to keep.

“We’ll see each other again, Carrie. It won't be the same but... I promise it’ll be sooner than you think.”

...

When the incantation ended, Raven watched the future dissolve away, and slowly she faded out as well.

Only to wake up in a guest room in Wayne Manor, none other than Dick Grayson at her bedside.

“Raven, are you okay? You’ve been... flickering... like a ghost, for hours now!”

She grabbed onto Dick’s arm urgently then. “You’re not going to believe this...”

[drawingsanddrabbles]

Too Bad Santa’s Dead

Prompt: “Too Bad Santa’s Dead” (Bones s3e9)

I know, I know... A Jew writing a Christmas fic... I am confused about it myself. Anywho, here's a fic that was prompted from a line in a Bones episode from a rewatch and... and basically I wrote this in May. I wrote a Christmas fic in May and I'm a Jew so like... yeah. Join the confusion.

Anyway, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate and by the by Tim and Kon are aged-up to at least 18 because yeah.

ao3

“Dude, this sucks.” Kon said as he floated over the dead Santa.

“You know I’m an atheist, right?” Tim poked at the body and finished his oral report on the body and crime scene.

“Hey, I’m only part-Christian but that doesn’t mean this doesn’t suck.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Santa isn’t real, Kon.”

“How do you know? I’m a clone of an alien and an evil corporate super-villain overlord. Santa could be real.”

“He’s not.” Tim snapped.

Kon recoiled. “Okay, it was just a joke.” Tim didn’t respond. Something had clearly upset Tim. Kon frowned, had Tim and Kon never had a conversation about Santa before? They’d known each other for years, not to mention that they’d been dating for around a year. Though, this would be their first Christmas together.

Did Tim hate Christmas?

Why did Tim hate Santa?

“Are you okay?” Kon asked as he floated.

Tim exhaled annoyedly (Kon knew that reaction well) and he stood. “I’m fine. Sorry for being snappy.”

“Are you sure?” Kon asked.

Tim pulled his mouth into a smile. “Yeah.” He was lying.

Which obviously meant that Tim wouldn’t tell Kon why and if Kon wanted to understand him better there seemed to be only one way to figure out why Tim hated the concept of Santa: ask the family. “I’ve gotten everything I’m going to get from the scene and I collected samples. Do you mind if we go back to the Cave so I can run tests?”

For once, Kon didn’t. “I’d love to go back. Want me to keep you company?”

Tim smiled, this time a real smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

Dick’s first reaction was: “Someone killed Santa?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Santa isn’t real, Dick. Someone killed someone dressed as Santa.”

“Uh huh.” Dick said. He leaned over to Kon and whispered, “Tim doesn’t like Santa.”

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Kon whispered back. Tim worked without sign of hearing them, they continued to whisper for Tim’s sake.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Dick zipped his lips. “Not my secret to tell.”

“At least a hint?” Kon asked. “Help a boyfriend out.”

Dick looked at Tim, hesitated, then back at Kon: “It’s not just Santa, it’s also Christmas.”

“Wha-Really?” But Dick zipped his lips again. He walked over to Tim and rubbed his hair.

“See ya, kiddo.”

“Bye, Dick.” Tim raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing all the way over there?” Tim asked Kon, just realizing how far away from Tim he was.

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“Sit next to me?” Tim asked.

Kon smiled and pulled up a chair next to Tim’s at the Batcomputer. He kissed his boyfriend on the cheek. “Sure babe.”

“EW!” Someone cried, seeing Kon kiss Tim. Tim rolled his eyes.

“I don’t ‘ew’ you when you kiss Cass.” He called to Steph who bounced over to Tim, resting her arms and head on Tim’s.

“That’s ‘cuz we’re gorgeous and there’s nothing to ‘ew.’ You on the other hand...”

“Hey!” Kon cried.

Steph grinned at him. “Not you of course, Kon. You’re just as gorgeous as us.” She winked at him.

“Stop hitting on my boyfriend.” Tim said, eyes never leaving the Batcomputer screens.

“Tim is gorgeous too!” Kon cried outraged.

“You only say that ‘cuz you’re his boyfriend, I’m his ex so I can say that he isn’t.”

“Thanks, Steph.” Tim said.

“You’re welcome.”

Tim switched to his crime scene pictures of the victim and frowned.

“Aw! Someone killed Santa?” Steph cried.

“Santa-”

“I know, I know, Santa isn’t real.”

“Who is not real?” Damian asked, Kon jumped out of his skin. He knew the gremlin was a ninja and all but like? Seriously? Damian hadn’t been there five seconds ago. He pushed Kon and Tim out of the way so he could see the case.

“No one you care about.” Tim said, pushing Damian so he could go back to his past position in front of the computer.

“Dami, see the red suit and the white beard? In our society that is a marker of a man named Santa Claus.” Steph explained.

“Santa Claus is imaginary.” Damian said.

“I can’t believe we agree on something.” Tim muttered.

Wait, Steph had dated Tim before… “Hey, Steph? Can we talk for a moment? Y’know, alone.”

Steph looked surprised. “Yeah, sure thing Hot Stuff. Step into my office.”

Kon stood and they began walking away from Tim when Damian said loudly: “If you are discussing sexual encounters with Drake, please walk farther from my earshot.”

“We’re far enough away that you can’t hear us, Kid!” Steph shouted at him. She turned to Kon, “what’s up?”

“Why does Tim hate Christmas?” He asked softly.  Steph glanced at Tim. “Please, Steph? Help a boyfriend out?”

“You used that exact line on Dick, didn’t you? And he didn’t tell you?”

Kon chewed on his lip. “Possibly…?”

“If Dick didn’t tell you, no way I’m telling you.” Steph said.

“Aw, please Steph?”

“The key to a healthy relationship is communication, Sunshine.” Steph said, patting him on the shoulder.

Kon sighed. “Whatever, thanks anyway.” He went back to Tim but Damian was sitting in his seat, conducting tests. “Dude, move.”

“Find another seat.” Damian snapped.

I can’t believe I’m arguing with an angry munchkin. Kon thought. Tim glared at Damian. He turned to Kon and stood, kissing him on the cheek. As if sensing his anger towards the little man, Tim suggested, “you know what, I’ll see you at home Kon, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Kon asked. He glowered at Damian but the youth ignored him. Tim nodded and Kon kissed Tim again and Damian rolled his eyes.

“Please take your possessive sexual activities somewhere else.” Damian said.

Kon was about to bite something back but Tim hit Damian on the back of the head and Damian growled something at him. Tim went back to the case and seemed to forget that Kon was in the room which was understandable, he always got that way when on a case. Kon guessed he’d go home then. He glanced back at the dead Santa on the screen and got an idea.

“No.” Tim said. Kon frowned, he hadn’t expected Tim to react so strongly. Tim stumbled backward, eyes staring. He tumbled into the wall, his gaze breaking. He turned and walked out.

“Tim?” Kon grabbed a robe, following him out into the cold Gotham night, “Tim, come back! If it bothers you that much I- Tim!” But Tim was nowhere to be seen.

Kon had fucked up. Kon had really, super duper, absolutely, indubitably, and terribly fucked up. Kon was about to jump into the air when a strong wind blew into Kon’s robe. Someone above him snorted. “Wow, trouble in paradise?”

Jason. Great. “Why are you here?”

“To stare at your wonderfully beautiful ass. Or maybe just to annoy Tim’s. I like to keep you heroes guessing.” Jason said. Kon was sure he was kidding.

Kon glared at him. He sat on top of Tim’s apartment building, mask on, leg hanging lazily over the edge of the roof. He looked Kon up and down, physically moving his mask to make sure Kon knew what he was doing. Kon looked down and closed his robe tighter (which probably wasn’t helping Kon’s modesty). “Are you here for a reason? Because if not, I have to go find my boyfriend and make sure he doesn’t want to kill me.” Kon grumbled.

“You really fucked up, didn’t you?” Jason shook his head. “Didn’t you know he has a thing about Christmas?”

“How did you know? You’ve tried to kill him.”

“Oh please, Krypto-Boy, we all have a thing about Christmas. For the demon-spawn and the mute it’s a detachment; they aren’t Christian, they never had a reason to love or want to love Christmas. Christmas was one of the only days Princess Eggplant’s dad was allowed to contact her, which didn’t always give her warm and fuzzy feelings. Not to mention a cheap Christmas and no presents, nothing that you want from Santa. And Dickiebird and Brucie? Well, being an orphan isn’t too fun on a family-centric holiday.”

He hadn’t known. Kon didn’t know what it was like, sure he was lonely and alone. Sure he didn’t know of a family before Tim and Bart and Cassie and Dubbilex and Jim and… but he had Ma and Pa, he had Kara and Clark and he had Lois. He had Christmas. They didn’t.

“And you? Tim?”

“Me? I was a street kid. Christmas meant cold, it meant pity charity from people too rich to care about me except for one fucking day of the year. Then? It meant Bruce and Dick and Alfred and family. And then? Then it meant nothing. But this is about Tim, and Tim? Tim wasn’t like us. Tim’s family wasn’t like any of ours. You’re never going to make Tim like Christmas. Tolerate it? Maybe. But like and love? Never. Just give up on that dream, don’t force him.”

“So? What do I do now?”

“So, you wanted to find out why? Ask him yourself clone. You want to accept that he just doesn’t like Christmas and he never will? Do that. It’s up to you now, Luthor-spawn, make the right choice.”

“Why are you here, Jason?”

Jason stood and brushed off his legs. “I heard Kris Kringle bit it, I thought I might have heard something, I was going to tip off the replacement, but clearly this isn’t the time. Go after him, Wannabe. He needs you.”

Kon nodded. He was about to take off again when Jason added, “and put on some pants. Maybe things are different in Metropolis, but in Gotham ripped dudes flying around wrapped as a Christmas present isn’t appropriate.”

Kon ran into the apartment he and Tim shared and changed, then he closed his eyes and followed the sound of his love’s heartbeat.

“Here, huh?” Kon asked, landing on the top of the Wayne Enterprises Tower.

Tim shrugged, his legs swinging off the edge of the roof. “I like being up high. How’d you find me?”

“It’s not hard, I know you. I know your heartbeat. And I know when I’ve clearly upset you.”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“No. It’s my fault. I knew you were upset about Christmas and Santa and I pushed it too far. I thought... I thought I could make it right. Give you some good memories. Clearly I was wrong.”

“Clearly.”

“Tim, please tell me: what I can do to make it right?” Kon asked. He sat down next to Tim. Tim stared out at the illuminated street below him.

“When, when I was three I learned about Santa for the first time.” Tim began slowly. “I was at pre-school and my teacher asked if anyone knew who Santa was. I was the only person in class who didn’t know. That night, that afternoon really, Mrs. Mac picked me up from school—Mom and Dad were in Africa for Christmas. I told Mrs. Mac about what I’d learned that day, about Santa, and she, and I’ll never forget this, she turned around in her seat with the most pitying look on her face and she said: ‘oh, Tim dear Santa isn’t real.’” Tim stared at his hands and inhaled shakily. “Just like that. To a three year old. I mean, I���d figure it out eventually, but really?” He paused before continuing. “I didn’t really believe her, not entirely. What my teachers and classmates said… it had to be real, I mean Batman was real so why not Santa, right? Well I waited up for him that night, after Mrs. Mac had gone to her family for the holiday, I stayed up. I stayed up and I made milk and cookies and I hid with my camera, a birthday present by the way, under the couch and I waited for Santa to come. And by morning Santa didn’t come, and there were no presents under my tree. And until Mom died that was my Christmas, alone in the house. When I turned five I started buying my own presents, Mom and Dad gave me the money of course, but I bought them. I wrapped them. I hid them under the tree. Christmas didn’t really seem so magical, and soon I just… stopped, all together. After all I could buy whatever I wanted with my parents credit cards whenever I wanted, what was the point of celebrating Christmas?” He finally stopped to breathe. The breaths were thick and his shoulders shook, his voice trembled. “So when you… I don’t want Christmas. I-I know you were trying to be helpful, but I just-I don’t want Christmas!”

“Okay.” Kon said. “No Christmas, promise.” Tears fell from Tim’s eyes and Kon wrapped him in a hug. “No Christmas. Promise.” He repeated.

