#tim i-don’t-need-adult-supervision drake

[starrykitty013]

Baby Tim era was really a moment, he was an absolute gremlin

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

Weekend Getaway

Duke: No school tomorrow. Want to do anything?

Damian: We should go somewhere warm and sunny.

Duke: I was thinking more along the lines of getting pizza or going to the movies but honestly that sounds way better.

Damian: Mm-hmm. We should invite Drake.

Duke:

Duke: Are you sure you’re feeling okay?

Damian, scowling: I’m fine.

Duke: Okay, if you’re sure…

The next day

Duke: This was the best idea.

Damian: I know.

Tim: I still don’t see why you insisted I come.

Duke: It’s the beach, man. We’re in the Caribbean! Why WOULDN’T you want to be here?

Tim: I don’t know, it’s kind of bright…

Damian: So my hypothesis was at least partially correct.

Tim:

Duke: Damian, did you bring Tim as per of a science experiment?

Damian: Tt. I was merely testing his reactions to the sun. The results were rather disappointing, unfortunately. He didn’t even hiss when first exposed to its light.

Duke: And you had to travel a thousand miles to do that?

Tim: Also, I’m not a cat, Damian, what the hell?

Damian: There is not enough sunlight in Gotham to produce proper results. And also, why on earth would I think you were a cat, Drake? You’d make a terrible cat.

Jason: ‘Sup, kiddos. Time for another round of sunscreen. Especially you, Timbo.

Tim, grumbling: Just because the rest of you can be outside for more than ten minutes without turning into a lobster…

Damian: I still don’t see why you had to come with us.

Duke: Because we needed adult supervision and Tim doesn’t count? No offense, Tim.

Tim: None taken. I really shouldn’t.

Everyone: *lost in their memories of why Tim does not count as adult supervision in any way despite being over the legal age of majority*

Jason: You should all be very thankful I’m here.

Damian, scowling: Richard would have been better.

Jason: Ah, but would Dickface let you smuggle swords into a foreign country and help bust a drug ring tomorrow?

Damian:

Damian: Fine, so maybe you were an acceptable choice.

Fifteen minutes later

Tim: This is enough rest and relaxation, right?

Damian: I have enough evidence I suppose.

Duke: Where’d you say that drug ring bust was going to happen again?

Jason: Some docks a few miles east of here. But you listen to me, alright? I mean it.

Damian: *rolls his eyes*

Duke: *laughs*

Tim: Come on, we do this sort of thing every other night.

Jason: You listen to me or when we get back I’m telling Dick you all told me you really want to go to Disney World for an entire week and meet all the characters.

Tim & Damian: *slightly horrified looks*

Duke, squinting: Did you just use Disney World as a threat?

[batfambyval]

So, the following analysis/explanation of Tim Drake’s childhood is in direct contradiction of widely accepted fanon and some of my other posts. It’s a more serious and canon complaint back story that I feel the need to put out there, just for variety.

Now, I don’t think Tim’s Bat-stalkingTM started in the lead up to A Lonely Place of Dying, he knew what he was doing, the process seemed fairly streamlined and that would have taken a lot of practice and trial and error. However. He wasn’t going out every night or anything like that, and the majority of his “research” was from newspapers and such because he couldn’t regularly stalk them in person. Why? Because he was at BOARDING SCHOOL!

Look, the Drakes were neglectful, but they weren’t callous or uncaring. They just didn’t make their child their first priority like they should’ve. They didn’t think about him enough. Once he was old enough to send to boarding school that’s what they did, probably letting the nanny go and forgetting that holidays and vacations exist. They didn’t just leave him to fend for himself, and they probably expected him to stay at school for breaks other than summer vacation which even they probably remembered and maybe even came home for. Tim was just a little shit who lied about having someone at home so he could leave campus.

Now this isn’t to say that the neglect wasn’t damaging to Tim, because it was. But it wasn’t like he was fending for himself in terms of food. He didn’t have a support system, didn’t have a stable parental figure he could rely on and probably felt very isolated. He was emotionally independent from a young age out of necessity. He relied on himself to fix problems in his life, he didn’t have an adult fixing things for him. Bullies? No choice but to deal with it himself, even if that means going to the teachers without parental support. Homework trouble? On his own. Friendship issues? Figure it out yourself. Even lacking things like simple comfort when you’re overwhelmed can be damaging for a child. Tim ended up with a confidence in his own abilities that borders on arrogance but also horrible self-worth issues and a detached and analytical view of emotions in both himself and others.

Point is, before Tim became Robin he was at boarding school and did have adult supervision and meals provided to him, even if he didn’t get much or any personal attention. Tim wasn’t running around on Gotham’s rooftops every night or even every week. And his parents weren’t quite as awful as fanon makes them out to be.

[spookyprime]

I’m so curious about the other Batkids in the hometown au… you’ve drawn Jason a few times, but what are he and the others actually up to?

— @ghostinacardboardbox

Oh my god okay. Okay. So hometown actually started as a batfam au, but then I just got swept up in the young justice side story but it DID start with them. I'm so sorry this is going to be a lot but I wanna taaaaaalk about hometown I'm sorry.

Bruce is a pediatric surgeon. He still adopts a ton of kids but the circumstances have changed wildly. He’s a more patient and well adjusted man. Goes to therapy and loves his kids. Extremely divorced. Been married to both Harvey dent and talia. Divorced from both. Is currently in a complicated relationship with Selina but keeps looking at Clark. He’s messy. He’s a kind man though and damnit he’s a good dad. Also hes Jewish. It's not important to the story but it's important you know.

Dick is an entertainer at the childrens hospital. Yes I made him a clown shut up he does tricks and makes balloon animals for kids with cancer and stuff. He was adopted by Bruce after his parents “accident” but never went looking for revenge because he was actually given grief counseling and proper methods of care. He and Bruce still argue from time to time but their relationship is far less strained than in canon. They work at the same hospital. He does not live with Bruce.

as Jason did not get taken in by Batman he spent more time on the streets than in canon. He was a very rough pre-teen because of this. he isnt someone worth extorting so idk how the joker gets ahold of him but the joker just beats him near to death. No exploding building or anything. Jason doesn’t die. He’s airlifted to the pediatric hospital where he meets Bruce as his surgeon. Idk how the logistics of this work okay. Bruce saves his life and like. Idk. Feels real fuckin bad for this kid. The fostering set up was supposed to be temporary but Jason is deeply charming and likable so he kind of just never left. He needs permanent walking aids and has several chronic problems from the beating he was given. I’m thinking probably broke his back in several places- he’s not paralyzed but has pain issues. Does not have a job- lives with Bruce but sometimes lives at Roy’s. He's the embodiment of this pic

during the time Bruce was looking after Jason’s recovery he was also getting divorced from talia. This, reasonably, made him extremely stressed out and irritable. Tim is still their neighbor (fuck the timeline i dont care) and has 0 adult supervision and gets his kicks watching these two insane people have screaming matches on their front lawn. It’s deeply entertaining because Tim is a fucking weirdo. Bruce finds out very quickly their weird neighbor kid is watching them fight but instead of getting mad he’s more like “Where are your parents? why don’t you have someone watching you? why are you out here?” Tim is not adopted or fostered he just stays with Bruce while his parents are away. The drakes are actually very pleased with this arrangement. The drakes death happens several years into tim staying at Wayne manor because their attack had nothing to do with Batman or robin. However Batman is not there to negotiate jack- so he dies as well as Janet. Tim is- reasonably- very upset about this. I haven't figured out how Tim loses his spleen but the fact he's immunocompromised is important to me so he IS here. He's also Jewish and enjoys being able to celebrate holidays with Bruce when his parents aren't around.

Damian is a BABYYYY he's a baby. Bruce has custody but he visits talia every other weekend.

[alexiessan]

Senses - Chapter Three - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Damian was sitting in front of the computer in the Batcave, his hand on the mouse, the pointer hovering on a file with his soulmate’s name. He was hesitating and it annoyed him. He never hesitated, so why now?

After his family met Marinette when she had briefly taken over his body at dinner three days ago, Tim has made his research on the girl, and it was very easy to find everything he needed. His father and his brothers all knew everything there was to know about Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but Damian had yet to open the file.

It wasn’t the first time that they did research on someone like that. It was even a common occurrence, they couldn’t afford to trust people easily, and a background check was the bare minimum they did when a Wayne met someone they would have to interact with more than once. So, of course, they would do the same for Marinette, since she would be a permanent addition to Damian’s life, and that she would one day come to know their secret.

And yet, as Damian looked at the screen, he was hesitating. For three days now, he had sit at the computer, looked at the unopened file for long minutes before leaving the room, unable to open it. There was something in him that screamed at him to not open the file. That he should get to know the girl without checking every aspect of her life.

It also screamed at him that Marinette was respectful of his boundaries, letting him decide if he wanted to share things about him with her and never asking for his last name when he didn’t give her one.

His gut feeling told him that he shouldn’t open this file. Plus, if something were wrong with the girl, if she was dangerous for them or anything, his family would have found it and would have told him right away, not caring about his opinion on the matter.

Damian left the room and the file stayed unopened on the computer screen.

When he left the room, however, he didn’t find himself in the corridor as he should have, but in a very pink room. Marinette was sitting at her desk, scribbling something in a notebook.

Even if he couldn’t see what she was doing, deep inside, he knew exactly what she was doing.

