Tumgik
#Tim got the brains in the family
Text
Incorrect Batfam Quotes
*Jason has just finished explaining an insane plan for a takedown
Dick: That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!
Jason: I have done dumber things than this for flimsier reasons!
Jason: So you should come with me, because if it goes right, I need a witness.
Dick: …and if it goes wrong?
Jason: If it goes wrong, I need an escape plan.
276 notes · View notes
fumifooms · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.
His grey hairs are so earned
Tumblr media Tumblr media
#Chilchuck tims#dungeon meshi#analysis#HAPPY CHILCHUCK DAY#You know what yeah understandable have a good day#Alcohol be a ticket straight to chilling out town I suppose#Spoilers#dungeon meshi manga spoilers#Thinking on if I should split my family masterpost into diff posts for max reach hmm#Anyways I’m def editing in the second page into that post that “I’ve got three people to think of here” sounds sooo much like that’s#How he’d think about it in a family setting as well. He works so hard for them 🥺#I could have put 100 pics on this post to justify everything I mentioned but this is a speedrun for a reason. I’m planning so many#Compilations rn i need a break from rereading lol#He’s just here to do his work!! He just wanna do his work!!!#I’m always rotating him in my brain like rotisserie chicken :( Hopefully this doesn’t sound disjointed or insane to average readers#He’s always on his guard so he has a short fuse and his type of humor & liking for snarky remarks doesn’t help#Also bc he knows nothing lasts he has a very work hard play hard mentality where ‘dying doing something you love. Like drinking’#Is nice in his opinion#This post makes it all sound so dry. Chilchuck is so messy thinking about him is thrilling I swear. This is concise but at what cost…#OH ALSO he has weird self-hate issues where he really values his skills but devalues himself on a personal level.#‘I am a coward. I only care about myself. I cheated on my wife (lying for no reason)’ etc etc#Can’t disappoint people and make them leave you if they already have no expectations and esteem of you 😏💡
412 notes · View notes
megaerakles · 2 years
Text
Dp x DC Crossover Concept I think is fun but will never have time to properly write
Several years ago the scientist of the GIW were investigating the miraculous resurrection of Vlad Masters by ectoplasm. Their team managed to isolate the cause to a randomly mutated gene that he possessed which they dubbed “the ReGen Gene”. A project known as Project Phoenix managed to splice this gene into what was eventually just two viable human embryos made primarily of genetic material provided by the project’s Lead Scientist Sheila Haywood and one of her male friends. The specimens were implanted into the friend’s wife who had volunteered thinking it was part of a research project to cure something or other.
One of the junior scientists on the team [the future Dr. Maddie Fenton, in fact, although that was not her original name] had a crisis of conscience about the work and decided to tell the woman carrying the babies the real nature of the experiment. When the woman learned that the plan was to intentionally kill the babies to see if they could be brought back to life, she decided to go into hiding. With Maddie’s assistance, she convinced her husband to flee with her to Gotham City to protect the babies.
When the children were born, they decided that keeping the twins together would make them easier to find. The couple, under the assumed names of Willis and Catherine Todd, kept the older one and named him Jason. Maddie took the other, and moved her small family with new identities to a random town in Illinois, where she determined to raised Danny alongside her own young daughter as her son.
Things mostly happen the same as the original canons; Maddie and Jack continue their work in ectology and eventually this leads to 14 year old Danny unknowingly proving the experiment a success, replicating Vlad’s resurrection and acquisition of powers. Danny still keeps this from his parents so Maddie has no idea. Vlad’s obsession with Danny is fueled by the fact that he figures out Danny is one of the Project Phoenix subjects and is convinced that because Danny shares that *one* gene copied from his own DNA, he should be considered Danny’s true father. (If he found Jason he’d also try to steal Jason as his son)
Jason’s life follows the same pattern, except for the fact that Sheila Haywood (who was fired from the project for losing the specimens and went rogue trying to get them back) had been actively searching for signs of him, only to locate him after he’d been adopted by Bruce Wayne and was too well protected to simply be snatched away (she’s tried hiring kidnappers a couple of times, and every single time, either Batman or Nightwing or fucking Superman had been on their assess before they’d even made it out of Gotham. The woman just does not possess the resources to fend off the entire Justice League when they’re determined to protect the son of a billionaire socialite for some strange reason). Sheila does plant the other birth certificate in the hopes of him eventually deciding to come to her before resuming her still fruitless search for the other twin.
Unfortunately for Sheila Haywood, when her plan finally works and Jason seeks her out, he brings along the Joker and the Batman for the ride. Sheila tries to make this still work in her favor by making a deal with the Joker and arranging for Jason’s death so that she can then bring him back to life and finally prove her experiment a success, but that backfires and she is killed too. Jason’s corpse is taken away by Batman to be buried in Gotham.
Now, there’s not a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham’s atmosphere. However the Lazurus Pit buried under the city has contaminated the soil with low levels of ectoplasm through leeching over the years. After some time, this is enough to revive Jason, but not enough for him to manifest powers or completely heal the brain damage he suffered at death before he crawls out of the grave. Talia shows up to whisk him away.
Not exactly clear on all the details, but Danny is eventually captured by the GiW and placed in containment to be studied as their successful experiment (the Fenton parents might be killed in the struggle to capture him maybe?). They also finally manage to locate Jason, and when they learn he’s already dead they send some people to retrieve his corpse to see if he can be reanimated too.