Tim walked into the apartment on December 24th not expecting what he saw. But it didn’t make him walk out. “You-you cleaned the apartment.” He stated.

Kon grinned. He wore Tim’s favorite sweater for him (it was an S-Shield pattern that Ma had made for him one year) and the apartment was flawless. The mouth-watering aroma of Chinese food filled the air. A blanket lay across the couch and Tim’s laptop was plugged in, laying on top of it. The TV was on and ready to be watched. “What-what is this?” He asked, slightly overwhelmed by the sparkiliness of the moment.

“I figured, since you don’t like Christmas, how about we don’t do Christmas. How about we never do Christmas. Instead we do an ‘us’ night. We stay in, eat our favorite foods, pizza is on it’s way by the way, we marathon Wendy. We cuddle on the couch. Then, tomorrow we can go out on patrol or whatever you want to do.”

“An ‘us’ night?”

Kon nodded enthusiastically. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to. ‘Cuz then we don’t have to. I just thought… since I’ll never be able to give you good Christmas memories, what if we never had to worry about Christmas at all? Y’know do kind of a new holiday, just for us.”

“Just for us.” Tim repeated.

Kon nodded, trying to gauge Tim’s reaction. When Tim said nothing, Kon’s face fell. “Actually,” he said bashfully, “it’s stupid, we can just do nothing, I’ll just-”

“No!” Tim said, freezing Kon in his tracks. “No.” Tim said. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And very sweet.” He walked over to Kon and hugged and kissed him lightly.

“Um, excuse me?” A voice said from behind them.

The pizza guy had arrived. Kon paid him and took the pizza from him. He closed the door and Tim and Kon settled onto the couch. Wendy the Werewolf Stalker played and they began stuffing themselves with food. The night wore on until they were out of food and halfway through Wendy’s first season. Kon lay drowsily on Tim’s shoulder while Tim curled the blanket around his feet.

“Tim?”

“Hmm?” Tim asked.

“Where do you want to patrol tomorrow?” Kon asked, yawning.

“What if we... didn’t patrol?”

Kon frowned and sat up, looking at him. “But you love to patrol.”

“And you don’t, and I also love you. This is an ‘us’ day, right? So let’s do something we both like. Maybe head down to the arcade.”

Kon smiled and kissed Tim gently. “I love you so much.”

Tim smiled and laid his head down in Kon’s lap, stretching out on the couch, his legs hanging over the end. “I love you too.”

[stretchjournalemerson]

Endless Island

By Matthew Pifko

I. Coffee, Whole Milk, and 2 Sugar Packets

My mom is drawing on a napkin at the diner while we wait for our food. She sketches out long, parallel lines across the fragile fabric, careful not to tear through the tissue-like surface. She is drawing me a map of Long Island - more specifically, the roads that criss and cross it. I sip coffee out of the stout, ceramic mug. I’m now seventeen, I’ve already decided I like coffee, and it’s too late to turn back. It tastes bitter and sour and it burns my tongue a little bit, but I diligently sip it anyway. I don’t really like the taste, but I do like the way it makes me feel buzzy and present (I never say that of course, because that makes me sound like a drug addict).

“So, this is Sunrise Highway,” she declares, pointing to the thin line of ink. “And that’s connected to 347, right?” I murmur into my steaming cup. “No. Sunrise Highway runs along the south shore, all the way to the end, y’know, like where Montauk is. And the Long Island Expressway runs here, over near us on the north shore, from the city out to the middle of the island. 347 is one of the roads connected to the Northern State Parkway, which is that windy and old road that was built before they had big expressways on the island.”

I nod blankly, and mutter something. Just a noise of affirmation to get her to think my mind is still on the conversation. The truth is that I couldn't care less about the long, flat strips of concrete that connect Long Island. I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t care where they go. None of this matters to me when I’m seventeen, because I’m not going to live here. In fact, pretty soon, my license will be useless to me, since I’ll be soaring on a gleaming bullet of a subway. The second I graduate from my claustrophobic little prison of a high school, I’m going far, far away. As far as I’m allowed to go. At the moment, I have compromised with Boston - a city that isn’t exactly Los Angeles, but is at least a couple hours away from New York. I tell myself there’s a good chance I’ll transfer over to LA in a year, anyway. To me, Long Island was the place to escape from, the starting line of a marathon, a ledge to leap from. This is not to say Long Island is Bumblefuck, Idaho. In fact, the Island is positively teeming with people, and there are more flooding in every day. So many people that they’re packed like sardines into this tiny strip of land clinging to the East Coast, the price tags on their houses going up and up and up until the entire place is swallowed up by the ocean. I was determined to never be one of them. Convinced that I couldn’t be one of them, even if I tried. I knew Long Island wasn’t “for” me, the same way I knew as a child that scary R-rated movies weren’t “for” me. The thing about Long Island, and more specifically, my quaint little homogenized tourist town, is that I always felt like an “other” there. In terms of postcolonial theory, “otherness” is defined as a sort of psychological divide constructed by conquerors to separate themselves from the conquered - to my understanding, this group of conquerors includes Spanish conquistadors, British imperialists, Nazis, and even those wealthy, boisterous, self congratulatory high schoolers who call quiet kids

“fags”. In other words, “otherness” is a weapon used by monsters of all shapes and sizes. As an other, I understood that, on some level, I was lesser than the conquerors. Maybe because I was queer. Maybe because I was Jewish. Maybe because I wanted to be an artist. Or maybe because I just felt like Matt Pifko didn’t belong there, like his brain chemistry was incompatible with the air he breathed in Port Jefferson, Long Island, New York, United States, zip code 11777.

II. Learning

Don’t worry, this isn’t a tragic backstory. In high school, I wasn’t bullied or tormented or even excluded. I had a superpower - I was selectively invisible. That is, “Queer Jew With Anxiety” wasn’t exactly stamped on my forehead. My voice was deep. My hair was straight. My nose was normal. My body wasn’t twitchy or nervous. My face was square enough. My beard grew patchy, but it grew. I was tall, tall enough that no one questioned my masculinity. I laughed a lot, and I was funny. I looked depressed, or maybe just tired, but in a relatable way. After all, what high schooler isn’t “depressed” these days?

“Your face is my mood,” my friend once said to me as I stumbled into the fluorescent white building at 7:18 am.

When you ask people what superpower they’d want, they always say “flying” or “time travel” or some ridiculous shit like that. I say invisible, because being figuratively invisible is great. To walk down the hallway and not feel eyes on you is to feel power in high school. To be invisible is to be able to blend in anywhere, to fit into any friend group, any clique, any niche. Information is power, and the less information, the less control they had over me. I was slippery. Being translucent is even more powerful in a small town like Port Jefferson, where the local mothers gossip on their Facebook forums and around dinner tables, where the same 70 kids who went to pre-k together went to high school together as well. Port Jefferson was a special small town, in that it was a literal port. Located on the North Shore of Long Island, Port Jefferson has a ferry system that constantly shuttles tourists from Bridgeport, Connecticut into our quaint little town. Stepping off this ferry, one looks down the barrel of Main Street, a bustling cardboard cutout of coffee shops, bars, and everything in between. Thus, tourist traps selling useless knick knacks would open and close every season along Main Street, a new vintage board game store replacing the new crystal shop from last year. During the summers, my parents would complain about the mobs of strangers running into traffic downtown. I never understood why it made them so mad until I got a car of my own and almost hit wandering pedestrians on multiple occasions. In Port Jefferson, you’d swear you could actually feel eyes on you. Think 1984, but Big Brother is a network of parents who were once the popular kids in Port Jefferson High School back in nineteen-seventy-whatever. And now, their offspring are the popular kids once again, like some sort of inbred dynasty. To express otherness was to be shunned out of the community. To be invisible was to live on their watch-list. Nothing scared the denizens of Port Jefferson more than invisibility - they had a fear of blindness, of not being able to peer behind the curtain.

This was their town, and they’d be damned if anything or anyone was awry in their town. To these lifelong townspeople, a town had to be possessed. A town had to be owned - and therefore it was their job to own it. To control it. To keep it the same. To keep the others out. I remember going to a stage crew party senior year, and finally stepping into the old fashioned, brick-built mansion of one of these Port Jefferson dynasties. Their son, in my grade, controlled the entire theater department, to the point where he was actually paid to manage the other kids (other kids including me and my friends on the art team). Walking around this palace, seeing the off-kilter smiles of his parents as they greeted me, I felt genuine terror. Could their gazes pierce my thin armor? How much did they know? How much did they see?

From time to time, my invisibility would scare me. I’d think about dying in some horrible car accident on the LI Expressway, my consciousness and interior life gone before I could blink, with no one ever knowing that I was gay. No one ever knowing why I was an irritable and inconsolable asshole from time to time, why I holed myself up in my room listening to Frank Ocean and The Smiths for hours. At my funeral, they’d shrug, and just figure I was a strange boy. Often, I’d think about confessing my queerness on a paper, locked in a box that they could only find after I died.

This is not to say that I had no meaningful friends in high school, or that my parents didn’t know me at all, or that I was dead inside from freshman year till the day I graduated. After all, there were smaller, safer ways of exposing my otherness, whether it was my unwavering liberal political allegiance or my undying commitment to twisted horror cinema. It’s just... when you’re an other on Long Island, in Port Jefferson, you get scared what would happen if you ever truly lost your power. Being slippery is good. It means you won’t get caught. Even when I came out to my closest friends in the sticky spring of senior year, I felt scared. I felt my invisibility fade away, my body now opaque and ugly. I was seen, and I could be caught. Nothing’s worse than feeling like you could be trapped in Port Jefferson.

III. Endless Island

When I try real hard to visualize Long Island, to visualize the idea of Long Island, I always come back to the days I spent canvassing for Suffolk County Democratic Legislator Sarah Anker, a mission that spread from the summer to election day 2017. Trump had already taken over the White House, so there was an element of hopelessness to the whole affair. There was also a little rebellious spark in that uphill battle, making our fight for office a tad exciting.

I had taken up the internship with two of my friends from high school. Together, we traced the windy roads every Saturday, using the dots on our printer paper maps to find the targets of our campaign. Each week, we would get new black and white rectangles of Long Island, the tiny roads threaded out like a spider’s web across the page, the black circles that indicated houses appearing to me like trapped flies. On the page, we could indicate whether that

resident we had spoken with supported the candidate, supported the opposing party, refused to say, didn’t speak English, wasn’t there at all, and so on. Our campaign supervisor was Tim, a tall, slim man in his early 20s. Most importantly to seventeen year old me, Tim was openly gay. Gay. Gay, like how no guy in my high school was openly gay. The very thought of Tim existing, running this little organization, sent excited chills through my body. He was here, he was an “other”, and he was living and breathing just like the rest of us.

Since the three of us Port Jefferson boys had just gotten our licenses, we would swap on and off driving, one of us spending our precious gas money at a time. I drove my beat-up 1996 Lexus that my family had purchased for 3,000. Leland drove his dad’s silver, scratched 2003 Honda minivan. Dylan rarely drove, but when he did, he drove the sleek black Volkswagen that his mom normally used. Leland, with his twitchy hands and manic laugh, was probably the worst driver out of us three (we may have gotten pulled over once or twice), but he drove the most. He liked driving. I liked it when he drove, for in these hours I could just listen to the laughter of my friends, the tinny music coming from the rusted speakers, and the hum of the air conditioning. I would stare out the big rectangular minivan window at the endless rows of box houses, their color changing from tan to grey to maroon to blue to grey to black to tan to grey. When the car stopped, we would split off in three directions, each of us knocking doors, pacing down the pavement in search of potential voters. When we walked during the stretched out summer days, it was always too humid. When we walked during the inky black autumn nights, it was always too frigid. Canvassing, in its essence, was an “other” invasion - we invaded these boring neighborhoods, these undisturbed sectors, infiltrating their tranquil suburbs with our Democrats and our queerness and our papers, our papers that we left on their doorstep whether they liked it or not. They would be forced to see our faces, to hear our voices. Often, I felt like a deep sea explorer, diving deeper into the trenches of Long Island and seeping into their private lives through the cracked roads I once resented. Knocking on these endless doors, peering into endless sets of eyes, was that fertile mix of strange, scary, and thrilling that defines the best moments of adolescence. Sometimes, staring out into the vast Boston cityscape, I miss those ugly houses a little.