“So, you’re into fashion,” he asked, his voice breaking the silence in her room.

He watched as she stiffened, not jumping at his voice this time. She turned around to face him, frowning.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged, not really sure how he knew himself. “The bond, probably. I know it because you do?”

Her blue eyes met his green ones and she seemed to analyze him for long minutes before she tilted her head and said, “You like drawing, don’t you?”

He stiffened before forcing himself to relax. So it was really the bond that made them know stuff like that. He nodded and she kept watching him. She turned around abruptly, picking her pen up, and started drawing again, not asking him questions.

On one hand, it was a good thing. He didn’t want her asking questions. On another hand, he didn’t like how good she was at reading him.

“A friend’s birthday is coming up so I’m going to make her a dress. She likes pink and cute things so I’m trying to make it super cute.”

He nodded, not really listening. He didn’t care about her friends. He looked around, wincing at all the pink before his eyes stopped on her bed. There were a lot of animal plushies on it. A big cat, a dog, a hamster…

“You like animals,” he asked, his eyes not leaving the plushies. That’s something they could have in common.

He glanced her way when he felt her eyes on him and she had a fond look and a soft smile on her face.

“Yeah, I do. I always wished we could have a pet, but with the bakery, it’s not possible. I wanted a hamster for the longest time because it wouldn’t leave hair everywhere as a cat or a dog would, but even that was a big nope,” she sighed. “You like animals too, right? You seemed to love Titus very much.”

He nodded. “I also have a cat and a cow,” he shared with her. That was the only thing he was willing to share at the moment, he didn’t trust her with anything else.

“That’s nice,” she said softly.

But then, he wasn’t in her room anymore but in his, aware that he had made his way back to his room when the other part of him was with Marinette.

Alfred the cat was napping on his bed next to him and Damian sighed as he petted him softly, careful not to wake him up.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t open that file…” he whispered to himself.

Just this once, Damian decided it would be better to learn to know Marinette the normal way.

Who knows how long it would take for her to gain his trust, or for him to gain hers — even if she shared things about herself with him, it was obvious that her trust was not easily gained. Something told him that it wasn’t always like that though — but he would do it the normal way.

Ladybug cursed at the sight in front of her. Paris was completely destroyed. Buildings had collapsed on themselves, people were screaming in the street, and Chat Noir was panting beside her, just as exhausted as she was.

An Akuma had appeared a little bit less than an hour ago and had done so much damage already. She didn’t care about their name and she didn’t think that this particular Akuma even gave them one in the first place, she only cared about how they were going to defeat him.

The Akuma could create shock waves, small ones, and big ones, which explained the collapsed buildings. Whenever they approached the Akuma, they would create a small one that would throw them away from her, and damn did it hurt.

She had hurt her head pretty badly earlier, and she was sure that she had a concussion if the way her vision blurred and how she struggled to speak full sentences were any indicators.

And then, to make things worse, Damian had to appear beside her right in the middle of an Akuma attack.

“What the hell…” was his reaction when he saw the amount of destruction in the French capital.

He then looked at her, his eyes widening. Yeah, she knew that she looked like hell, and like she was about to collapse any second now, thank you very much.

“You’re a hero,” he said in a serious voice.

Not really what she was expecting him to say, but then again, he was seeing her as Ladybug and not Marinette, so fair enough.

So much for secret identities.

“Now is not the time for that,” she said or tried to at least as her words came out in yogurt.

“What did you say,” asked Chat beside her but she paid him no mind.

Damian was in front of her in an instant, his hand cupping her face, inspecting the left side of her head where the blood was coming from. It was the first time they touched, she thought, and she could actually feel him, feel his warmth and it was weird but right at the same time and… And she couldn’t think straight with her head pounding like that.

The green-eyed boy cursed. “You got a concussion. A pretty bad one. Your partner needs to end this as soon as possible.”

Ladybug shook her head, making Damian release her face. “I can’t. I have to help him. I need to call my luck charm,” she said, but the look on her soulmate’s face told her that her words were yogurt once again.

She turned away from him and towards her partner who was looking at her, waiting for her to form a plan, to go back into the action, to just do something, but Ladybug didn’t know what to do anymore, she just wanted to lie down and sleep, and her head was killing her and-

And before her thoughts could spiral more, she called her lucky charm.

She honestly couldn’t remember what her lucky charm was, what her plan was nor what they did, but the Akuma was dealt with, the white butterfly released, and the Miraculous cure cast.

And Damian was still there, staring at her, his left eyebrow raised as if he was judging her.

“Are you going to talk?”

Ladybug sighed. It’s not like she had much of a choice now, did she?

Damian found himself on the Bat computer once again, researching Hawkmoth and the Akumas. Marinette had told him about the day the terrorist appeared, taking control of one of her classmates to wreak havoc in the city. How she had found her Miraculous and was basically told to go save the city. Her, a thirteen-year-old at the time, without any training or adult supervising her.

Who could be so stupid to throw a teenager in such a mess like that?

Yeah, Damian was younger than she was when he became Robin, but he’s been raised in the League of Assassins since his birth, he knew what he was doing, unlike Marinette who was acting on instinct.

Tim appeared behind him, his footsteps were silent.

“So you found out about her being Ladybug?”

Damian glared at him. “You knew?”

Tim raised an eyebrow at his younger brother. “You didn’t?”

Damian scowled and turned his attention back to the screen. “I didn’t open your file. I found out because I visited in the middle of an attack and she was in her hero persona.”

Drake was silent for a moment before he asked, a bit hesitant. “Why didn’t you open the file?”

“I just didn’t!” he snapped.

The oldest of the two raised both his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, fine! Is the situation there as bad as it’s shown in the French media?”

Damian nodded. “The city was completely destroyed when I was there. The Akumas are very violent and it’s only to Ladybug’s cure that it doesn’t stay like it or that they’re all still alive.”

“Nothing we can do, though,” said Tim, “the guy took control of a fucking baby more than once. Just a little bit of negative emotion is enough to be at his mercy. Better not get there.”

Damian had to agree with his statement.

It was supposed to be a good day, Marinette thought with a frown. She had woke up on time and got in class with five minutes to spare. Ms. Bustier wasn’t even here yet! She had told Damian everything about her situation two weeks ago already, and she was relieved that such a big secret was revealed already. That meant that she could be a little bit more open with him.

And she had been, in the last two weeks, they had seen a little bit more of each other. He opened up a little, but he really didn’t trust her enough to give her more than a little bit of information about what he liked or didn’t like here and there.

It was okay, she didn’t trust him 100% yet either. They would get there when they would.

Damian was cold and rude but she could tell that he was a good person. He was brutally honest, but she kinda liked that.

Getting to know her soulmate helped her move on from Adrien. She didn’t blush anymore around him, and her heart didn’t miss a beat or sped up anymore when he was around.

That was such a relief, to her, and to her friends, who were happy to see her moving on.

It didn’t mean that she was falling in love with Damian, though. She couldn’t even call him a friend yet.

But even if things were looking good and that it was supposed to be a good day, the sight in front of her told her that it would be anything but a good day.

Marinette frowned as she looked around. Everyone had changed their seats, the only one open was next to Adrien. She frowned even more at that. She was moving on from the model, she hoped that it wasn’t Alya deciding all of the sudden to pair them or something.

Speaking of, Alya waved at her in an attempt to get her attention.

“Hey, girl! Sorry, we moved the seats! Lila is coming back today, you see, and with her ear problem we thought she should get a seat in the front row, so we all moved to accommodate her,” she smiled at Marinette before pointing to the desk on the last row. “You’re over there by the way.”

Marinette looked at the back of the classroom to see the empty desk. They had put her alone in the back without even asking her.

“Alya,” she started, her hesitation obvious in her voice. “It’s not that I mind accommodating for Lila,” she did, because Lila was a liar, she probably didn’t have a hearing problem, but she was willing to give the girl a chance. “But why did we have to move everyone? Only one person needed to move,” she said in a small voice.

She noticed that Damian has appeared beside her, scowling at her friend.

“Well, Adrien volunteered to help Lila so Nino had to move but I didn’t want him to be alone. And then, Mylène wanted to sit with Ivan, and you know how it is, when more than two persons move seats, everyone wants to move too.”

Marinette bit at her lips. “But…”

But what about me? She wanted to ask, but wasn’t it selfish, to ask that? They all moved seats for selfless reasons, to accommodate a disabled classmate and they didn’t know that Lila was probably lying about that.

She didn’t have the time to say anything else as Ms. Bustier entered the room with Lila.

“Everyone, please, give Lila a warm welcome!”

Everyone talked at the same time, making it hard to understand anything, but Lila beamed at her classmates, clasping her hands together. Her voice alone made everyone shut theirs to listen to her.

“Thank you, everyone! I’m so happy to be back! My trip to Achu was amazing but so tiring! Helping Prince Ali to come up with ideas to fight world pollution was exhausting!”

Rose squealed somewhere in the class but she could only focus on Damian who scoffed. “The guy only works with children.”

“Tell me about it,” she whispered to him. Thankfully, no one heard her. Everyone knew about her soulmate and wouldn’t question her when she talked to herself, but she didn’t want Lila to know about this particular information.

“Oh!” Lila’s cheerful voice caught their attention again. “Did you leave the front seat open for me?” Everyone nodded and Lila smiled again, delighted. “Oh, guys! I’m so glad you remembered that I got tinnitus from saving Jagged’s cat from getting run over by a plane! Thank you so much!” She exclaimed as she took her seat next to Adrien and got closer to him until only a few inches separated them.