But really, when I think of Long Island, I don’t think of a place. A specific, singular snapshot doesn’t come to mind. Rather, I think of driving through the suburbs in Leland’s creaky minivan, the roads blurring together, the yellow dashes mixing with the white lines, the street lights gliding into one another. Sometimes, after a party that ended too early, or after our parents had come home too soon, we would flee to the car, and just drive in circles around Long Island. Maybe stop and get some shitty fast food. Sit in the parking lot and talk a lot and then settle into a warm silence. Get back in the car. Look at the small towns pass by, peer curiously at the anonymous rows of houses. Go to the beach and creep onto the pitch black dunes. Listen to each others’ shaky breath, and the sound of wind hitting the water. And then drive some more.

Acknowledgments

Joan Didion deserves top billing here, without whom this essay would not have existed. I’d like to thank Mary Kovaleski-Byrnes for giving me the opportunity to create my first piece of writing about my queer identity. Clare Jackson, thank you for bringing this text to where it is now. I will always remember when tears fell down your face as you read my first draft in class. Eitan and Abby, thank you for the further assistance and final touches. Long Island - I don’t know what to say to you.

[stcrytcllerxinspo]

Confrontation || Self Para

You tell me that you need me then you go and cut me down, but wait You tell me that you're sorry, didn't think I'd turn around, and say that It's too late to apologize (it's too late)...

------------------------------------------

Summary: Devon confronts Alex about a recent hospital stay and it results in Alex saying things that he will later regret.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Drugs, Mental Illness, Death Mentions

“It’s not drugs, is it?”

The question broke the silence that had fallen over the two boys, causing Alex to look up from the concrete floor, his eyes landing on Devon for the first time in several minutes. With a cigarette between his fingers, he scooted away from his cousin, desperately needing to keep some distance between them. He knew what was coming. He was full expecting some conversation about whatever problems Devon was imagining that he had.

“Why would you say that....” He replied, flicking a few ashes away before taking another drag and exhaling.

“Alex, you were hospitalized last month. One of your classmates found you unresponsive on your living room floor...she said that you looked pale...your breathing was weird...I mean, it makes sense...” Devon looked at Alex, holding his own cigarette.

Alex let out an exasperated sigh. “Just because Jade’s killer was a druggie doesn’t mean that everyone’s problems are fueled by drugs, Devon!”

“That’s not fair and you know it...”

Alex shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look...I was just as devastated as you when it happened, okay? Jade was like my big sister. She was the one I called on my bad days. She had her bad days too. She told me that it’s okay to have bad days, because we’re human and it happens, y’know? I never felt judged when I talked to her and once she was gone...I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

It had been nearly two years since Jade passed away in the violent convenience store robbery that claimed her life. Alex truly missed her and he didn’t want anyone else to suffer like she did, and he understood that Devon was traumatized since he’d been with her at the time, but Alex hated how protective and paranoid he’d become. They didn’t even live in the same state and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to stop obsessing over Alex’s life.

“Yeah, she...she was like that. One of the reasons I fell in love with her. But anyway, Alex, you....you can talk to me too, y’know.” Devon exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, eyes glued to Alex. The younger boy avoided making eye-contact. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Shit, why couldn’t Devon leave it all alone?

“It’s too complicated...” He murmured.

Devon scoffed. “What’s so complicated about it? Alex, all you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m just tired and stressed, okay? So I may have been eating less, I lost weight, and I got sick because of it. But I’m fine now...” That wasn’t true and Alex knew it, but if he said anything other than that, Devon would blab to the entire family and Alex would be locked up somewhere. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already been hospitalized enough. There was the most recent hospital visit, then there was his three-month rehab stay the summer before his senior year of high school...

Oh no, there was the “look.”  The eyebrows raised, deep frown, ‘I don’t believe a word of what you just said’ look. Alex hated that look.

“Okay, now you’re giving me the look. Why exactly?”

“Because I want to believe what you’re saying, I really do, but it’s so hard when you look so...”

“So...”

Devon sighed. “Sick....and tired.”

Alex rubbed his temples and tried to keep his sanity together, as much as possible. Right now, Devon just needed to back off.  “I just don’t wanna talk about it, okay? Not right now....”  

A long moment of silence followed, then he found himself speaking up again, but what he said wasn’t what he was expecting to say.

“I always wished I could be more like you.” He admitted.

Devon frowned. “What?! Alex, there’s not anything to—“

“Come on, man. You were always just naturally popular. People have always gravitated towards you, but me? I had to work to fit in. If I were anything close to the person you are, I’d never run out of friends.” Alex rolled his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t believe that he was expressing his occasional feelings of envy to Devon. Really, Devon of all people!

“And what kind of person am I exactly?”

Alex shrugged. “Caring. Compassionate. Attractive. Badass. Cool.”

Devon chuckled, then squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “If you don’t find yourself attractive, then I dunno what to say to you! I mean, do you realize how many people back home talk about how hot they think you are? Even Jace’s sister said that she’d bang you if you were a couple years older!”

“Shut up!” Alex laughed, a huge grin on his face. Ah, yes, Kendra Fletcher. He’d met her a few times, but in his opinion, she was a little wild even for him. Then again, maybe they were too similar. They were each the kind of person that the other should probably stay away from.

Devon playfully nudged him. “I’m serious, man! Really, Kendra thinks you’re the hottest of Jace’s friends. Apparently Ryan’s too peppy, Jax is an asshole, and I’m too boring. But you? She said that you’re totally her type.” 

Alex was going to have to disagree with such statements. Correction: Ryan was positive (Alex was not), Jax was confident (Alex was not), and Devon was...well, he definitely wasn’t boring. 

“Okay, I’m not going to hook up with my cousin’s best friend’s sister...” He chuckled softly.

“Just saying.”

Alex laughed lightly, then fell silent again, but only for a moment.

“You always had an easy time attracting girls. I mean, who could resist a nice looking guy with an accent? And you found Jade, who was the perfect match for you. You found your someone, but all I’ve had are a few one-night-stands.” He whispered. 

Devon rolled his eyes. “Alex, stop comparing yourself to me...You’ll find your someone too...”

“You don’t know that, Dev. I could be alone forever.” Well, it wasn’t an unlikely possibility. Alex hadn’t had much luck finding a long-term relationship, given that he had absolutely no idea how to do so. Maybe he just had a lot of commitment issues. Maybe he was afraid of getting hurt. Maybe was just awkward. He just didn’t know.

“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” Alex raised his eyebrows. “Nah, I am pretty sure that I may very well end up living in a tiny cabin with like forty cats and dogs.”

“That sounds like a damn good deal to me, just sayin’.” Devon gave him a soft smile.

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean, less risk for broken hearts, y’know?”

“I dunno, my dog can be a dick sometimes.” Alex shrugged with an amused smile. Maybe that was an exaggeration. His three-year-old Great Dane was protective and a bit on the wild side, and one time he tackled Devon, but he wasn’t that bad. Not all the time...

The following silence seemed to go on forever, when it really only lasted a couple of minutes. 

“Hey....I know you didn’t wanna talk about...things, but I really need to ask you this.” Devon said softly.

“Devon--”

Devon shook his head and scooted closer to the blonde, reluctantly putting his arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Alex, you need to be honest with me. Are you starving yourself? Are you using drugs?”

Alex became visibly tense. Because he knew that Devon had every right to be concerned. He had a safe filled with a stash of drugs for his use at any time. He’d been using for quite some time now. But how could he tell anyone that? At this point in time, his body needed the drugs. He wasn’t sure he could survive this life without them....

So he denied it. “No! Shit, man, what do I have to do to convince you of that? I’m not doing anything to myself....” He feigned hurt, putting out his cigarette and stumbling to his feet.

“Alex, please--” Devon copied the action, facing the troubled boy.

“Listen to me for once! I have been getting too much ‘are you okay’, ‘you can talk to me’, ‘what’s wrong’, whatever. I’m tired of everyone accusing me of having a problem that doesn’t exist for me, okay? Just...please leave it alone.”  Alex lowered his hands, which were shaking as he started to walk away.

Suddenly, Devon’s hand was on his shoulder. “I don’t understand. I mean, why do you get like this when someone shows any sign of caring about you? You just...you push people away...”

“Wow, hypocrite much?” Alex laughed humorlessly.

“I’m just saying, Alex.” Devon sighed.

“Devon, trust me. I’m fine, I’m just tired and stressed. That is it. Now please...just...leave it alone.”

“You’re not okay. Anyone could look at you and see that, and from what’s been going on the past few years, I’d say that you haven’t been okay in a really long time. When’s the last time you’ve been truly happy? And I mean genuinely, truly happy.”

“Well, I was pretty damn thrilled when we were having a normal conversation five minutes ago!” Alex snapped, his fists clenching as they always seemed to do when he became agitated. 

“I’m trying to help you here! Because I already lost me wife and I’ll be damned if I lose me cousin too!”

Alex shouldn’t have responded. He should have just denied everything again and insisted on walking away, but no. No, he just had to bring her up again, knowing damn well that Devon would likely be upset about it. “Shit, Devon, Jade was murdered! She didn’t have a choice! Whatever choices I’m making about my life are mine and mine alone! No one is holding a gun to me and forcing me to do anything! So you can drop it now, okay?” He cried.

“Alex, stop....stop bringing Jade into this. You can’t just use her memory to your advantage, as something to use to get someone off your back. You’re right, she was murdered, she lost her life because of someone else’s actions, but that doesn’t make it any better for someone to die because of their own actions.” Devon pointed a finger at Alex, backing away from him.

“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with my choices.”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU! NONE OF US DO! We’re all scared for you, okay? We don’t want you to end up in a casket before your time!” Devon raised his voice, causing Alex to flinch. The concern made sense. He had clearly lost weight, he was pale, he had bags under his eyes (although he thought Devon had them way worse).

"You know what I think? You’re projecting onto me. All these claims of being so afraid  of me dying? In reality, you wish that you had been the one that died in that robbery. You feel guilty because you survived and Jade didn’t, and now you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re saving my life, to make up for what you couldn’t do for Jade! Hell, you tried to kill yourself off because of it all!”

Okay...that is where the line should have been drawn.

There was the silence again, only it was much more painful this time. Alex felt like an enormous jerk now. What was he thinking?!

“You’re....I think we’re done here. Bye, Alex.”

“Devon--” Alex whispered as he watched from the balcony back into the hotel room, with the door slamming only seconds later. Now, the only company Alex had was guilt and shame. The last thing he wanted to do was lash out and hurt anyone, especially his own family, but somehow that was exactly what he’d done....

and he hated himself for it.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 8

First

Previous

Next

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Tim woke up the next morning, because that’s how things work.

He fought back a groan as he slowly flexed each muscle individually, making sure that everything was still working. To his surprise, it actually was. His brain stuttered to a stop. Why had he been asleep, then? He was pretty sure it wasn’t his usual sleep day…

Then, he finally processed the fact that his face was pressed to something that definitely wasn’t his pillow.

He cracked an eye open. He was laying on top of Marinette, head resting on her stomach. She was still asleep, he noted, one of her hands was thrown over her eyes and the other tangled in his hair.

He vaguely considered just staying there. He could stay in that position forever…

Except he couldn’t. He had responsibilities. He was pretty sure that if he skipped both patrols and work his family would assume he’d been brainwashed in some way.

So, reluctantly, he pushed himself up and reached a hand out to poke Marinette awake.

She grumbled a little and caught his hand, blinking her eyes open. She looked up at him for a moment, uncomprehending in her sleepy state, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before clambering away from their tangle of limbs so he could take a quick shower and get ready.

First, though, he started up the coffee machine. He’d known that she’d had coffee, he’d been there when she bought it... but, really, if she was worried enough to lie about it he’d at least try and alleviate those fears a little.

That done, he took a quick shower. He already had a towel and toothbrush at the house -- wow, Marinette really wasn’t joking, he had basically moved in already, oops -- so he used those.

Then he pulled on the outfit she’d made him. By the time he needed help lacing up the corset, Marinette had stumbled into the room in a daze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello?”