Damian let out a humorless laugh next to her, “As if. If that happened, she wouldn’t get tinnitus from it, she would be deaf. Engineers wear ear protection for a reason, imbecile.”

Marinette almost smiled at Damian’s comment but she was feeling a bit too bitter to let herself smile.

“Marinette,” Ms. Bustier’s voice resonated in the room. “Get in your seat so I can start the lesson!”

Reluctantly, Marinette did as she was told, and Damian followed, not wanting to just stand in the middle of the classroom, even though no one could see him.

“What, are you just going to let them order you around like that?”

Marinette just shrugged. She didn’t want to make a fuss about it. She would talk to Alya later about them forcing her to the back without asking her first. She knew that Alya only had the best intentions when she did it, so she wasn’t really mad about it, but she was a bit bitter with how easily she’s been disregarded, and she didn’t want to leave that unsaid. Alya would understand where she’s coming from.

Damian raised an eyebrow at her, watching her as she took her things out of her bad. Bustier was still getting ready to start the class and her classmates were whispering to each other waiting for the teacher to begin the lesson.

“So, what, you’ll let that slide?” he taunted. In the last few weeks, he had learned to know that she hated liars — he had laughed at the irony, what with her being Ladybug — and injustice.

The blue-eyed girl looked at him. “I’ll talk to Alya later. It’s not like I can just yell that she’s a liar.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed at her and suddenly it felt like she was forced out of her body. She was where Damian was supposed to be and Damian was in her place.

“Did you-” she sputtered indignantly, “did you just take over my body?!”

Damian looked at his hand — her hand — in wonder. “Huh. So I can do that on purpose,” he whispered. “Good to know.”

He then looked at the front of the class, where Lila was discussing happily with Alya, Nino, and Adrien — and why was Bustier taking so long to begin teaching, damn it?! — and he smirked.

Marinette shuddered at the sight.

He was going to get her in so much trouble, wasn’t he?

His voice — her voice — resonated in the class, getting everyone’s attention.

“You know that if you really were that close to a moving plane, you would have gone deaf, right?” he said in perfect French, his gaze locked with Lila’s.

Marinette gripped his arm — her arm, damn it, even if he was in her body, she saw him and not herself, and how weird was that? — and shook it a little, panicking.

“Stop. Please, stop!” She begged him.

She could see some of her friends scowling faces and, Gods, she hated that it was meant for her.

“What- What are you talking about, Marinette? I mean, I get where you’re coming from. I was lucky that I only got tinnitus from that incident.”

Damian scoffed in her body. Some of her classmates were confused, and she couldn’t blame them, it was so out of character of her.

“Bullshit,” he said and some gasps could be heard.

“Marinette!” the teacher exclaimed as Lila’s eyes were gathering tears. Clearly fake, Marinette and Damian could tell. “Apologize to Lila immediately.”

Damian was about to say something else, Marinette didn’t know what, but it wouldn’t be good for her, so she tried to control the bond, however it could be done, she just wanted her body back.

And she got it back, she realized.

Thanks, God.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she got her body back, averting her eyes from the rest of her classmates.

She glanced at Damian, who was pursing his lips and frowning and he looked back at her, ready to say something.

But then he was gone.

She didn’t want to be mean or anything, but she was relieved that he was gone for the moment. He got her in enough trouble as it is.

Lila made a big scene of forgiving her and Ms. Bustier finally began her lesson.

She saw Alya giving her a look that told her they would talk later.

Marinette sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Next

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[a-wayne-at-heart-too]

The Robins as...

DICK:

Glam rock / Heartland rock ; goes by the pseudonym “Azul”; the Artist Formerly Known as Nightsing

He’s an incredible all-around performer, so it should come as no surprise that he’s a natural frontman (or solo act).

He’s constantly reinventing his look (short, long, mullet - you name it, he’s probably sported the hairstyle). And Discowing’s got nothing on the outfits he wears onstage.

People love booking or working with him because he’s very professional (but does have a volatile temper from time to time). 

The only thing that he requests for in his hotel room or trailer? A poster of The Flying Graysons. Oh, and cereal. Lots of it.

He actually uses the Cirque-du-Soleil-ish set design, blowing minds all over the world.

He likes calling audience members onto the stage, and never forgets to introduce his bandmates and give credit to those who made the concert possible.

His bodyguards don’t get paid enough for the number (and level of aggression) of fans who throw themselves at him.

He actually responds to fan mail, loves visiting sick fans in the hospitals, and gives warm hugs during meet-and-greets.

A substantial part of the proceeds from all his concerts go to the Martha Wayne Foundation, which supports many schools and orphanages.

His “entourage”? His long-term girlfriend, Kory Anders ( “Azul! Over here! Gotham Gazette! Why haven’t you proposed yet?”), and his childhood best friend, Wally West. 

For all his showmanship, he’s notoriously private about his personal life. And, honestly? The spotlight does make him tired.

JASON:

Folk rock / Grunge rock ; goes by the pseudonym “Rason Rodd”

He sings and plays rhythm guitar, while Roy Harper’s on either bass or drums and Lady Artemis slays on lead guitar. Together they’re known as The Outlaws, managed by Mr. Am Not Bizarro.

He sounds so much like Eddie Vedder that it’s eerie. Eerily beautiful.

His debut solo album “I Ain’t No Joker” went straight to #1 on the world charts.

He’s found that music can be an effective political tool, so expect to find him lending his talents, free of charge, to various charities and advocacies. (On that note, he’s already done jail time for his blatantly subversive lyrics.) 

He’s on the road so much that he practically lives on the tour bus (that’s always stocked with beer and cigarettes). At this point, he’s... trying not to mind. He’s been away from what he used to consider “home” for so long that he’s not sure where to go.

With The Outlaws and their connections, he holds free music workshops and provides informal foster care for Gotham’s street children, who often don’t have proper adult supervision.

During his downtime, he visits prisons in Gotham City to perform for the inmates, hoping to encourage them. Then he’ll anonymously send their low-income families some groceries every now and then.

It’s either you’ll barely recognize him on the streets because he’s so low-key or know it’s him because he’s wearing something outrageous, like a tinted gas mask or a plague doctor getup, on a grocery run.

TIM:

Rap rock / Electronic rock ; goes simply by his last name, “Drake” (not to be confused with other famous artist Drake or Gotham vigilante Drake or male fowl -- "I'm not any of them, alright!")

He’s moved on from his punk rock roots and has been experimenting with fusion subgenres.

Once in a while, he’ll do reunion performances with former bandmates Bart Allen and Cassandra Sandsmark.

Nowadays, he frequently collaborates with other artists with different musical backgrounds, such as rapper D.u.k.e. T and country crooner Conner “Kon” Kent. 

He’s notoriously hardworking (and his PA’s got some toned legs from all those coffee runs). 

His albums are a hit among the younger demographic, but his famous adoptive father says that he “is extremely proud of my son, but I... I don’t really understand his music.” (Hmm. Makes you wonder if billionaire Bruce Wayne’s got a closet full of Drake’s “Sedimentary / Metamorphic / Igneous - The Anthology”.)

He’s developed his own state-of-the-art software for composing music and even performs live as a hologram (through the help of information technology magnate Barbara Gordon’s company, Oracle).

He’s made the said software, which makes it possible to produce professional-quality music using little to no equipment other than a mobile phone, free and accessible so that aspiring musicians who can’t afford to work in studios can pursue their dreams.

He enjoys discovering new talent, especially among young people who haven’t had as many opportunities as he’s had, and offers to manage them for free.

His on-again-off-again relationship with pop star Stephy Brown has made him a tabloid staple.

When asked by a reporter what he likes to do for fun, he answered, “Sleep” while slowly sinking into the couch. 

DAMIAN:

Heavy metal meets orchestra music (think Metallica’s “S&M”concert) ; goes by the pseudonym “Habibi”

He’s a musical prodigy who can play practically any instrument from percussion to wind, but the need for control led him to being a conductor.

Like Timothy, he likes to experiment. His latest project, which he’s very secretive to the media about, has to do with oriental influences. He’s called upon the help of his sister, a musical prodigy like him, Cassandra Cain.  

He’s notoriously a perfectionist, which makes it challenging to work with him. (But no one argues that he’s a musical genius, so they put up with it.)

He owns the Wayne Conservatory of Music, which offers full educational scholarships and training programs to the poor youth in Gotham who are musically gifted. 

He once told a news reporter that his greatest dream is to conduct the ultimate performance -- his obra maestra --  starring Azul, Rason Rodd, and Drake.

When he’s not busy in the studio or mentoring budding musicians, he’s just in his mahal (palace), hanging out with his best friend Jon Kent, practicing martial arts, or enjoying the company of his pets. 

And in the quiet moments of their famous lives, they dial one number that always brings them back down to earth...

Alfred: *picks up* Hello? I’ve missed you, too, Master -- What’s the matter? Why are you crying? Oh, bullocks, don’t listen to what they’re saying... In which part of the world are you right no-- Ah, never mind. I’ll just follow the tracker Master Bruce has put on you. I’ll see you in a bit.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ 

For you, @xellexavierxau.

[whereflowersbloom]

Hypermarket adventure

When Tim Drake woke up that morning he had no idea he would have to buy a new coffee maker because the one they had was unusually broken. Damian Wayne. A faint headache pounding behind his temples as Tim massaged them, exhaustion sinking deep in his bones, and wonders how long it's been since he had more than four hours of sleep. Damian was responsible for this, one of his secret schemes to make him stop consuming caffeine. Tim was sure it was his fault, so the broken coffee maker refused to give him the fluid of life and he had lost it...and maybe Tim destroyed it with vicious vengeance. In his defense, he had been up for more than twenty-four hours. Sleep later coffee first.

So naturally he announced to Alfred he would be making a quick trip to the store to get a new one, politely asked the British man if he required anything from the store. Alfred seemed to consider the offer for a solid minute before asking him if he could get some groceries and essentials on his way back home. Handing him a list. Before he walked out of the manor Dick volunteered affably to accompany him, convincing a grumpy Jason, who was comfortably sitting, reading a wrinkled newspaper, to tag along. Jason surprisingly agreed, with the condition he was the one driving. Alfred rapidly suggested to take the demon spawn with them, he could use some frest air. Now things could only go downhill from this point. This piqued Steph’s interest, who casually commented she had nothing better to do. Soon they were on their way to the closest hypermarket.

Dick was there to make sure Damian didn’t behead anyone and get enough boxes of cereal he could hide before Alfred looked at him with disappointed eyes. There’s nothing worse in this world than Alfred’s disappointed eyes. The old man claimed ‘It’s not a proper meal nor healthy if it contained high levels of sugar’, but the companies also tended to fill them with vitamins, calcium, iron and folic acid. Therefore it was a fortified food! It had everything he needed for a balanced meal in Dick’s opinion. The extra sugar was even good for him considering how many calories he burned.

“The sword stays in the car, Damian.” Dick commanded, taking away the blade from twelves earth-old before he sets a foot out of the automobile, which was responded by a ‘TT’.

“Did we really have to bring shortstack?” Jason complained, voice etched with irritation, index finger pointing at Damian.

“As if I would agree to lower my nutritional standards because you fools failed to purchase the provisions Pennyworth demanded which is why I have it in my power.” Damian logically explained, grinding his teeth and waving the list at Jason.

“Don’t stab anyone.” Dick ordered with authority.

“I make no promises, Grayson.” Damian muttered dryly crossing his arms over his chest.

Damian cannot comprehend why would Pennyworth think he was needed to carry out such a simple task, he supposed if his siblings lacked the basic function acquire the list of edibles Alfred gave them and simultaneously behave in public, then he could supervise them. He was already here with them. Nothing to do about it.

“Did anyone asked Cass if she needed anything?” Dick questioned them, clear blue eyes looking at them expectantly. Cass was probably still in her bedroom resting, after staying up with him analyzing some cases.

“Oh how thoutful of you. You weren’t that nice to me, not even after I died.” Jason commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Jay, you gotta stop bringing it up.” Dick reasoned as he placed a hand upon Jason’s shoulder, offering a small apologetic smile.

For once, Damian was quiet, observing the older brothers bicker over such a insignificant matter. Stephanie stifled a snort at their immature antics. A muffled ‘crybaby’ escaped her mouth, but only Tim, standing next to her was able to hear it.

It took everything Tim had not to roll his eyes and simply walk away. Why was he here with these troublemakers? Right. Coffee. The thing she had to endure for a duo of black coffee.

“I texted Cass. She wants pop tarts.” Stephanie supplied, eye glued to the screen of her phone.

“If you get lost. I’m leaving you here, losers.” Jason threatened with narrowed eyes, a faint glow in his blue-green eyes. Five minutes after parking the car, the siblings marched inside the hypermarket. Tim sighed wearily, silent calculations running through his mind, how long it would take them to leave the store with the groceries. Dick promptly grabbed a shopping cart.

~~~

Jason Todd was ready to shoot Dick Grayson if only he had a gun between his hands. Why the fuck did he even agree to come with these lil shits? Clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. He was doing this for Alfred and Jason could never say no to Alfred. It was an easy task: read the list of essentials Alfred wrote down, grab the items, deposit them inside the fucking cart and pay for them. Piece of cake. But here he was in the middle of dairy aisle, listening to Dick asking him all sort of stupid questions. His patience dangerously wearing thin.

“Why is milk five dollars a gallon?” Dick exclaimed with shock as he examined the dairy product’s label.

“Who cares? You’re rich, money shouldn’t be a problem, dickhead.” Jason replied annoyed, there goes ten minutes of his life, stuck in the dairy aisle with this enthusiastic fool. Where did Damian and Steph go? Dick had thrown several boxes of cereal inside the cart, including: Cheerios and Waffle crisps, the latter was Steph’s petition. Who in the bloody hell needed fifteen boxes of cereal? Wait a minute, is that coffee flakes? That one had to be Tim’s idea.

“How do you exactly milk an almond though?” Dick asked with furrowed Brows, concentrated on the product, as If he was trying to decipher a secret code.

The desperation and bewilderment in Dick’s voice made a Jason raise an eyebrow. He would kill for a quick smoke. Not like he was seriously considering smoking inside the store. He could wait a few more minutes.

“I’ll explain out to you when you finally become a functional adult.” Jason breathed. Around them, the store buzzed, bright lights shining above and people murmuring and talking, nobody had recognized them so far. Even Jason felt a twinge of irritation at being here, and he wanted to get this shopping trip over with so he could go home.

“Who wants bacon?” Stephanie came out of nowhere, asking with a juvenile glee in her eyes as she dumped ten packs of bacon. Damian wouldn’t be happy about this.

“Where is the gremlin? We should have put him inside the cart.” Jason tried to keep a calm voice, looking around for any sign of little D. Jason had a bad feeling about this, settling at the pit of his stomach. He let out a deep breath and decided it was the moment to have that cig. So two missing, Damian and Tim. There it was that nagging voice was a constant in the back of his mind, reminding him of his responsibility, look after adoptive relatives.

“Steph, make sure replacement didn’t fall asleep at the Kitchen appliances section.” Jason commanded. “Dick, it’s your turn to supervise the rascals.” Slowly making his way towards the alcohol section, he could use a drink right now. Now, find an unpacked corner where he can have a smoke.

“What?” Dick exclaimed, suddenly finding himself alone in the dairy section. Where did everyone go?

~~~

Dick was passing by the cereal aisle again, because you can never have enough cereal. Perhaps he should get more lucky charms? Cinnamon toast was a must. Nobody in this family understood the enjoyment of ingesting artificially colored cereal. He was about to grab another box of fruity pebbles, lost in the paradise of cocoa, cinnamon and colored cereals, when abruptly a feminine voice brought him back to earth. He turned to catch a glimpse, eyes focused on the petite woman: average height, brunette, mid-twenties, freckled-cheeks, small gray eyes widened in irritation. This looked like trouble. What did he do?

“Excuse me, sir. Is this kid your little brother? We caught him bothering other customers at the meat section.” The petite employee questioned him with raised eyebrows, hands on her hips. Dick blinked puzzled. What. He kept his eyes fixed on the woman.

“When I asked if he was here accompanied by an adult. He pointed a finger at you.” Dick spotted then Damian, standing next to the woman, lips pursed, arms folded against his chest, glancing away, fleetingly looking younger than he actually was. Like a small child who was severely reprimanded for inappropriate behavior. What the hell Damian...

“I merely reminded him the innocent chicken between his hands deserved a life free from torture and suffering. We have the moral responsibility to protect animals!” Damian spoke plainly as he corrected the woman who dared accuse him of harassment.

“Damian, sto-“ Richard chimed in when he was interrupted by Damian’s animals rights speech.

“Allowing an animal to suffer is unethical and cruel. It’s slaughter! You are causing them unnecessary distress. Their throats are slit mercilessly! All animals have the ability to suffer in the same way and to the same degree that humans do.” The young Wayne continued, grumpily making eye contact with the uninformed store employee. Blue eye flicked between the two, the brunette seemed to be about to explode, Damian’s body language tightened, there was a crackling in the air and Dick instantly knew it was not going to end well. Shit. He ruffled his hair nervously.

“Damian no.” He pleaded urgently. Beads of sweat running down his forehead and cheekbones.

“Sir, could you please take your younger brother? Customers are agitated and perturbed by his presence.” The employee politely asked him but Dick could tell she was utterly irked at this point. Dick nodded and draped an arm over his little brother’s shoulders. Yeah, he was definitely taking him far, far away from her. Praying Damian kept his mouth shut and didn’t screw up even more. Predictably, Damian didn’t leave it alone.

“Again, as I explained earlier. I was elaborating on the numerous health and environment benefits of adopting a vegetarian diet.” Damian corrected her with trembling lips, green eyes filled with anger. This woman didn’t comprehend the great importance of saving an innocent life. Tsk. Father said even if someone is being disrespectful or crude he should not sink to their level, but this lady was being rude.

“Aren’t you one of Bruce Wayne’s ward?” The woman spoke with narrowed gray eyes, taking a step closer to Richard, studying closely the features of the older man.

Oh fuck. Unfortunately, she recognized them. Dick held up both hands defensively.