She held out one of two mugs for him and he was forced to hide his smile behind his cup.

“Could you help me with this,” he asked.

She nodded and downed her entire mug before walking behind him. He felt her forehead tip forward to rest against the back of his shoulder as she worked and he was very glad she couldn’t see his face because he was sure that he was beginning to get redder than their costumes.

She pulled the lace tight and tied it off and he had no clue if the tightness in his chest was because she had laced him too tightly or because of nerves but either way he didn’t really mind. He turned back around, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll make some bacon for you to eat on the go. Don’t want you to be hungry.”

He considered saying no but, really, he didn’t see her all that often in the morning and he had to admit that it was pretty cute. “If you remember to make some for yourself then sure.”

She hummed a little and turned around to go make food. He’d check on her in a few minutes to make sure she hadn’t fallen back asleep while cooking.

For now, he absently checked his clothes over for bugs. It was an old habit from years of living with the bats and, had he been even slightly more awake, he wouldn’t have done it.

Except he did. And there, hidden in the cuff of his shirt, was a bug.

… he hadn’t even been this happy when Damian had bugged him for the first time. She cared about him and his well-being! He was accepted!

When he made his way back into the kitchen he made sure to give her a long hug.

~

Marinette was so tired. She had been working on attaching the diamonds to Cassandra Wayne’s dress and there were so fucking many.

So, when Robin climbed through her window, all she did was give a vague wave of acknowledgement.

“You need better window locks,” he informed her.

“Most people don’t know how to pick every lock in existence, kid.”

“But some do.”

She thought about whether or not she really wanted this to be the argument that took up valuable work time. The answer was no, definitely not.

She finally turned to face him, resting her cheek against the couch. She didn’t know Damian personally outside of messing with Tim when they were in their superhero identities, she wasn’t even completely sure that this was Damian (though he did match up with the measurements she had for his outfits), so there was no good reason for him to be there.

She squinted suspiciously at him. Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he had his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?”

“I saw on your lease that you are allowed to have pets in your apartment.”

Oh no.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice close to begging.

He slowly brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a black cat with almost luminous green eyes. She rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

“I wish to coparent with you.”

“... your dad didn’t let you get another pet?”

(Yes, she knew about the pet problem. She had seen Batcow. She had seen the Batbats all over the cave that he had apparently taken in.)

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Possibly.”

She slowly lifted her head from her hands to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, he puffed out his little baby cheeks in a pout and, even if most of what she did was played up to mess with Tim, she was weak for little kids that look sad.

“Fine. But you’re paying for everything and you better actually help me take care of it.”

“She! And her name is Vanelope!”

“Van --?” She decided she didn’t care. She glanced at Damian’s still disapproving expression and rolled her eyes before leaning down to be at the cat’s eye level: “I’m sorry for calling you an ‘it’, Vanelope.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by her begrudging apology.

“C’mon, put Vanelope down, we’re going to the pet store.”

Damian beamed. She pulled the front of his hood down over his eyes in retaliation for the dumb situation he’d put her in. Revenge achieved, she transformed and ducked out her window before she could get stabbed.

~

Scarecrow’s parties were always the best.

For one thing, there was the haunted house. Scarecrow took the whole ‘scaring people’ thing very seriously, it was his whole shtick, so you could always count on him to dream up the best haunted houses. Even better, he’d give out brownies laced with minute traces of fear toxin to make the whole thing just a little bit scarier.

Speaking of brownies: the food. Tim was pretty sure that some of the stuff served at the parties could rival the things Marinette and Alfred made.

Then there were the venues he picked. They had to get bigger every year, what with Bruce’s adoption problem and the Rogue’s ever-expanding roster. This year the man had rented out an entire park and the building nearby. The building had a dance floor and a kind of second floor that overlooked everyone. The park held all the people that the building could not.

Add in the fact that every single person was probably clinically insane in some way or another and you’d have the reason for why he was always excited to go.

Tim attended the party as a Red Robin employee. He had to, it was on brand.

Marinette raised her eyebrows when she saw him. She’d gotten there before him, which had been a little bit of a surprise. He’d thought she’d at least wait for a few vigilantes to come to make sure it was safe --.

Oh. Nevermind. He stifled a grin when his eyes landed on a blonde in an outfit he recognized as Cassie’s. He was pretty sure dressing up as Wonder Girl was betraying the bats but he wasn’t going to be the one to call Steph out on it. Cassie was pretty cool...

Cassie -- no, Steph -- was suddenly grabbed by the arm by an excited Marinette and pulled her over to him. Marinette was wearing a pirate costume and he suspected that the bottle of wine in her free hand was more than an accessory.

“Red Robin, yum~,” both women chorused.

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve infected you already. Soon you’ll be disappearing into the shadows without ending conversations.”

Marinette grinned, the corner of her mask (now tinted black in some places to mimic a pirate’s beard) twitching. “It’s about time you assholes got a taste of your own medicine.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y’know, for someone who didn’t like the idea of the party before, you sure did get into your outfit.’

“Please, I put effort into all my outfits.”

“Except for the Ladybug one,” teased Steph.

She huffed. “I was on a time crunch --.”

Tim grinned. “That’s no excuse.”

“... you had thought about it for who knows how long and not only did you come up with the name Drake, but you also came up with an ugly brown outfit. You don’t get a say in this.”

Steph grinned. “And me?”

“Your outfits are okay,” said Marinette after a few second’s thought.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Friends call each other out for their stupid fashion choices.”

Steph smirked and slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “And, really, you need an intervention.”

When did they start ganging up on Tim?

“Whatever. This outfit is nice, so that makes up for all past mistakes.”

“It’d be nicer if you didn’t make the same joke every year,” Steph teased.

He huffed and pouted, but then something caught his eyes. Dick had arrived, Tim could see him perched on a second floor railing in his work clothes… of course, the name tag marking him as Nurse Grayson was gone, but it was still the same light blue scrubs.

He paled a little under his domino for two reasons. The first was the instantaneous worry about their identities; sure, Gotham had many medical workers, but who knows, Gotham and Bludhaven twitter both insisted that Dick had a very distinct body. The second was Marinette was going to end up liking Dick quite a lot -- she already looked up to him for his fighting style, there was no way she was going to be able to resist the signature Grayson charm that had won over every superhero, vigilante, and villain on Earth (and a few other planets as well).

He knew that, inevitably, Dick would win her over… but he was definitely going to stall it as much as he possibly could.

So, he pulled a grin to his face. “Oh, Ladybug, you haven’t gone in the haunted house yet, have you?”

She gave him a slightly wary look. “I don’t do good with scary things.”

He grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly before sighing. “Fine.”

So, they made their way across the park to the haunted house. Scarecrow had, somehow, built an entire house in the one month since he had broken out of Arkham. It looked like it had been torn right out of a video game, with the blackened, decaying, and peeling wood and rickety steps.

Jonathan Crane smiled when he saw the two of them approaching. He was dressed as a scarecrow, but the one from the Wizard of Oz instead of the creepy one he was usually dressed as.

“Crane!” Tim greeted.

Crane held out the plate of fear toxin brownies for them. “Nice to see you, Red Robin. And nice to meet you, Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed a little, her head tipping to the side. “I’d shake your hand but you haven’t set down that tray the entire time I’ve been here. Starting to think you can’t.”

He laughed a little. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim smiled a little and popped a brownie in his mouth. Fear toxin tasted a lot like chili powder and, he had to admit, it was pretty good.

Marinette took a brownie with a lot more hesitance.

“Oh! Have you been exposed to fear toxin yet?” Asked Crane before she could take a bite.

Marinette looked a little worried about the use of the word ‘yet’.

Marinette shook her head, though. “No.”

“Then your immunity isn’t built up. I’d suggest just eating half of that.”

She nodded thoughtfully and broke the brownie in half. She held the halves in her hand awkwardly, unsure what to do now.

“I’ll take the half you haven’t eaten,” suggested Crane.

He set down the tray -- Tim swore he could hear a cartoon sound effect as the man struggled to unstick his hand to the metal -- and took her other half.

“Since it’s a lower dose it’ll probably take longer to take effect,” said Tim. “We’ll have to wait a bit so you can have the full experience.”

Marinette took a tentative bite and her eyes lit up. “This is really good. What’s your recipe?”

Apparently, Crane had once tried to replicate the taste with normal chili powder and had fallen short. Tim watched the two of them theorize what it could be that his attempts had been missing. It was clear that Marinette had missed living in a bakery more than she was willing to admit and, unfortunately, none of the bats were particularly good at even cooking basic meals, let alone the kinds of things she was able to do. Alfred was the only exception and, even then, Bruce wouldn’t let him near her most of the time because of Identity Reasons. Tim was glad that she had someone to talk to about it, he just kinda wished that that person wasn’t a Rogue.

Tim jolted out of watching them when Marinette started rubbing up and down her arms absently. Ah, the toxin must be setting in for her now.

“Ladybug, ready to head inside?”

She blinked and looked up from the conversation. “Oh. Sure. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ll try not to get thrown into Arkham by anyone else while you’re gone,” joked Crane.

Tim grinned and took Marinette’s hand, pulling her inside.

It turns out she actually wasn’t all that good with scary things. Or, at least, jumpscares. She clung to his arm, dull nails doing their best to dig into his skin.

On one hand, he kind of felt bad for telling her to come along. On the other hand he thought it was kind of cute, maybe the next movie they watched together could be a horror.

He would probably be able to enjoy it a little more if he wasn’t tripping out on fear toxin himself. There was a creepy little girl following them around and he wasn’t going to acknowledge her and her creepy little white clothes because talking to hallucinations is always bad.

But then, towards the end, she disappeared.

He didn’t like that either. It set him on edge. It shouldn’t, the fear toxin was just wearing off… but he didn’t feel like it was wearing off. He was still a little shaky and the buzzing under his skin was still present, so maybe she’d been real and something was up.

He got his answer when he heard the sound of little feet dashing overhead.

Marinette squeaked and her grip on his arm tightened, somehow.

When the end was in sight and Tim was waiting anxiously for the final scare, he heard someone running towards them. High pitched laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck no,” he yelped when he saw the little girl running towards them, arms outstretched, pretty white dress splattered with red.

Marinette seemed to agree with the sentiment. She nearly pulled his arm out of its socket as she pushed herself into a sprint. He stumbled awkwardly a few steps before catching his footing and returning the tight grip.

And then, like the vigilantes with nerves of steel they were, they ran from the child.

~

She tried to look calm when the door swung shut behind them. She was pretty good at managing her emotions, she thought (or, at least, good at pushing them down).

But it wasn’t necessary because, when they reached the safety of the outside, they were handed a framed picture of them sprinting away from the creepy little girl, horror written plainly on their faces.

She blushed, more than a little embarrassed.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted from her embarrassment. Her eyes landed on Bruce, who was dressed as a vampire. She waved for his attention, intending to point out the similarities in their outfits to mess with him, only for his eyes to zero in on the wine bottle in her hand.

Marinette mumbled a curse.

She turned and pressed a ‘kiss’ to Tim’s cheek through her mask. “Gotta go,” she chirped, before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Alright, time to avoid Bruce. Where is the last place she’d be? Actually, no, he’d probably check the last place...

Her eyes landed on where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hanging out by the drinks.

Hm... a negative (people she was wary about) and a positive (drinks!) to balance each other out. A good middle ground.

She walked over and picked up a weird drink with a lot of different candies sticking out of it. She did not know why Scarecrow felt the need to sully the good name of alcohol with American candies but, since it was apparently the only option, she slipped a straw under her mouth to drink.

The drink was taken from her fingers.

She looked at her now-empty hand, brain struggling to catch up, straw hanging limply from her mouth. Then she spat out the straw and cursed.

She slowly turned to look at the person who had stolen it from her, expecting to see a disappointed Bruce, only to meet eyes with Poison Ivy.

(Ivy had dressed up as a stereotypical martian. Marinette wondered, vaguely, if actual aliens were ever offended when people dressed up like the movie versions of them.)

“I’d like that back, thanks,” she said, reaching for the drink.

She held it out of reach -- holy shit she was tall -- and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly: a child,” she said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Was this how Damian felt? Damn, no wonder he was always so angry about it… but, to be fair, Damian actually was a child. She was nineteen. She had a job and an apartment. Completely different.