“I am the blood s-“ Damian was about to clarify when Dick rapidly covered his mouth with a large hand. “We are leaving now, Damian. Thank you, lady. Have a nice day.” He muttered hurriedly before running off.

~~~

Finally, Tim was getting in line for the cashier, the precious coffee maker in his arms, he could make himself a decent cup of black coffee as soon as they got home. A satisfied smile almost curled on his lips when he recognized the familiar sound of his siblings yelling, if his ears didn’t fail him and they never did. Oh no. Tim held a stiff nervous expression as he slowly turned to face them. He quickly scanned the scene, eyes wide in alarm. Remain calm Tim. Stephanie being escorted by a security guard, clothes stained, next was Jason groaning at the guard that tried to touch his leather jacket, followed by an embarrassed Dick with flushed cheeks, lastly Damian being dragged against his will. “Let me go! I can walk out of this questionable establishment myself.” Damian protested with boiling anger, glaring daggers at the security guards. His sword was inside the car. Good. No opportunity to behead anyone and commit a crime. Jason and Stephanie were clearly pissed. Dick pressing his face against a wall, undoubtedly ashamed.

Tim momentarily contemplated leaving the store with the coffee maker, a few seconds later, he couldn’t find it in him to abandon them to their fate here. Sigh. With the heavy weigh of his burdens, Tim approached a female employee. “Excuse me, those are my siblings. Could you explain to me what exactly they did?”

“Sir, this young lady here organized a shopping cart race along with some children in the middle of the vegetable section.” The angry store employee began, detecting unfiltered rage in her tone, as she pointed a finger at the blonde teenager.

“I did nothing Jason wouldn’t have done.” Stephanie told him, briefly exchanging glances with Jason. Jason bit down on his lower lip to repress laughter, whispering an almost inaudible ‘amateur’. Stephanie shrugged it off as it was unimportant, instead of trying to come up with an excuse that contained any sense of logic.

“This man was deliberately smoking inside the store.” Tim studied Jason’s amused expression. Probably not the first time he was caught doing it. “I mean she isn’t wrong.” He pointed out calmly, Shrugging broad shoulders nonchalantly.

“I found the kid tormenting customers at the meat aisle, he fled with the man with cereal fixation.” Before Damian could utter a word in his defense. Dick shut his mouth. Richard’s eyes silently expressing a wordless ‘don’t ask’. Tim was way too exhausted to deal with this. His body shaking with small movements for a second, stay in control. No time to collapse, solutions not more problems.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you and the rest of your relative to leave the store. And please do not come back.”

Tim fluttered his dark cerulean eyes close, feeling a very sharp pain in his temples. A recurrent migraine coming, cursing lowly for not stopping at the pharmacy to get aspirins. How is that he is the only rational and almost-functional person in this family. Coffee, coffee, coffee was the only thing he could think about. Less than fifty minutes and the Wayne’s discovered a way to get themselves banned from a Hypermarket. Likely setting a new world record.

Looks like they wouldn’t have the chance to go grocery shopping as a family any time soon. Not like it was a brilliant idea to begin with. They would have groceries delivered next time.

Here @sofiii 👀👀👀👀🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Crustless Quiche

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned)

Summary: Tim teaches Damian to make crustless quiche.

Warning: some angst, mostly fluff, some swearing

By all rights, Tim should be getting ready for patrol yet Bruce had benched him for a ‘low-grade fever’.

“It’s only 99.5!”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Still missing your spleen?”

Tim splutters.  “Do you mean have a grown it back since I lost it in the desert trying to find you, Bruce?” Bruce flinches giving Tim a savage feeling of pleasure and guilt.  “No, it hasn’t magically grown back since then.”

“Then no patrol for you,” Bruce replies sipping his coffee.

That’s how Tim found him in the kitchen, humming to himself, trying to figure out something for dinner.  Alfred’s on annual holiday for the last week and Jason had gone off somewhere with Roy which left Tim as the only responsible adult in the house to make dinner.

It’s not that Tim doesn’t know how to cook.  Cooking, for all intensives purposes, is just chemistry.  Tim could do chemistry in his sleep (and has once or twice; don’t look at me like that Dick).  

 Mrs. Mac had been the first one who had taught him anything about cooking, long before he could ever dream that Alfred would.  She had, when Tim was ten, showed him the very basics of cooking.  Like how to make Crustless Quiche.

He was not however on Jason level of cooking; couldn’t dream to make the delicacies that Alfred whips up with ease.  He could, however, make more than a bowl of cereal without adult supervision (cough, cough Dick.  Bruce.  Don’t think for a second that Alfred doesn’t know exactly who are responsible for those scorch mark on the ceiling of the kitchen).

Moreover, Tim never had the time to cook. 

Tim was about to raid the freezer, again, when there was a small scuffling noise from behind him.  Glancing over his shoulder, Tim suppresses a sigh to see Damian standing at the entryway.

“Damian.”

“Drake.”

Going back to the fridge, Tim waits.  Over the years, Tim has found that it's better to wait for Damian. Closing the fridge that embarrassingly empty, Tim turns to the pantry.

Damian scowls.  “Why are you in banging around my Father’s kitchen?”

“Since when is Bruce allowed into the kitchen?”  Tim shifts around some of the canned soups, looking.  “I thought Alfred banned him after the last pancake incident.”

“Tt,” was the only response Tim got (or was honestly expecting).

Damian shifts his feet, uncomfortably.  He was, unused to this unspoken truce that he and Drake had enjoyed since Father’s returning.  Except for the occasional snip (which were always Drake’s fault), Drake had proven himself to be quiet…satisfying. 

“I’m trying to figure out what to make for dinner,” Drake finally answers him.  “Jay’s out and I’m hungry.”  Drake closes the pantry door before turning to face him.  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for patrol?”

Damian turns red mumbling unintelligently.  “Sorry, Dami, missed that.”

“Father benched me.”  Damian repeats, glaring at Tim like it was his fault.  “Apparently, I’ve ‘not taken the proper time to fully understand what it means to be Robin’.”  

Tim winces.  So that had been what that’s what the screaming match had been about.  “Sorry.”

“Tt.  Why would I need sympathy from you, Drake?”

Drake drew back as if Damian had slapped him.  Drake stares at Damian for so long it starts to make Damian uncomfortable. 

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Drake finally replies in a low voice, “because I’ve been on the receiving end of a few of those ‘You don’t understand what it means to be Robin’ speeches during my time as Robin from Bruce.  And they fucking suck.  All of them.  Each and every one.  Even if you didn’t deserve them, especially if you did though.”  Drake pauses, like he was contemplating what to say next before shaking his head.  “Come on, we’re both benched tonight.  Let’s make some dinner and we can watch a movie.”  Drake bends down to open the cabinet where Pennyworth keeps the pots and pans.

Damian bit his lip.  “I’ve never—I’m not interested in making dinner, Drake.  I’m sure you’re more than competent do it yourself.”

Drake straightens up, arching an eyebrow.  “Really?  Last week you said I couldn’t make toast without burning down the kitchen.”

“After witnessing Father and Grayson’s attempts in the kitchen, you’ll have to forgive me for being hesitant.”  Drake snorts.  “Now, however, I’m sure you can make toast without burning down the kitchen.”

“That almost sounds like a compliment, Dami.”

Damian sniffs.  “Do not grow accustom to it.”

Tim suppresses a snort.  “Wouldn’t dream of it.  Come on, Dami, I could use your help with this.”  Tim lifts up a pot that he pulled out.

Damian mutters something that Tim can’t hear (again).  He’s starting to think the little bugger is doing this just to mess with him.

Losing his patients, Tim snaps.  “Look if you don’t want to help that fine just clear out—”

“It’s not that, Drake,” Damian spits back, “it’s…I don’t know how to cook.”  Damian says like he’s confessing to a secret shame.

Tim waits.  “Okay…so?”  

Glaring, Damian snarls, “so, Mother and Grandfather thought it was beneath us to learn something as mediocre as cooking, so I never learned how.  So, when I arrived here,” Damian motions around the room, “Pennyworth does it all.  So, despite any interest I may have in the subject, I have not been offered the opportunity to pursue it.”

Blinking, because holy shit that little speech gave Tim more information about Damian then Damian usually gave Tim in a year (and right Tim’s not the only one with a fucked up childhood), Tim eventually fumbles out, “lots of people don’t know how to cook, Dami.”

“Tt.  I am not stupid.  I know the majority of people don’t know how to cook.  I was a witness to Father’s latest ill-advised pancake fiasco.”

Tim snorts.  “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t?”  Dami doesn’t laugh but his eyes do sparkle.  “Okay, how about this?  I’ll teach you.”

“Drake, I do not need your pi—”

“It’s not pity,” Tim says firmly.  Damian rolls his eyes.  “It’s not.  I was thinking of make it anyways and it easy enough to learn.  Actually, it’s the first thing I learned how to make.”

Damian eyes narrow.  “What is it?”

“Crustless Quiche,” Tim easily replies as he exchanges the pot for a cast iron pan.  “Come on, it’s easy enough to make.  Grab some eggs and a bowl and we’ll get started.”

Still eyeing Tim suspiciously, Damian eventually enters the kitchen properly, pulling out a bowl and retrieving the eggs.  Tim hums as he sees the requested items appear next to him.

“Alright, let's get cracking.”  

Damian blankly stares at Drake.  

“It’s a pun because we’re going to crack—you know what?  Never mind.  I’ve been spending too much time with Dick.  Alright, let me show you how to do it then you can do the rest.” 

So Damian carefully watches as Drake taps the eggs against the side of the bowl and pouring the contents of the eggs into the bowl.  After demonstrating on two, Drake watches as Damian cracks the eggs.  Drake nods encouragingly as Damian splits open the egg, dumping the whites and yolk into the bowl.

“You got it!  Now you do the rest of them and I’ll start chopping veggies.  You good with spinach?” 

Nodding, Damian sets out to work, cracking all the eggs.  Drake takes several trips to the fridge, pulling out different vegetables.  By the time Damian is done, Drake has a small mountain of produce on the counter.  

“Okay, would you rather chop or mix?” Drake asks Damian.

There are many things in this world that Damian doesn’t like.  School, homework, being benched is all minor irritations compared to being unsure in himself.  What would he rather do?  Mix?  Chop?  Did he even really care?

“Uhm—” Damian starts.

“How about you cut of the veggies?”  Drake suggests.  “I’ll do half and you do the other half.  Sounds good?”

“That sounds, acceptable, Drake.”

“Well, I aim to be acceptable.”  Drake teases as he passes Damian a cutting board and knife.  “Now, I know you know how to use one of these, just try and cut the piece up into small, bit size pieces.  All about the same size, okay?  When you’re done, go ahead and put it in the bowl.”  Drake points to the bowl that Damian had been cracking eggs into.

Nodding, Damian pulls over some broccoli and begins to chop into small pieces.  After the broccoli, Damian chops the zucchini and an onion.  

It was peaceful, cooking with Drake.  Unlike Grayson, who would insist upon chattering or Todd who would be trying to rile Damian up or Father who was always judging him.  No, Drake was utterly content sitting in silence—except for the chopping sounds.

“Better be careful with that one,” Drake says, indicating the onion, “it’ll make you cry.”

“Tt, unlike you Drake I’m not—”

“It’s a chemical reaction” Drake interrupts. “I can’t remember the ins and outs right off hand but yeah, it’ll make you cry if you're not careful.”

“Right,” Damian mutters, carefully cutting the onion.

“Right so I think that’s it for the veggies.  You like Swiss?”

“What?” “Do you like Swiss cheese,” Drake repeats.

Contemplating the question for a moment, Damian cuts the last of the onion.  “I think that Swiss would complement the spinach you cut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”  Tim pulls out a bag of pre-shredded Swiss cheese.  “Come on; it’s time for the fun part.”

Damian puts the last of the onion into the bowl while Drake turns on the stove.  While waiting for the pan to get hot, Drake shows Damian how to mix all the veggies into eggs before adding cream.

Finally, Drake declares it is ready.  

“I’m not eating raw eggs.”  Damian makes a face.  “Again.”  Damian had yet to forgive Todd for that little dare.  

“Course not.  Trust me; nobody wants to go through that again.  No, it's time to cook it all.”  Drake grins at Damian who found himself almost smiling back.  Almost.