But, since convincing Ivy she wasn’t a child wasn’t working, she had to come up with a new approach: “I’ve been drinking since I was six.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to soothe the woman in front of her.

Thankfully, Harley Quinn -- who was wearing a knockoff Riddler costume -- decided to take pity on her: “Let her drink, Ives, Europeans drink differently than we do.”

Marinette and Poison Ivy exchanged confused looks. Marinette hadn’t gone out drinking with anyone properly in America outside of occasionally dropping into bars to trick old men into giving her drinks and then disappearing. Poison Ivy just, apparently, wasn’t aware of the difference.

“For them it’s a social thing, they don’t really get drunk like we do.”

Ivy hesitated. “You don’t get drunk?”

“I mean… we can get drunk,” she said slowly. She cringed visibly. “I did, once. The day I turned eighteen my mom told me ‘Just this once, to see what it’s like’... the pictures… they deleted them, but I will never live it down...”

She reached for the drink again and, this time, Ivy gave it to her. She was lucky she had her mask to hide the smirk on her face.

When Poison Ivy didn’t leave after that, Marinette knit her eyebrows together. The woman blushed (she blushed green?) and Harley pushed her towards Marinette a step.

“I would like to apologize for how we met…” Ivy said slowly. “Joker was an asshole in Arkham and I’d had a fight with Harley and I guess I just…” She snapped her fingers.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “It’s fine. It’s not the first world-ending event I’ve had to stop because someone had had a bad day.”

Harley hesitated. “That’s… different.”

She shrugged. “New city, same shit… just sometimes easier, I guess. People are actually scared of Joker?”

“Now, that isn’t very nice!” Said a painfully cheery voice behind her.

She’d summoned him.

Marinette took a long, deep breath, before turning around to greet Joker and Punchline. They were dressed as circus clowns, because of course they would. “Hey! Still alive, I see.”

Joker smiled, like he always did. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pretty sure you’ve died more than B-man over there,” said Harley.

“No clue why they keep bringing you back.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together. The man had died? And they had brought him back? Willingly? Weird.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Batsy’s favorite,” cooed Joker.

“Favorite punching bag, maybe,” said Ivy.

Marinette, wisely, decided to back up a step so she wasn’t between the two fighting groups.

“At least people pick him as their first choice,” said Punchline.

“You’d be the expert on what it’s like to be the second choice, I guess, since you’re just me but purple,” said Harley.

“I’m you but self-aware,” Punchline corrected her.

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Some would say that’s worse.”

Punchline almost punched her.

She didn’t stop because of some amazing show of self-restraint, of course. Nightwing had just chosen that moment to drop down between the two groups. And then Nightwing, with his all-amazing powers of getting pretty much everyone on his side, got them to declare a truce and go to opposite sides of the room.

Marinette was a little disappointed as she took a sip of her drink. It had just started getting good.

But also: Nightwing!

“Is it true that you can do a quadruple somersault?”

Nightwing smiled widely.

~

Tim was beginning to think that maybe Marinette was so interested in Dick because she was secretly his long lost sister or something. They had the same ability to make even some of the worst people like them.

But, no. Dick having a secret half sister or something? How stupid would that be?

Still, Tim had seen her making friends with: all of his siblings that lived in Gotham, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Dick (damn it, he’d hoped he could keep them apart just a little longer)... the only people she hadn’t gotten to like her were Punchline and Joker, and even then she was choosing to annoy them, who knows what would happen if she actually tried to befriend them… and now she was hanging out with Riddler...

He sat next to them on their bench. “I’m beginning to think you can’t make friends with anyone normal.”

She grinned. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Riddler (dressed as the gameshow host he would probably be if he hadn’t gone off the deep end) looked over at Tim with barely hidden disdain. “Red Robin,” he greeted coolly.

Marinette frowned. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Him and all the bats… they always answer my riddles before I finish telling them.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix: Red, wait until he finishes telling the riddles before answering.”

He scoffed. “Why would I?”

“For the drama!” Riddler said in a tone that made it obvious he thought it was obvious.

“Half the time you have people’s lives on the line. Lower the stakes and maybe we’ll be more attuned to the dramatic tension.”

Riddler scowled. “You bats just don’t appreciate my art.”

“You’d think that they’d be all for drama.”

“Right? They have a whole brooding cave! But I want high stakes and suddenly I’m too concerned with the vibes of things.”

Marinette grinned and leaned towards Riddler conspiratorially. “They have more than a brooding cave. They have brooding gargoyles, brooding rooftops, brooding cars… I once caught Red over there brooding on his motorbike. Who can brood on a motorcycle? It’s a motorcycle!”

Tim huffed. “I thought we agreed to keep that a secret.”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just too easy to mess with you.”

Tim started to respond, but then he realized something.

‘Darling’?

That could mean one of three things. He needed to excuse himself from the conversation to figure out which was the truth.

He sent the two of them a halfhearted glare. “I will not put up with this bullying any longer.”

“Fine, fine. If you’re going to come back, bring me a cookie.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, a man on a mission.

After questioning all of the family she had talked to (she had yet to meet Jason, apparently), he determined that she didn’t use nicknames all that often. When she did it was usually just to make things quicker for herself. The only people outside of him that she ever used nicknames for were Bruce (‘B’) and maybe Damian (‘kid’).

And he had a nickname like that, too, of course. She called him ‘Red’ from time to time, probably just because she was too lazy to go through the hassle of saying his entire codename.

… but ‘darling’ was different. He had a pet name. In both identities, apparently.

Which meant one of two things:

a) he was special to her in both identities

or b) she knew he was Red Robin.

He was kinda hoping for the first one, but he wasn’t about to let emotions cloud his judgement. He sought out the world’s only accurate lie detector.

He found her surveying the crowd with Jason. They looked like they’d been transported directly from the renaissance, with her plague doctor outfit and his Shakespeare costume.

Tim grinned at them despite his slight anxiety. “Nice of you to bring a Green Arrow costume back from Star City, Flamebird.”

Jason touched the ugly goatee and mustache that both of them shared before sending him a glare. “And you all wonder why I don’t come home more often.”

“Really? I thought it was because you and Roy were --.”

Jason’s face reddened with either anger or embarrassment, Tim didn’t know and didn’t particularly care as his brother left them in a huff.

He couldn’t see Cass’s face but he could feel the disapproval.

“I just… I wanted to ask you something in private…”

Cass didn’t leave, so he assumed it was okay.

“Does Ladybug know our identities?”

Cass was motionless for a moment and he wished she didn’t have such a bulky outfit because it was hard to get a read on her…

And then she nodded, tapping the side of her forehead (the sign for ‘know’) to further emphasize the point.

He looked down at where Marinette was excitedly describing something to an enthused Riddler.

He’d been anxious about her finding out but, now that she had, he found that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. She knew who he was and she accepted it.

He leaned against the railing, a smile threatening to make its way across his face.

She accepted him.

[bigskydreaming]

Why do You dislike Scott Snyder? I mean I have my reasons.. like a lot of the Court of Owls stuff, his convoluted plots, making Dick a punching bag for the broody bats, horrible at writing the family as a family he literally wrote Death of the Family I mean....*kill bill sirens* ... Also the ''son of a Damian'' line from Black Mirror etc. But I'm curious if you have more reasons since I'm pretty new and I'm told that he likes Dick and wanted to write Dick focused books and I don't.. buy it.

LOL yeah, all of that for sure, and I mean.....tbh, I don’t pay enough attention to his interviews and stuff to even be aware that he’s said that about liking Dick and wanting to write Dick-centric books, but I’m with you on that....not necessarily meaning anything.

God knows I’ve lost track of how many fic writers in this fandom swear up and down they love Dick Grayson and yet I avoid their stories with extreme energy, lmao, because I’ve read enough of their takes on DG that I’m like hmmm, yeah, we are not the same, lol. I mean, there’s a certain couple fic writers who just are like....DETERMINED to mention Danny Chase every single time I make a post about why I’m annoyed by the focus on Dick’s allegedly infamous temper. And its always the exact same song on repeat, they’re like “OH-HO, so apparently you don’t remember the time Dick choked Danny, a literal CHILD, just because Danny had the nerve to tell him Jason died, cuz like, I do, and it was AWFUL and Danny could have died TOO y’know, that’s how mad Dick was.” 

And then I just kinda stare at these words that apparently mean things, and enter a fugue state where an unknown amount of time passes and by the end of it I feel 80 million epochs older, and its like....no, I absolutely do remember that time when Dick grabbed Danny by the shirt and yelled in his face because he just found out his brother died and Danny said “what’s the big deal, its not like it doesn’t happen all the time” and this was absolutely not an awesome and fun scene for anyone, no matter how understandable Dick’s upset was at the time. BUT, I also happen to remember, since y’know, it was in that literal exact same issue, how then Dick went to see Bruce, and due to BRUCE’S upset about Jason’s death, Bruce literally punched his remaining son to the ground, screams about how it was all Dick’s fault, and kicks him out of the house Dick grew up in and tells him to leave his keys with Alfred. 

And its like......the very same people who LOVE to throw around references to Danny Chase in order to puff up the claims about Dick Grayson being volatile and extreme and having a Dangerous Temper like, flat out REFUSE to ever even ACKNOWLEDGE that scene with Dick and Bruce, from the literal exact same issue, because they at the same time claim that THIS was bad writing and OOC and Bruce would never.....but apparently, the writing from ten pages before it was just fine and completely accurate and Dick absolutely would not only ever, he would always, and thus Dick’s Legendary Dangerous Temper is canon and its why Dick can’t have nice things or people being nice to him in these writers’ stories, its too Dangerous, he might get mad I guess.

And each time this comes up on this site, I’m always like....hey, science side of tumblr, is it possible that insisting on vilifying Dick for his reaction to someone in the wake of Jason’s death whilst simultaneously refusing to acknowledge the scene of Bruce’s reaction to Dick is canon or in-character despite existing in the exact same issue and written by the exact same writer.....like....could this be one of those double standards I’m always going on about? And isn’t it in fact reasonable to question just how much or how little someone actually means it when they say they love a character but want that character flogged in the middle of the town square for a Bad Reaction to something that also prompted a Bad Reaction from another character but this character, they’ll like, throw themselves in front of a moving train if it keeps someone from daring to even suggest that THEIR reaction was canon and in-character and might potentially say something damning about their temper or behavior with friends or family?

*heaves endless sigh of endlessness*

Sorry, that example was right there on the tip of my brain today because like....I literally just saw another post around this oft-deceased and resurrected and killed to death again dead horse like, five minutes ago and then came to dip into my ask box for the first time today and it was like.....destiny. Assuming destiny has some free time to kill and nothing better to do, which, I mean, hey, everyone’s allowed a hobby is all I’m saying.

LOL sooooooooooo, ANYWHO, its just like.....ugh, I’m so over being expected to take at face value any writers, whether professional or fan, saying “oh but I love this character or that character, and due to that being my preface to everything else I say or do in regards to this character, you have zero basis for claiming that you do not like or trust my depiction of this character because ummm, read much? I literally JUST said, I love them though? Wow. Insert scoffs of incredulity here, I don’t even know how to talk to someone who thinks I don’t like a character I claimed I like just because literally everything else I say or do about them paints an opposing picture to the contrary.”

LMAO. Sorry. Had to get that off my chest. But yeah, like, I think EVERY canon Batfam writer has made a similar claim in recent years about pretty much every Batfam character, and at a certain point it starts to be like....okay, if all of you are telling the truth here, shouldn’t we see more canon evidence of like....these characters that you’re writing, like....actually even LIKING each other? At what point are we allowed to question the legitimacy of you saying oh I totes love this character, that’s why I write their family as abusing them, that’s just love, baby, that’s what it looks like.

Personally, I’d like to see more of us at least using qualifiers? I mean, I do say I don’t hate Tim, or Bruce, or any of these characters, but I get how people could be dubious about that and be all, umm, you rant about them a lot, because like...yeah. Fair. That’s a valid critique. SO its a lot more accurate for me to be like, I love 90s Tim and I just have become increasingly less enchanted with the character over the past twenty years since then, enough so that my knee-jerk reactionism to people bashing Dick’s character BECAUSE of what Dick did or didn’t do to Tim in their eyes, is like.....disinclined to view the situation or his character these days through 90s-Tim rose-colored glasses. 

Similarly, I truly don’t hate Bruce, at least not when he’s not being written as physically and emotionally abusive and/or just plain neglectful, BUT I absolutely despise the abuse apologism rampant in most fandoms, but particularly in this one, where people will make like Cirque-de-Soilei contortionists in order to prove that Bruce beating this kid or that kid isn’t actually abuse, its cuz they made him do it....rather than people just being like, no, that’s abuse right there on the page and I don’t stand for it or stan that Batman, so I have zero desire to defend that scene or his actions there from his perspective, and am totally fine with taking a seat when someone speaks up about how much they hate what Bruce did to his kid there in that scene and how it affects their read of the characters as a whole.

Its like....that too, is a thing you can do, instead of just.....trying to explain why Bruce isn’t abusive see, because what happened there wasn’t actually abuse, since it couldn’t have been, because Bruce isn’t abusive, see, he would Never.

And yet so rarely do people actually do that, and we have people literally championing themselves as members of the Good Dad Bruce Protection Squad when the frank reality is there CAN BE NO GUARANTEE of him ever and always being a Good Dad, when like....his characterization, ultimately, is dependent on how he’s written by canon writers who ARE NOT US. Which makes that desire to see him as just a good dad and nothing but a good dad always, like....not quite as understandable as it otherwise might be, and instead just kinda....willful, an admission that a lot of fans in this fandom will just flat out ignore all evidence to the contrary of this stated claim about what Bruce inherently IS, when inherently all he is happens to be a character who manifests whatever those in creative control of him choose to manifest via him. Like.....there are ways to go about that kinda thing, its just....that isn’t it. Something like “Proud member of the Keep Bruce Wayne a Good Dad Squad’ or something along those lines? I’d have ZERO issue with, because that’s ACTIONABLE, not WILLFUL. It posits not that Bruce simply IS this way and there’s no ifs, ands or buts about it, but rather that just because he isn’t this way in some instances, that doesn’t mean we have to agree with it or condone that interpretation of him, y’know?

But people are like....unwilling to make that distinction or hold that nuance a lot of the times, so my dislike of Bruce as he’s written in certain ways or by certain writers like....grows and evolves and mutates into Godzilla rampaging through downtown New York, until its understandable that people reading my blog intermittently and who don’t follow everything I say on the subject are like.....”Bold of you to claim you like lizards in this one post when I have here nine other posts where you’re just like, FEAR the murderous monster-lizard destroying New York for it is Dangerous and Fearsome. Cuz one of these things is not like the others, bud.”  

*Shrugs* Anyway, all of that’s just my allergy to Staying on Topic, so make of it what you will, hopefully you get what I mean though even if you don’t have like, the requisite Kalen-Garbled-Nonsense Secret Decoder Ring. Back to Snyder though....yeah, he can claim he likes Dick all he wants, because y’know what, Tynion says the same thing and its been well established by moi that my fondest wish for Tynion is that he be kept far, far away from Dick’s character whenever possible. And I’m pretty sure Tom King claims he loves all these characters and we’re all like HAHAHHAHA and we know Lobdell insists he loves Jason Todd and its like wow how curious then that hardly any other Jason Todd stans love you.

The ironic thing about my random bouts of ugh Snyder in a lot of posts however, is that......tbh, its not even his depiction of Dick that makes me dislike him as much as I do? LMAO. I mean, I’m not a fan of it personally, for a lot of the reasons you mentioned, but I don’t like a lot most canon writers’ depiction of Dick these days and haven’t for years. The thing I really dislike Snyder for, personally, is his depiction of Damian.

Its just.....its very Not Good, a lot of the time. Oh, there are moments here and there, but you could claim that for any writer, really, but for the most part, like.....ooof, I haven’t read Snyder’s work on Damian recently enough to really cite specific moments off the top of my head, because I’ve been avoiding anywhere he’s writing Damian for awhile now BECAUSE of it, but....a LOT of the ‘demon brat’ shit in regards to Damian comes from Snyder’s work, and like, I’m always kinda like “hey is making Demon anything the go-to nickname for a kid of Arab descent who is already compared to a terrorist enough as it is like....really the best we can do” to begin with, and Snyder absolutely 100% does not help with that.

To be fair, its not remotely like its all just on him, the stuff that has had a lot of us complaining for years about the blood son crap and the insistence on acting like there’s this stark divide between Bruce and Damian and the rest of the Bat siblings, I mean, see: Tom King again, its just. Ugh, okay, Im gonna have to get back to this in the near future with actually sourced gripes about why I think Snyder’s Damian in particular is absolute crap and could he just not, though. Because it really is my chief complaint with him, like I was never gonna be a fan of his in general just because he’s someone who's like DARK MULTIVERSE BATMAN FUCK YEAH and I’m someone who’s like DARK MULTIVERSE BATMAN UGH FUCK WHY.....lol....BUT like I mention in other posts.....its not like he’s incapable of doing decent stuff or that he’s never written anything I like, because ironically, he IS the biggest canon backer of Duke Thomas and pretty much single-handedly responsible for Duke retaining as much of a presence as he has in recent years instead of just appearing and blipping out of existence like a one-hit wonder, and that can’t be overlooked or considered inconsequential.

That just also kinda makes it all the more annoying that his Damian is so very.....objectionable to me, but yeah. Anyway, that’s the curious case of my very mixed feelings on Scott Snyder, with a side dish of generalized “lol oh, so you do in fact love this character? Well magically all my criticisms of your take on them have now disappeared!”

[bigskydreaming]

You ever worry about hearing one side of a story that's been taken out of context and twisted to fit op's narrative, about something you don't have firsthand knowledge about? On tumblr this is a fear I have. Imagine if I'm in some isolated corner learning half truths about some real person who op has personal vendetta against, but I only know their version so I end up hating that person's guts for years? Some isolated Tim fan hating Dick because they only know him through lies?

Yeah, this is an understandable concern to have, especially on tumblr where misinformation can run rampant at times - it happens with everything from fictional characters, celebrities, other posters, etc. 

Personally, I tend to go with the ‘trust but verify’ approach. You hear something about someone from a friend, or you see something reblogged from a person you’ve followed for years.....looking into the situation they described yourself, as much as you can, doesn’t necessarily mean that you think they’re lying about it, its just....context is SO SO key, to so many different conversations. 

And the thing about context, especially situational context, is its only defined by our personal experiences, thoughts and worldview. Basically I just mean the context for some hearsay you’ve heard secondhand could look totally different to you than it does to someone else, because the context is really just your own personal frame of reference to whatever was said or happened. Its how it looks to you from a perspective or angle you’re already at or are familiar with.

So someone can describe a situation to you but have a totally different interpretation than you get when looking into it yourself, and there doesn’t have to be malicious intent involved for that to happen......the exact same dot on the horizon is going to look different to two different people who are viewing it from different angles, y’know? Where we’re coming from or standing at when we look at a situation often has as much to do with how we interpret it, as the facts of the situation itself.

Which means there’s no real easy answer to a problem like this, because it varies so much from person to person....but the one thing I think can always be said to be true of everyone no matter the situation.......its FAR more beneficial to get more familiar with asking questions than accepting answers.

Questions, after all, whether voiced to someone else or just to ourselves as our reason for looking deeper into a matter.....are ultimately just a request for more information. And a different perspective.....one that DOESN’T come naturally to you, and thus you have to hear from someone else to even kinda conceptualize it because its far enough out of your personal frame of reference you wouldn’t connect those dots without an objective viewpoint unhindered by your own natural biases to kinda....point you to where to look.....

I’m just saying, different perspectives ARE more information. Often the most valuable or relevant information out there. 

So ultimately my advice for pretty much every situation similar to what you’re describing is.....making it more natural to you to ask questions about stuff, request MORE information before making up your OWN mind, than just...accepting one single perspective the first time you see it and assuming it knows what its talking about because of the sole fact that you haven’t seen or heard a contrary viewpoint.

Because that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there....just that the person delivering their version of the facts to you isn’t likely to provide them, and if nobody else is stepping up in your vicinity to provide an alternative viewpoint......that just means you might have to go looking for it.

Personally, I’m of the opinion that exposing yourself to viewpoints even radically opposite what you initially believe on a subject is a good thing, because then you have two different ends of a spectrum you can compare and contrast at MULTIPLE points to see just where on that spectrum you and your frame of reference land, the spot that once you look back and forth, you think is most supported by facts rather than conjecture or opinion or bias.

(Note: this does NOT by any means mean that that point is always going to be in the center of two opinions. Not every subject has a middle ground or SHOULD have a middle ground. There’s absolutely no reason you shouldn’t end up landing on one of the two most polarizing viewpoints on that spectrum of possible interpretations, if that’s the one you ultimately feel is right. A LOT of people default to assuming that the most reasonable position is somewhere in the middle of two extremes, but that’s like.....not at all innately true. Given that the very nature of things being EXTREMES, as in, the outermost edge of interpretations or possibilities......literally means its entirely possible that one of those extremes is EXTREMELY BAD. And there is absolutely NOTHING to be gained by seeking a compromise or a middle ground between something EXTREMELY BAD and its polar opposite position....especially if you’re really only taking that middle ground because you’re afraid that taking the polar opposite stance will make you seem as unreasonable and single-minded as those taking the extremely bad position.)

*Shrugs*

Anyway, that’s my take on any situation that’s relevant to your broader question.

1) Ask more questions whenever possible (This doesn’t mean treat whoever brought something to your attention as your personal Ask Jeeves and act like that means they owe it to you to perform the functions of a search engine now. It literally just means ask more questions.....of the internet, of library books, of yourself and your personal sense of right and wrong and your own convictions....or of people you seek out when looking for other people who are already offering up their viewpoints on a matter as a resource).

2) Seek out opposing viewpoints (How can you truly know where you stand on a matter if you’re so uninformed on it you don’t even know what the opposition to that stance thinks and believes? How do you fight for something you’ve decided is a worthy cause to fight for, if you have zero clue what it is you’ve committed yourself to fighting against? You don’t - which is how we so often end up with people paying lip service to the idea of being allies, but then are nowhere to be found when the opposing viewpoint DOES come banging on the door).

3) Make up your own mind on matters and STAND by your convictions....while at the same time not cutting yourself off from being open to changing your mind if NEW information later comes to light. (This isn’t an easy tightrope to walk, but hey, who the fuck ever promised that being your own person was easy, y’know? But basically by this I just mean......don’t pattern your opinion or view on something by osmosis. Don’t just soak in and regurgitate what everyone around you is saying. Going against the grain on something, taking a stance that’s ‘controversial’ even in your friend group, like yeah that can be scary, but who’s to say there aren’t others around you who also hold that stance but are just too afraid to speak out on the matter for the same reasons you’re hesitating. 

Sometimes standing by your convictions means you end up standing alone and that can SUCK. But on the flipside, even when you’re the lone person standing there offering up a viewpoint different from everyone else in the vicinity....it can make it a lot easier for other people who hold similar views to SEE you and head in your direction, reach out and connect, allowing you to end up in groups and social circles where the others’ opinions are more in line with what you TRULY believe and feel and stand for.

Sometimes standing by your convictions means you can end up enacting a sea change.....if everyone is secretly holding a stance different from what’s being spoken aloud, just because they’re all afraid of being singled out as ‘against the group’......isn’t it a waste to think of all the HONEST conversations you could all have been having amongst each other the whole time if only someone had gone first, spoken up to say the things that everyone else had already been thinking? There’s no reason you can’t be that first.

And lastly, and most importantly IMO....sometimes standing by your convictions means you’re still just flat out wrong. *Shrugs* Sucks, but its a reality we all have to face. Being super passionate and sure you’re right about something isn’t actually a GUARANTEE that you’re right....

buuuuuuuut.....as long as you keep that in mind, keep being self-aware about that last bit, that ‘hey self, just FYI, I know you’re going superhard for this viewpoint right now, but just remember, we might end up eating a lot of fucking crow because we’re not actually omniscient and could have gotten this one wrong’.....