Drake holds the bowl out for Damian.  “Okay, Dami, here’s what I want you to do. Pour it into the pan then take this,” Drake hands Damian a spatula, “and start pushing everything around.”

The eggs sizzle when they hit the hot pan.  Drake made sure everything got into the pan before taking the bowl away.  While Damian did what Drake told him to do, shoving the bits of vegetables around, Drake cleans up.  Damian kept a careful eye on the eggs; make sure not to burn them.

“And there we are,” Drake takes the spatula from Damian, dividing the food between two plates, “crustless quiche.”  Drake hands one of the plates over along with a set of silverware.  “Come on, Little D, we’ll go watch The Princess Bride in the main living room.”

“You’re right Drake,” Damian says, following behind Drake, “you have been spending too much time with Grayson.”

Damian does not miss Drake’s snort.

An hour later, Damian is in a ball on the couch next to Tim, clean plates laid forgotten on the coffee table.  And Tim is watching as Miracle Max explains that Westley is only mostly dead.

“Hey, B.  How was patrol,” Tim asks without looking up from the screen.

“Quiet.”  Bruce is looming over him, studying the situation.  “What happened here?” “Ya know,” Tim yawns, “same old, same old.”

“Did you hurt your brother?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Tim watches as Fred Savage’s character interrogates his Grandfather.  “I hear Dami hasn’t taken the proper time to learn what it means to be a Robin.”

Bruce flinches.  “That was…”

“An overreaction from an overly protective parent who doesn’t always know how to say ‘I love you, Dami.  Quit scaring the living shit out of me’,” Tim helpfully suggests. 

“…Something like that, yes,” Bruce admits.

Tim hums.  

“What that,” Bruce asks, pointing to the empty plates.

“Dinner dishes.  We had crustless quiche.”

There was a long pause.  “You fed Damian scrambled eggs for dinner.”

Tim hisses.  “You never understood the joys of crustless quiche.”

[iphoenixrising]

Not the original Justice is Blind anon, but man, I really like that verse. Hopefully more of it will sneak out of the old brain pan. :D

Hi babe. Ah, it’s such an interesting idea, like the logistics behind being a vigilante, and just! Yeah. So here’s a thing for your loves @satire-please will probably throw down about the Black Bird.

**

4

Getting out of Wayne Manor proved to bemore of a pain in the ass than he initially thought it should be. Most of his life, he’s had little adult supervision, fewpeople telling him when and where to go, or if he can’t. Really, Bruce was the first adult to set complicated rules,to hold him back or push him forward (you know, when he was that Robin), but even then, he still had freedom to movewithout restraints. If he needed to hit crime scenes, information sources,track baddies, and later, meet with his allies, his teams, he just went. Hemight shoot B a text, leave a note or something, but he was rarely hindered.

This? One of those rare times.

“We justgot you back from the League of Assassins,” B is arguing, trying to soundreasonable.

Ruffle of a newspaper, a sharp snap, but B isn’t really reading it, noteven skimming, there’s no shift of a thumb over the edges like when he’sconcentrating.

“I already had a way out and othercontingencies. Explosions, remember?” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest(and since when did it feel odd to be talking to B without a mask orcowl on? When did he start getting an itch of discomfort being in the Manor?…Oh, right, since he’s fucking riff raff).“It’s not like I don’t appreciate Bat intervention, Bruce, I do. Thank-you forcoming, but I have other things that need attention—” Please let me just leavewithout fighting—not in front of Damian and Dick.

“And I am to assume,” Alfred Pennyworthbegins from a few feet by his right side, close to the buffet, smell of coffee,eggs, waffles, and something sharper,probably juice, “these things aremore pressing than a hardy breakfast, Master Timothy?”

Movement, soft steps, a slight heel onthe shoe against the carpet, stronger scent of coffee, warmth of body heat.Without a hitch, he holds out a hand and moves his face only slightly towardAlfred as the saucer fills his palm with a whole lot of familiar. His thumb maps out the engraved vines in the saucer, theW in the center while his first finger automatically dips over the rim of themug, checks how full it is before he lifts it to his mouth for a sip, and just—

God,Alfred coffee is like no coffee ever made.

(And no, he’s not thinking about the room upstairs that’s still his apparently or that Alfred remembershow he likes his coffee—nope, not goingto think about it. Not at all.)

“Crime never stops, Alfred,” hecounters, feeling the heat of gazes on him, standing by the long dining roomtable, in the t-shirt and sweats he woke up wearing (new, not borrowed?), bare feet and face, histoo-long hair probably still a mess with only some water and fingers to runthrough it.

“Perhaps not, young Sir, but itcertainly has a nutritious breakfast beforeplotting sundry nefarious deeds.”

He chuffs a laugh, holding the cup andsaucer. “This is all the breakfast I need, thanks anyway. I need to get back tomy Perch and check on the analysis I have running.”

Another sharp snap of the paper,rustling of it being folded, laid down (close to Dick’s left hand as usual).His empty gaze swings back to Bruce automatically, a Robin action that makes him pause because isn’t this little situation familiar—

Going over his cases with Bruce at thebreakfast table, giving out the details, working through the evidence andsuspects with him, Dick joining them whenever he was in from the ‘Haven. The twoor three of them breaking all the aspects down, looking for the hiddensubtleties, picking crime scenes apart, looking over photographs and analysisresults, circling the dining room table with cups of coffee and a bite of eggor waffle while they muse aloud to one another, while they work together—

It’s a whole lot of nostalgia right here, one that makes hischest tight (because they helped himalong the road to being a detective, to being a vigilante he could be proud of, and like it was all supposedto come back in some crazy kind of circle, here the fuck he is again).

“I can connect the big computer to yoursystem if you want the answers now.” Bruce gives him a way without making it seem so in a way that’s just so Bruce—pushing what he wantsindirectly (Clark has finally gotten as good at reading into it as he has),only pressuring when it’s necessary.

“Isolated V-LAN,” he answers softly,gaze pointing in the direction of Bruce’s voice, “it’s not on a network.” Andif he relaxes a little, just a little—

“If… it is a matter of—” Damian’s voicecuts in, makes his shoulders draw up on some long-established instinct (youknow, being thrown through glasscases and such) even though he’d known the current Robin was there because ofthe sweet musk and patchouli scent underlying Dick’s subtle aftershave, “—howyou must eat, Pennyworth and I have completed research to ascertain the mostappropriate methods of preparation and presentation.”

And here’s the part where he reallyshouldn’t ask any questions, at all.He should put the cup and saucer down, go back upstairs, take the shortcut ventdown to the Cave, find his cowl, and peaceright the fuck right.  

But again, should.

“…research.  About how I eat.” He says it slowly, notreally questions there, but the shifting, creaking, material on wood, theshifts of knees under the table cloth—

“Common practices to cook for thevisually impaired,” Damian explains in a careful, measured tone.

Dick, in his usual place at Bruce’sright hand, pauses in taking in everything (because Tim is back in the Manor)turns only slightly, eyebrows drawn, “you knew.You knew and you didn’t tell me. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”

The sound of cloth moving is theyoungest Robin shrugging, “I was aware, yes. It was, however, not my place totell you. Not without Drake’s permission.”

“Oh? But you could tell Alfred?”

The responding noise is anasty-sounding tt. “Pennyworth is thekeeper of the Bats, Grayson. Of course he must know. You, on the other hand,would poison Drake with your idea of cuisine.”

“I’m insulted, Dami. Tim likes my spaghetti and meatballs!”

And yes, actually, yes he did. Dick usedto put a little sugar in his sauce, just like Mrs. Mac.

Tim sighs softly as they banter backand forth (Robin and his Batman),holding the saucer and cup in the thumb and forefinger of one hand while theother massages the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wants right now is tobe thrown in the middle of their family breakfast—wrong Robin, remember?

“Thanks for looking out, Damian.” Heinterrupts their back-and-forth, catching the irritated tapping of Bruce’sfinger against his own cup and saucer. And, well, maybe he’d been somewhat anxious about trying to eat with all ofthem watching him, assessing, but that was really just a secondary reason. “Butno, I’m fine. Eating isn’t a problem.” Beingup in the Manor, in my old room isthe problem.

“Just working a case before the Leagueof Assassins came calling?” Dick asks, playing the more blatant card ofBruce’s.

Gingerly, he puts the saucer down onthe table, still ignoring the chair he knows is empty on Bruce’s left, has nointention of taking it up again.

“It’s something I need to get back to,”he replies instead, tone carefully empty because Dick and whatever crazy plan must be going through his head.

“Tim. You don’t have to go,” and it’s the tone of voice when alljoking aside. “Back at Ra’s place, we were serious—”

Sure.“Again, I appreciate the sentiment.”

He turns on his heel, finding thematter settled, and if he hadn’t spent most of his life here, had learned all the ins and outs of Wayne Manor early onduring long spans of crime solving, pacing all over the first floor, he’d havea hand on the wall to guide himself out.

As is, he doesn’t need it (and well, there’s a lot of things he doesn’tneed at this stage of the game), and can take the stairs, can find his old roomagain by muscle memory alone. His phone, previously left on the dresser (oldhabit—don’t think about how Bruce rememberedthat), talks when he hits the main button, an application he made himself.

“How can I assist you?”

“Activate Black Bird, trackingprotocol.” And he ducks slightly, runs a hand around—

Ah. There’s the vent.

“Black Bird activated,” the voice fromhis phone soothes as footsteps outside the open door are silent, but not Batsilent.

“There will be no need for that, MasterTimothy,” Alfred’s voice soothes as he enters the room, something in his handsswaying. “I have collected your suit and sundries.”

Unruffled as always, Alfred is probablyhere to help move it along. You know, outwith the old.

“I appreciate it,” he repeats,straightening, holding out a hand.

Alfred hums and hands the thing over,watching Master Tim’s fingers trace over the pack to find zippers and pouches,watches those fingers pause when theycome to safety pins and old band patches sewn in to the canvas with half-assedstitches.

Alfred fervently hopes it relays thecorrect message.

Tim goes still, dead eyes fixed on aspot just over Alfred’s shoulder. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten everything outof the Manor the first time.

Oops.

He opens his mouth to ask if there’sanything else he should be taking,but Alfred is already moving to the closet, filling in the stunned silence.

“I have taken the liberty of packing alight fare. I do hope you are still partial to my tomato and cheese omelets?”

Shit. His stomach rumbles slightly, andAlfred can probably hear it.

“Thank-you,” is what he can manage,digging into his old (Robin’s)backpack, fingers finding the slick edge of metal, the catch of his harness. Alittle more digging and the heavy cloth of the utility belt pouches, finallyhis fingertips nudge plastic, the side of a regular pair of shades.

Alfred is already back from the closet,standing close, “if you would, Sir?”

He pauses and something plastic touchesthe back of his hand, something with braille written on the other side. Hisfingers move over the tag hoodedsweatshirt; World of Warcraft design. A second tag replaces the first shoes; DC brand; black with blue DC logo.And Tim sits on the bed abruptly with the tag in hand, the other still in thebackpack, gripping the shades, yet to pull them out and on.

And he doesn’t need to see to know Alfred is giving him somekind of look, something that could behere is the last of your clothing, Sir.Please be careful on your way outor something that could even be I shallfetch another should this not be to your liking.

He’s in a bad place to make a guess.

“This is fine,” he finally breathesout.

“Very good. The t-shirt you are wearingis black with white lettering. It reads: The Physics is Theoretical, but theFun is Real.” (Someone obviously knowshim because that? Priceless. Enough that he sniggers) “The sweatpants are alsoblack with a white drawstring.”

He nods but Alfred moves away, pullingout a drawer in the bureau, “would you care for blue, white, or black socks?”

He catches himself from saying blue(since most of his blue clothing used to be the same color as Nightwing’s suit),“white please.”

“Certainly.”

He finally gets himself together enoughto slide on the shades, pull his extendable bo from the utility belt.

“Your hooded sweatshirt is on yourright side, the shoes will be here by your left foot, and the socks laid acrossthem.” And Alfred retreats a few steps, the sound of steps muffled, waiting onsomething.