And then you COMBINE that awareness with a HABIT of always asking questions when first becoming aware of a new topic or situation, of making a note to self to get more information, more PERSPECTIVES, like.....building up that tendency like its a muscle you’re exercising, the more you do it, the easier it becomes, the more natural and ingrained.....

And then add to that just....not being afraid to test or challenge your OWN convictions or viewpoints once you think you’ve settled on one....being willing to pit your stance against even its extreme opposite and see if it actually holds up the way you think it does, or if the other side of things has points that can actually poke holes in what you had previously assumed was pretty solid....

Like, again, there’s no guarantees, nobody’s infallible, everyone gets SOMETHING wrong at some point in their lives and there’s no shame in that unless your reaction to that is to just double down on something you now know is wrong just because change is scary and the unknown intimidates you......

With all that said, personally, I still think that combination (ask a lot of questions, challenge your own convictions, and make up your own mind rather than just settle for whatever mindset seems ‘closest’).....like, IMO, keeping consistent with those three actions just as a general approach to things will serve you MUCH better in life than just taking the first thing you see or hear about a subject that’s new to you and assuming it to be true just because that’s the only view that was offered to you upfront.

[bigskydreaming]

This is a post about Boone aka Shrike.

I am making this post about Boone aka Shrike from Robin: Year One and later stories, solely so that reading this post on mobile will bring up “other posts like this” and show all the other posts I have made about Boone aka Shrike from Robin: Year One and other stories. LOL.

Because I’m back on my ‘people should make Boone aka Shrike and his archrivalry with Dick more of a thing’ bus.

Look, I will maintain until the day I die that Shrike has literally EVERYTHING needed to deliver on the same thematic elements people cite interest in JayDick and Sladin for....with the added bonus of....a Dick/Boone ship wouldn’t be incestuous or rely on a huge predatory age gap.

I mean, granted, it still won’t do anything for people who are into those ships purely BECAUSE of the incest or the huge predatory age gap, but I mean like, I work with what I can work with. Like I’m not even trying to change peoples’ minds there so much as just point out alternatives for anyone who just comes to those ships looking for the specific dynamic that personally I think is more real and evident with Dick and Boone than it ever will be with him and anyone else.

But really, the ONLY thing Boone needs to be serve the same narrative function is like...a higher profile, and more use of the character. I mean, some more infamy and slots in his win column wouldn’t hurt either, but you know. Whatever.

Anyway, point is, so Robin: Year One.

That was the story where Dick got hurt badly by Two-Face when he was still new to being Robin, and Bruce freaked out and fired him for the first time, also making the blunderhead move, in his freak out and new to being a parent thing, of saying it was Dick’s fault the judge had died, when Dick had literally just been trying to save Bruce’s life.

So Dick figures if he can’t be Robin, there’s no point to him being there, since Bruce doesn’t want or need a son (take that stories that act like Dick even at age 10 or 11 wasn’t already secretly hoping to be adopted). So Dick ran away and stayed on the streets where he took down Mr. Freeze all on his own, and in doing so drew the attention of something called The Vengeance Academy.

This was run by a guy named Shrike, who had some of his men snatch Dick off the streets after he caught their eye by taking on Mr. Freeze, and brought to the Vengeance Academy. It was a front for the League of Assassins, a place in Gotham where they trained kids as assassins and vetted their potential for being taken to the League itself for training.

Attendance was not elective, lol, it wasn’t like they asked Dick or any of these kids if they wanted to join, but most of them had nowhere else to go, so like Dick, they stayed and trained and went on missions Shrike assigned them as part of their training.

One of these other kids was named Boone, and he had something of a leadership role among the other kids, and was at times almost friendly with Dick and at other times saw him as a rival because of Dick’s own skills. And when they went out on missions, like, Dick stopped the other kids from killing some guards after they’d knocked them out, which pissed off Boone because it was Dick undermining his position as leader in the other kids’ eyes, especially when Shrike validated Dick’s decision when they returned to the Academy, by saying they should never kill people they aren’t getting paid to kill, as its a waste of their skills.

So like, point being, the two of them had HUGE potential for the kind of dynamic Dick and Jason are often characterized with, where they have mutual respect but are mutually vying for the approval of the same figures.

Anyway, after a few months (R:Y1 was vague on the timelines but was clear about the fact that Dick was at the VA for at least a few months, with captions like ‘weeks passed’ etc)....Dick eventually manages to sneak off long enough to sneak into the Batcave and leave a note for Bruce about the Vengeance Academy, what its up to, where to find it, etc. But Dick still goes back, rather than wait for Bruce himself, because he still doesn’t think Bruce wants him anymore.

Eventually, Shrike happens to get hired to take out Two-Face, and of course happens to assign Boone and Dick as the leads to conduct that assassination. They and the other boys break into Two-Face’s mansion, Dick’s literally holding a gun on Harvey and having flashbacks to Two-Face beating him almost to death and Bruce firing him in the aftermath and everything that’s happened since then....but at the last minute, Dick decides he won’t do it, throws the gun away instead, and as Two-Face’s guards all burst in, the boys all run.

But then back at Vengeance Academy, they of course all tell Shrike what happened, and Shrike just starts beating on Dick, shouting how ungrateful he is, etc, etc, what a waste of time and effort he’s turned out to be....and that’s when Bruce arrives, takes on Shrike’s men, etc. 

In the confusion, Shrike slips away, and then at some point, he and Dick end up facing across from each other on a rafter high up by the ceiling...where Shrike figures out that Dick is the one who alerted Batman and starts in on him again, but Dick defends himself....and that’s when Two-Face and his men burst in, having tracked them somehow, and in that ensuing commotion, someone shoots Shrike, he falls from the rafter and ends up impaled on some rebar on the floor or something like that.

Which is where Boone finds him, as he lays there dying, and Boone’s shown being considerably distressed, because he’d been there a lot longer than Dick and had been shown to be significantly attached to Shrike and viewing him as a father figure he was desperate to prove himself to, unlike Dick who was there because he felt he didn’t have a choice or anywhere else to go.

And of course Dick goes back with Bruce, who tells him how much he’s missed him and of course he wants him and is sorry for everything he said and did, they reconcile, Dick becomes Robin again, etc. The very last two pages of the mini end with Dick being introduced to Barbara for the first time by the Commissioner, when she’s on the roof with him while he’s talking with Batman and Robin....but also, Talia comes to survey the remains of Vengeance Academy, since it was League-affiliated...and takes Boone with her back to the League for further training.

Eventually, Boone grows up to take the name Shrike for himself, in honor of his former teacher, and he’s OBSESSED with avenging the original Shrike by killing Nightwing, who he knows is his former classmate, due to Robin then Nightwing’s style of fighting, and his penchant for using escrima sticks. 

(Interestingly, Dick only started using escrima sticks as his signature weapon in his first solo Nightwing title, with this stemming from Chuck Dixon’s writing him doing so....and Dixon also wrote R:Y1, which is where he then established that Vengeance Academy is where Dick first learned to use escrima sticks and gained a preference for them. So its always been kinda fascinating to me that Dick’s had his skills with those since literally his very first year as Robin....BUT then never used them as Robin, while Batman’s partner....but after becoming Nightwing and moving to Bludhaven, for whatever reason returned to using those particular weapons and making them his signature).

Anyway, point is, Boone calls Dick Freddy, because that was what he knew him as when they were kids....after he ran away, Dick started using the alias Freddy Lloyd. Lloyd was his mother’s maiden name, and I used to think Freddy was a reference to Alfred, but only recently realized that its actually Dick’s dad’s middle name.

So Shrike was brought back in the Nightwing solo title as a recurring enemy of Dick’s, with varying degrees of effectiveness. In later years, he was kinda made into a joke and not treated as much of a threat, but for awhile there, he was characterized as very much being a threat to Dick, and at a similar level skill wise, thanks to his own extensive League training. He captured Dick in their first encounter in Bludhaven, where he then tried to figure out Dick’s real identity by running his fingerprints and DNA (though Babs was able to intercept his attempt to run those through the system and replace the findings with a fake profile). He also even managed to defeat Dinah, though as much by trickery as straight out and out fighting...but still, Dinah’s one of THE top hand to hand combatants in the DC universe so, not exactly a small feat. He also faced off with Tim and Cass at one point, while they were Batgirl and Robin, and though he defeated Tim relatively easily (this was still fairly early in Tim’s career as Robin though), he ultimately lost to Cass. But again, who doesn’t lose to Cass, y’know?

So I mean, he definitely has skills and is a credible threat. Dick beat him after Dinah and Babs rescued him from Boone that first time, and Boone ended up in Bludhaven’s prison.....but then escaped and was later hired by Blockbuster as one of the assassins gunning for Dick. He and Dick had one more epic fight as one of the final elements of the Blockbuster arc, but by this time Dick was channeling so much rage when he went after Blockbuster at his mansion, where Shrike was lying in wait, that Dick pretty much just kicked Boone’s ass up and down the street and around the corner and left him chained up to a flagpole. 

Like, I’m pretty sure that fight is what’s made later writers deem him not as high caliber a fight or threat as he later was referenced as being, but that wasn’t really the point of that fight, lol. How handily Dick kicked his ass there was in context clearly meant to read as just how fucking enraged Dick was at this point, due to Blockbuster’s campaign against him, and how much Dick’s OWN threat level went through the roof when he allowed himself to use that degree of anger while fighting Boone, rather than repress it. It was very much a “you’re only in my league when I’m afraid to go full throttle, when I take the safeties off though its no contest” kinda thing.

But anyway, he didn’t get used much again pre-Flashpoint, and hasn’t made an appearance since, to my knowledge, but using pre-Flashpoint based settings or continuities....Boone’s very much a credible threat to Dick, has a ton of history with him, and a huge ax to grind with their last encounter having him vow that this wasn’t over between them. 

And like the thing is, its not just about getting revenge against Dick because he blames him for the original Shrike’s death. Like, its very much a rivalry that stems back to before the first Shrike died. Boone has pretty much always been shown to desperately want, need to be better than Dick, that’s what keeps him coming back and that’s what he really holds against Dick and always has...and its not just their skills, its that Dick’s a hero, that they ultimately came from the same place but Dick’s loved and revered for his skills and choices while Boone has nothing and no one, and insists its because Dick took away the only person Boone ever had....though the reality that both of them are probably perfectly aware of is that Shrike never actually gave a damn for any of the kids he trained, even if he showed favor to Dick and Boone in particular. But Shrike for a time made Boone feel special, made him feel like he had a place and a purpose, and its clear he’s never really found anything like that ever again....and really, he never had it at Vengeance Academy either, but he’s been able to romanticize it in his own mind and memories as being otherwise.

Whereas for Dick....this relationship always had so much more potential than anyone ever truly delved into, but the basic material and hints were always there. My read of them was always that for Dick, Boone kind of embodied the idea of being his own dark mirror....he was an example of what Dick could have been, if he’d embraced VA and Shrike the way Boone had, out of a lack of options, instead of returning with Bruce and giving him another chance, and Bruce taking another chance on Dick. 

In a lot of ways, R:Y1 - even though its events only happened because of shit Bruce never should have laid on Dick, driving him away in the first place....looked at through the eyes of a ten year old Dick Grayson who’d in the span of a couple years gone from losing his former circus home and parents, to juvie (Dixon wrote both R:Y1 and the Robin origin that had Dick go to juvie, so that was the specific context for all stories related to Shrike), to Wayne Manor, where he ultimately became Robin....and after not even a full year as Robin.....Dick then ended up on the streets and then spending months training at a facility for orphans and street kids to be made assassins....before ultimately returning to Wayne Manor, Bruce and being Robin.....

Like, its easy to see how to Dick, all of this probably looked almost like Bruce had saved him from worse circumstances and his own worse nature not once, but twice....even if the second time could have been avoided. The point is though, I don’t think Dick ever forgot his time there, his own desperate need for Shrike’s approval (and he did very much want it while he was there....he was hurting, he’d gotten used to having an adult who cared about him again, and with him feeling like Bruce had rejected him and in doing so taken away all the approval he’d given him previously, make no mistake, Dick very much DID desperately want an authority figure’s approval, and his rivalry with Boone WAS a two-way street. 