Going with option number 1, Tim pullson his socks and shoes, sliding the tags in the pocket of the sweats. He slideshis arms through the sleeves of the hoodie, zips it up and adds the backpack.The bo (cane), pops out with the press of a thumb.

“The Rolls is ready at your convenience.”Alfred cuts in as he’s almost through the open door

Again, with the tone of voice, Option 1 or 2 hovers in his brain pan.

“My ride is on the way actually,” he counters,not turning back around. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

The impolite chuff is very familiar inthat being a pain in the ass will makethe butler angry kind of way.

“Master Timothy, if you would be sokind.”

This time, he does turn, bo in one handbecause he must have left something else that needed to be removed so the roomcan turn into a guest room or storage or—

But Alfred’s hands are a completelydifferent type of strength from Bruce’s. A strength that more to do with will. Hands that are recognizable withoutsight, and the grip on his biceps is something jarring, unexpected. It’s been awhile since he’s been…hugged (Dick’soctopus hold and Bruce’s self-recrimination hold notwithstanding).

“What is it, Alfred?” He askshesitantly, staying stiff because he’s only slightlyat a loss here.

“Promise to come back soon. And shouldyou need anything, promise you will call. If it is your preference I not tellMaster Bruce, Master Dick, or Master Damian, then I shall honor that request.However, simply call.”

His mouth works for a second, no soundcoming out.

“Alfred, I—”

“We’ve missed you,” the butler fillsin, “it would ease my conscience if I believed you really would call should you have a need.”

And the laugh is very not one of those ha-ha funny ones. Alfred’s grip justtightens.

**

In the entryway to Wayne Manor, Bruceis waiting. The smell of his cologne, and the utter stillness all he needs tobe able to tell.

The phone in his hoodie pocket chirps, “theBlack Bird has arrived at your destination. Twenty-one steps away.”

There’s a look exchanged between Bruceand Alfred. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s happening.

“I have a ride.” He answers thequestion before Bruce even has to ask.

But there’s a hand on his shoulder, abig hand that does that familiar thing, groundinghim even after the last few years alone. “Promise you’ll come back beforeyou leave Gotham again.”

His smile is somewhat brittle, smallagainst the dark sunglasses hiding his dead eyes.

“At least patrol with me once if youwon’t come back to the Manor.”

“Batman has a Robin, B.”

The hand twitches and tightens, the oldmemories between them (“Batman needs aRobin!”).

B leans down just enough, “you’re still my Robin, Tim. You always will be,just like Dick and Jason. No matter what other name you take, you’re the boythat wore the tunic for me. You’re my partner. Don’t ever forget that.”

And—

Bruce plucks the glasses off his eyeswithout a hitch and wraps his arms around Tim again, just like he did in theCave, just like he did when he asked if adoption was okay, just like he didwhen it was a hard night and a shaky Robin needed something more than a “Good job.”

It’s so easy, too easy to sink in, togrip right back, fist his hands into the t-shirt, close his eyes, breathe outshakily. It’s too much, making his eyes hot for the first time in…

Well, nope, not going there.

He swallows around the lump in histhroat, but breathes in deep (and who called for hug day or some shit? Really, it’s getting to be a bit much, like where’s Jason Todd and please warn him if thatguy is looking for more than a little stab,stab, bang).

So maybe…he could just agree tosomething, make B feel better about this whole thing, “okay, Bruce. Before I go…something.I’ll call or…something. I don’t know. Patrol or whatever.”

The hand in his hair scratches at hisscalp (and really, it’s a weaknessokay? Steph is the one that figured it out first, so of course she’d spill itto Batman), rewarding him for openingup just a little. When it feels too nice, almost enough to make him sigh andcome back in to eat breakfast at the table after all, he pulls back, ahalf-smile making Bruce think Tim might actually look his age once and a while.The glasses are slid back on his face and Alfred gently opens the front doorfor him as both watch him go. Alfred leans in slightly to say a gentle, “becareful, Master Tim.”

The former Robin pauses long enough tosmile before he starts out into the sunlight.

And the World’s Greatest Detectivecalculates and considers—not for the first time since they brought a sleeping Timto the Manor after the fight with the League—just what the hell Ra’s al Ghulwants with the third Robin anyway. Since Dick and Damian are on a make Tim part of the family again, kick, they might be willing to do some leg work.

[tessatechaitea]

Midnighter and Apollo #2

White covers like this make me realize I really need to clean the glass on my scanner. Gross.

For a nerdy Lobot motherfucker, Bendix isn't as smart as I would have thought he was programmed to be.

The gauntlet that Midnighter must run to escape from the Bendix's Samoan Bunker (that sounds like a dessert I might one day invent) consists of a swarm of eagles with lasers on their heads, a screaming holograph of Thomas Jefferson that shoots eyeball lasers, GI Robot, a hail of throwing stars and arrows, vanilla pudding dropped from the ceiling like boiling oil, and a pit full of hungry babies. Midnighter manages to get through it all in time to stop Mawzir from shooting Apollo in the head. But I still think he's too late because the cover of the third issue shows Midnighter at the gates of Hell. The Mawzir flees from Midnighter for some reason. Maybe because Midnighter reminds him too much of Tommy Monaghan. Or maybe The Mawzir is just smarter than me and knows when it's gone too far. Not that I've ever gone too far! Pshaw! Oh! I've got an aside. Don't worry, it isn't about how truly stupid Donald Trump is. It's about the other Republicans in our government! Hey, Republican voters? I'm a big time liberal pinktard (is that what you call us?) and I don't totally disagree with some of Republican policies. I mean, I disagree with all of them currently (and probably have sense they decided governing should be closely related to elementary school recess interactions without an adult supervising (as I perceive it, that was sometime in the 90s after Clinton was elected and they were all butthurt that they weren't in control of filling their pockets with corporate and lobbyist money)). What I'm suggesting, Republican voters, is fucking do something about the people you want representing you. They're all selfish assholes who only care about maintaining their position of power and easy income. They don't fucking care about anybody and Trump is the best example of these monsters you've decided are somehow representative of the white working class (they're not. I'm fucking white working class and I would never agree with anything any of these current load of smegma-smelling idiots ever). Oh, I guess this was a little bit about Trump. Shit. I just realized that off-topic paragraph was probably a waste of time. This is a comic book about two gay dudes! Why would a Republican be reading it?!

Stop fucking the bullet wound and get him to a hospital, you sicko perv!

Midnighter decides to put Apollo in a room pumping in solar energy to try to bring him back to life. I really hope that we don't have to put up with an Apollo Boy and a Cyborg Apollo and Apollo Steel followed by Red and Blue Electric Powered Apollo! I don't know if I could go through that again and I didn't even really pay attention to it the first time. When the infusion of solar radiation doesn't seem to be working, Midnighter visits some guy named Extraño to find out where Apollo's soul went. It's so fucking obvious he went to Hell. You know why I think that. You know. I mentioned earlier how I've already seen the cover to Issue #3. Midnighter discovers Apollo is in Hell being tortured by Neron. Uh oh. Apollo is in for a terrible time. Not because he's in Hell! But because shit rolls downhill and Neron has just recently been shat all over by Constantine. He's definitely looking to make somebody else's life crazy miserable. And by life, I guess I mean death? Midnighter decides he's going to go save Apollo. Do you think he already knows how this ends? I do and he'd better not fucking look back on the way out! The Ranking! +1 Ranking! Reading well-written Midnighter stories makes me happy. It's like reading Batman stories but where Batman doesn't have a huge stick up his ass. Instead he has a huge dick up his ass! Har har! That joke was entirely too immature even for this blog because I really meant the thing about Midnighter being like Batman minus the stick up his ass. Comparing it to another thing that happened to me today — finding a used sanitary napkin on top of my work clothes — I'd say this is the best comic book I've ever read in my entire life! Also enjoyable today: using the term "sanitary napkin"! Now I'm picturing a vagina dabbing daintily at its ketchup-stained lips after removing the hot dog from its orifice. At a picnic, of course!

[whereflowersbloom]

Hypermarket adventure

When Tim Drake woke up that morning he had no idea he would have to buy a new coffee maker because the one they had was unusually broken. Damian Wayne. Tim massaged his temples, exhaustion sinking deep in his bones, and wonders how long it's been since he had more than four hours of sleep. Damian was responsible for this, one of his secret schemes to make him stop consuming caffeine. Tim was sure it was his fault, so the broken coffee maker refused to give him the fluid of life and he had lost it...and maybe Tim destroyed it with vicious vengeance. In his defense, he had been up for more than twenty hours, before taking a nap of two hours. Sleep later coffee first.

So naturally he announced to Alfred he would be making a quick trip to the store to get a new one, politely asked the British man if he required anything from the store. Alfred seemed to consider the offer for a solid minute before asking him if he could get some groceries and essentials on his way back home. Handing him a list. Before he walked out of the manor Dick volunteered affably to accompany him, convincing a grumpy Jason, who was comfortably sitting, reading a wrinkled newspaper to tag along. Jason surprisingly agreed, with the condition he was the one driving. Alfred rapidly suggested to take the demon spawn with them, he could use some frest air. Now things could only go downhill from this point. This piqued Steph’s interest, who casually commented she had nothing better to do. Soon they were on their way to the closest hypermarket.

Dick was there to make sure Damian didn’t behead anyone and get enough boxes of cereal he could hide before Alfred looked at him with disappointed eyes. There’s nothing worse in this world than Alfred’s disappointed eyes. The old man claimed ‘It’s not a proper meal or healthy if it contained high levels of sugar’, but the companies also tended to fill them with vitamins, calcium, iron and folic acid. Therefore it was a fortified food! It had everything he needed for a balanced meal in Dick’s opinion. The extra sugar was even good for him considering how many calories he burned.

“The sword stays in the car, Damian.” Dick commanded, taking away the blade from twelves earth-old before he sets a foot out of the automobile, which was responded by a low ‘TT’.

“Did we really have to bring shortstack?” Jason complained, voice etched with irritation, index finger pointing at Damian.

“As if I would agree to lower my nutritional standards because you fools failed to purchase the provisions Pennyworth demanded which is why I have it in my power.” Damian logically explained, grinding his teeth and waving the list at Jason. Tim rolled his eyes, focus on the reward, coffee, he mentally told himself.

“Don’t stab anyone.” Dick ordered with authority.

“I make no promises, Grayson.” Damian muttered dryly crossing his arms over his chest.

Damian cannot comprehend why would Pennyworth think he was needed to carry out such a simple task, he supposed if his siblings lacked the basic function acquire the list of edibles Alfred gave them and simultaneously behave in public, then he could supervise them. He was already here, nothing to do about it.

“Did anyone asked Cass if she needed anything?” Dick questioned them, clear blue eyes looking at them expectantly. Cass was probably still in her bedroom resting, after staying up with him analyzing some cases.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. You weren’t that nice to me, not even after I died.” Jason commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Jay, you gotta stop bringing it up.” Dick reasoned as he placed a hand upon Jason’s shoulder, offering a small apologetic smile.

For once, Damian was quiet, observing the older brothers bicker over such a insignificant matter. Stephanie stifled a snort at their immature antics. A muffled ‘crybaby’ escaped her mouth, but only Tim, standing next to her was able to hear it.

It took everything Tim had not to roll his eyes and simply walk away. Why was he here with these troublemakers? Right. Coffee. The things he had to endure for a cup of black coffee.

“I texted Cass. She wants pop tarts.” Stephanie supplied, eye glued to the screen of her phone.

“If you get lost. I’m leaving you here, losers.” Jason threatened with narrowed eyes, a faint glow in his blue-green eyes. Five minutes after parking the car, the siblings marched inside the hypermarket. Tim sighed wearily, silent calculations running through his mind, how long it would take them to leave the store with the groceries

~~~

Jason Todd was ready to shoot Dick Grayson if only he had a gun between his hands. Why the fuck did he even agree to come with these lil shits? Clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. He was doing this for Alfred and Jason could never say no to Alfred. It was an easy task: read the list of essentials Alfred wrote down, grab the items, deposit them inside the fucking cart and pay for them. Piece of cake. But here he was in the middle of dairy aisle, listening to Dick asking him all sort of stupid questions. His patience dangerously wearing thin.

“Why is milk five dollars a gallon?” Dick exclaimed with shock as he examined the dairy product’s label.

“Who cares? You’re rich, money shouldn’t be a problem, dickhead.” Jason replied annoyed, there goes ten minutes of his life, stuck in the dairy aisle with this enthusiastic fool. Where did Damian and Steph go? Dick had thrown several boxes of cereal inside the cart, including: Cheerios and Waffle crisps, the latter was Steph’s petition. Who in the bloody hell needed fifteen boxes of cereal? Wait a minute, is that coffee flakes? That one had to be Tim’s idea.

“How do you exactly milk an almond though?” Dick asked with furrowed Brows, concentrated on the product, as If he was trying to decipher a secret code.

The desperation and bewilderment in Dick’s voice made a Jason raise an eyebrow. He would kill for a quick smoke. Not like he was seriously considering smoking inside the store. He could wait a few more minutes.

“I’ll explain out to you when you finally become a functional adult.” Jason Breathed.

“Who wants bacon?” Stephanie came out of nowhere, asking with a juvenile glee in her eyes.

Hopefully I can finish this oneshot today 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️