Dick perhaps wanted Boone’s friendship a little more than the other way around, I’d wager, given that Dick’s a more social, friendly person by nature, he wants to get along with people....but VA was a very definitively dog eat dog kind of place and Dick did not seem above reveling in the scraps of approval Shrike threw him at times like the mission he and Boone fought about, even though he knew how much it dug at Boone to see himself knocked down a peg by their teacher with the latter then praising Dick at the same time.

So my point being...I don’t think Dick’s ever forgotten his time at VA, or what he felt like while living there.....how close he came to shooting Two-Face in revenge for all that he blamed Two-Face for costing him....as well as remembering that for awhile, he and Boone very much were a kind of friends, even if they never were like say, he was with the Titans (who he’d yet to meet at this point in the timeline). Like, I’d characterize the two of them as one of those things where they probably wouldn’t have been friends under other circumstances, or even call themselves friends, but it was more they were the only ones who displayed having any kind of connection to each other, at a time and place in their lives where they didn’t really have anyone else.

So all of that added up, yeah, to me, Boone in Dick’s eyes is a kind of regret, and road not taken. He’s what Dick could have been if Dick didn’t have Bruce in his corner...if he, like Boone, hadn’t had anyone BUT Shrike. Dick likely can easily look at Boone and see what his life might have turned out like if he HAD shot Two-Face that night, because I don’t think Dick would ever believe there’s any way Bruce would have taken him back after that....meaning that he really WOULD have had nowhere else to go at that point...and thus easily could have ended up continuing at VA or even going to the League with Boone and Talia.

And because of all of that, my read on Dick’s attitude towards Boone was always that....its a blend of defensive antagonism and also some guilt and romanticized nostalgia. Dick’s defensive in response to Boone’s antagonism, because he isn’t to blame for Shrike’s death and knows it, just as he knows he’s not really worth mourning and didn’t care about either of them....but Dick’s ALSO defensive because every time Boone hurls an accusation at him about how Dick’s not any better than him - not skill wise, but as people - Dick, IMO, ABSOLUTELY AGREES AND BELIEVES THE SAME. The flip side of the coin that is seeing Boone as what he could have been....is that he himself then, is perhaps what BOONE could have been, if Boone had been the one to get the opportunities that Dick had. 

And THAT, I think, is the source of the weird almost guilt that Dick has occasionally had in regards to Boone...this belief that he isn’t innately any better than his one-time sorta friend, and that he’s not any innately more deserving of the opportunities he got via Bruce, and that Boone never was afforded. That with someone in his corner, rather than just seeking to exploit him, Boone could have been every bit the hero Dick grew up to be. That he really did have someone who loved and cared for him, in Bruce, while Boone only has his desperate, misguided belief that Shrike felt the same about him, because there was nobody else to even point to as a possibility for that. I think when Dick thinks of Boone, there’s always this kinda hazy ‘what if’ where he idly wonders what if he could have convinced Boone that Shrike’s death wasn’t his fault, or that Shrike didn’t care about them...and got Boone to come with him, or got Bruce to find Boone. What if he’d tried reaching out to Bruce about VA earlier, or not avoided him so long, and Bruce had been able to come earlier, when there was a chance that other boys besides just Dick could have been ‘saved’ from the life Shrike tried to convince them was the ONLY life path where they’d have any power or influence, where they’d ever matter, at all.

So...I just think there’s so so so so many possibilities with this largely untouched little corner of Dick’s history, and this one specific character it intersected with, and hardly has ever been followed up on. Boone and Dick have just soooooooo much potential to have the intense, emotionally charge love/hate kind of rivalry between a hero and villain or even just mercenary or antihero, that Dick’s so often characterized as having with Slade or Jason.....

But the thing is, here? There’s no need to invent or embellish antagonism between Dick and someone else, the way fandom’s largely made up the iconic antagonism between Dick and Jay. The antagonism is very much real, between Dick and Boone, very much understandable, and most importantly, very much MUTUAL. It exists on Dick’s part every bit as much as Boone’s....Dick was almost kinda gleeful about kicking Boone’s ass that first time in Bludhaven and coming out on top, in a way that he rarely is in his victories....because its very easy to see how these two could easily slip back into a familiar rivalry and desire to one-up each other, the way they had as desperate, emotionally neglected children. Dick has the potential to be PETTY with Boone in a way that people WANT to write him being with others where he’s just NOT and likely never would be, because Dick’s someone who’s aware of how others perceive him, and privileges he has that others don’t, and stuff like that....all of that plays into why Dick so often tries so hard and intently to be his best self with people even when he’d rather not be.

But with Boone, you can potentially throw all that out the window, due to the very precise nature of when and where in their lives that Boone and Dick had their short term but very emotionally impactful pseudo-friendship and early rivalry. Because even if Dick feels a little guilty for getting the life he did and that Boone didn’t - that’s not his FAULT, and he does know that too, just as he knows he’s not to blame for the things Boone resents him for.....and even if part of Dick probably feels a little sorry for Boone, he also knows that doesn’t mean that Boone hasn’t made his own choices and there comes a point where its put up or shut up time, and you can keep blaming anyone and everyone for your life or you can look around and acknowledge that here and now, nobody is holding a gun to Boone’s head and saying you have to kill people, you have to fight Dick for this and this reason....and so on that front, Dick can more willingly and without guilt push back against his own feelings of guilt and pity and let out his own pettiness and resentments for Boone having made him into this scapegoat.

All of which makes for a perfect storm of emotionally charged interactions any and every encounter between these two highly skilled individuals with equally extensive lifetimes of training under their belts....all against a backdrop of mingled resentment, nostalgia, and squandered potential brotherhood thanks to this bubble in time from both their childhoods where they were briefly friends, brothers in arms, rivals, and both everything the other had and everything the other never became or ever wanted to be.

With the cherry on top being that Boone is literally the ONLY LIVING PERSON IN THE WORLD....who has knowledge or awareness of the ten or eleven year old Dick Grayson was at one of the darkest periods of his life, where he believed himself completely alone and unloved and with NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE. Meaning that when Boone - and Boone alone - says he knows Dick in a way that nobody else does or ever could, even BRUCE, that he knows a side of Dick that nobody else will ever be privy to, that tiny sliver of Dick Grayson that stood over Two-Face’s trembling body with a gun and had the POTENTIAL to pull the trigger.....

He is absolutely and one hundred percent correct.

Like...you can’t TELL me that’s not good stuff.

Also, I’ve just always loved that trope where one person refers to someone by a name NOBODY else knows them as....with that name having meaning to the two of them alone.

Like to Boone....Dick is Freddy Lloyd. He knows that’s not Dick’s name, he always knew that, just like Boone probably isn’t his.....but the person Boone knew was named Freddy Lloyd, and that person was real, even if nobody else has ever truly known “Freddy” because that’s not who Dick has ever been to them, or who he’s been AROUND them. Boone might not know Dick’s actual real name and where to find him in the phone book, but he’s known from day one that Nightwing’s secret identity is Freddy Lloyd, like he knew instantly from seeing Nightwing fight with a pair of escrima sticks that the person under the mask was his old friend Freddy, and that Nightwing used to be the first Robin which means Robin was Freddy too. He lived with him for months, neither of them wearing masks, he would recognize him if they passed on the street.

(Although with this point, its why I’ve personally always been kind of dubious about the plot point of having Boone try so hard to figure out Dick’s real identity....like, honestly, that story point doesn’t really hold up. Boone SHOULD be able to identify Dick as easily as he identified Nightwing. Dick Grayson, ward and eventual adopted son of Bruce Wayne, has been a HIGHLY visible individual at various points in his life. 

I can easily believe that Bruce invested considerable effort in keeping Dick out of the public eye when Dick first came to live with him and was still adjusting and recovering - in fact, given that all of this is in context with the juvie origin, I’ve always headcanoned that Bruce probably spared no expense in covering up Dick’s time there as much as possible, so he wouldn’t be bombarded with additional stigma from people misconstruing that, and with more than enough evidence against the state for fucking up so badly with Dick there, he could have slapped any official evidence of Dick’s time there with so many gag orders nobody felt safe breathing a word about it.

All of which is to say, its very plausible to me that Dick wasn’t publicly recognizable by the time he ran away during Robin: Year One, and Bruce certainly wouldn’t have advertised that, and who knows what strings he had to pull or things he had to fake to keep CPS off his back until he found Dick, out of fear that otherwise, people would take Dick away once he did get him back. So I can imagine Freddy not being recognized by Shrike or Boone while he was with them. What I can’t imagine is Boone never turning on the TV or reading an article about Bruce Wayne and family in years after that, and ever once thinking to himself that Dick looks JUST like his old friend Freddy...and once you have that thought as a starting point, it SHOULD definitely be possible to dig a little deeper and find out stuff that confirms it, like the timelines of Dick coming to live with Bruce versus being mysteriously unavailable or out of sight anywhere, until just after the fall of Vengeance Academy, etc. But yeah. My point is, I maintain that Boone absolutely knows that Nightwing is Freddy is Dick and that particular plot point is dumb.)

Anyway, my point with that tangent is like....imagine Boone and Dick tangling at various points over the years, both equally determined and invested in coming out on top....with many of these encounters happening at times Dick is away from his family, like when he was living in Bludhaven....

But inevitably, they’re bound to clash in full view of the Batfamily, who bear witness for the first time to this unleashed side of Dick NONE of them have ever seen, never even imagined him acting like this, holding this....grudge against someone with a seemingly equivalent grudge and none of them can really account for why. Imagine their reactions to hearing Boone casually call Dick “Freddy” and like...this means something to Dick, he’s not surprised by it, but he’s not treating it like its some alias from a random undercover op, like, its like he IS Freddy, like its his own name, but at the same time...who the fuck is Freddy? They all want to know. Even Bruce might have trouble placing Boone or his connection to Dick at first, because there’s no reason he would have ever found out the alias Dick went by at the time, if Dick never felt a reason to tell him.

Imagine the truth of where and when and how Boone and Dick are connected slowly unfolding (to my recollection, in the comics I don’t think he ever even told Babs the full story, even after she and Dinah saved him from Boone....just a few terse references, from what I remember, and again....according to the same writer to write all of these various connected stories....Boone actually knew Dick BEFORE Babs even met him for the first time as either Dick Grayson OR Robin).

Its entirely possible the rest of the family doesn’t even know any of R:Y1 happened. Sure, I think they all know the basics of Two-Face beating Dick almost to death when he’d only been Robin a short time, but do they know that Bruce fired him then? That Dick ran away to live on the streets and then ended up being trained as an assassin for months by a League-affiliated supervillain? I’d doubt it, because who would tell them? I can’t imagine its a time or a part of his life Dick wants to volunteer to anyone, and Bruce probably still feels guilty so I doubt he’d ever volunteer that information. And Alfred I imagine would feel its not his place to be the one to drop that info on any of the others without Bruce or Dick’s say-so. 

Like sure, Bruce has files on all of that time, probably, but even with their hacking prowess, would even Babs or Tim have had time to hunt down and go through every single file Bruce has ever created....especially ones he might have tucked away for being particularly sensitive or private, and how do even the best hackers guarantee hunting down files they don’t even know they’re looking for? For that matter, it strikes me that as much as we tend to make a fanon trope out of Babs or Tim knowing everything about everyone because they can access any file, even hidden or locked ones...that IS intrusive and there’s plenty of old files about Bruce or Dick they probably never looked at because there’s a point where that’s none of their business, like if its not an official case they need info for, they should be asking directly, not snooping behind closed doors.

So....its entirely likely, the more I think about it, that all of this would be a family secret that would be an utter revelation to most of them in its entirety.

And you think there’s potential for resentment between Dick and Boone.....imagine throwing the family into it, and how Dick’s brothers and sister feel about this mercenary and assassin who claims to know more about their brother than they do, know him better than any of them ever have....and think, from a certain angle....oh fuck, he’s actually not entirely wrong?

Just.

More Boone. More Shrike. More Vengeance Academy.

THERE IS SO MUCH UNTAPPED POTENTIAL THERE, UGGGGGGGH.

Also also also: I present to you - in context of all of the above - the possibility of magical body or life swapping stories a la Freaky Friday??? Like....UMMM COULD YOU IMAGINE??!!!