There is, of course, no corpse to be obtained, and they have to regroup and communicate with their bosses to decide what to do. Their activity drew the attention of Robin, who sets up surveillance of the grave site. That means when a couple of the GiW goons come back to test the soil for ectoplasm, Batman and Robin get a front row seat to their conversation regarding Project Phoenix, the fact that they’ve concluded Jason has been resurrected, and the fact that Jason’s long lost twin brother is currently being held prisoner in a high security facility and making himself a nuisance for his guards (one of the goons has spent time on Danny guard duty and has much to say about it).
Batman and Robin go rescue Danny!
Jazz and Dani were *also* trying to find and rescue Danny, using a magical tracker from the ghost zone that relied on using Dani’s blood to lead them to the one who shared her blood. Unfortunately for Dani and Jazz, the GiW facility is shielded against this type of ghost tracking. Unfortunately for Talia, who has just finished giving Jason his Lazarus Pit Bath (and unwittingly suppling the rest of the ectoplasm needed to properly give him his ghost powers), the League of Assassins is *not*
Basically, the two parties rescue the twin that’s not their own and then have to work to find and reunite with the other group without knowing the others are also actively on the move and searching, so they keep missing each other. Danny is freaking out because not only does he have a twin brother who also died and came back, the twin was apparently adopted by Batman, but Batman is helping him hide from the GiW so that’s cool. Jason is trying to learn as much as he can about his new powers from Dani while also protecting his two new sisters who keep trying to protect *him* instead even though he has actual vigilante training, except he can’t tell them that, and the League of Assassins AND the GiW are both after him and all he wants is to get back to his dad and the help them find this twin brother of his he just heard about. (It is important to note that the Jason, Dani, and Jazz party are all simultaneously convinced they are the most competent member of their contingent-Jason due to his training and history of survival, Dani due to her relative mastery of ghost powers and history of survival, and Jazz due to her age and perceived maturity—and are privately trying to take on the full responsibility of protecting the other two)
345 notes · View notes
superbat-love · 2 months
Text
Bruce savored his coffee, relishing the peace after a challenging night tackling increased crime spillover from Metropolis. It was a rare moment alone, away from the daily hustle and bustle of dealing with the kids.
“We’re back!” A loud, cheerful voice shattered the peace from the hallway. Bruce sighed, realizing his envisioned peaceful afternoon was short-lived. Nine little kids bounded through the front door. Wait…nine kids? Bruce did another quick headcount and confirmed that, no, it wasn’t a stress-induced hallucination—there was an additional kid who wasn’t there that morning when the group left for the fair.
As the kids walked past him towards the stairs, Bruce pulled off their caps and scanned their faces one by one to make sure. Dick, Jason, Barbara, Steph, Tim, Cass, Duke, Damian… Finally, he came across an unfamiliar face. The boy stared up at him. “Dad?” The kid launched himself towards him and hugged his thighs. “You’re back!”
Bruce gently extracted the kid from his legs and bent down to take a closer look at him. The boy’s forehead creased, his lips pouting and seemingly on the verge of tears. “You’re not my dad.”
“I don’t think so, kid,” said Bruce. “What’s your name?”
“This is Jon,” said Damian, locking arms with the boy.
“Jon,” Bruce repeated blankly.
“Jon recently lost his dad. We told him that’s okay, not everyone has parents, so he can come and live with us!” Dick said.
Bruce could feel an impending headache coming on. “Dick, you can’t just-” Bruce wanted to refute Dick’s words, but his brain was doing somersaults at the moment, so he gave up. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said instead to Jon. “How did you lose him?”
“My dad got hit by a green rock by a robot and fell off the mountain. I flew over it a few times, but I couldn’t find him! So I went to the fair to see if he was there,” said Jon.
Flew over the mountain? Green rock? There was only one person that Bruce could think of who could fly and had a weakness towards green rocks. “Is your dad Superman?” said Bruce, knowing and dreading the answer.
“Yeah!” Great, the one superhero whom Bruce had managed to avoid dealing with so far, who had suddenly gone missing since Sunday and was apparently passed out somewhere at the foot of a mountain. And whose kid his own children had kidnapped. Bruce’s day just kept getting better and better.
Superbat Family Fics
2K notes · View notes
motherofagony · 4 months
Text
FIRE WALK - one shot
joel miller x f!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.
New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.
That’s what the news says.
August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 
It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.
Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.
It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.
You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.
There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.
He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.
You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 
He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.
And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.
You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.
He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 
You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.
If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.
You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.
But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.
And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.
“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”
Yeah fuckin’ right.
He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 
You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.
Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.
The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.
You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!
A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 
There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.
“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”
“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”
“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.
That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.
“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.
Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.
Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!
You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.
You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.
You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.
But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.
“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
So you don’t.
You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 
The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.
Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.
Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.
You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.
It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.
When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.
“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”
You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.
His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.
The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.
It irritates you, and you can’t say why.
The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.
“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.
He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”
You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.
“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.
Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.
Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.
You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.
Your breath hitches on a soft swear.
When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.
It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 
“Um… thanks?”
“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.
“Listen, uh —”
He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.
Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.
You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.
“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”
This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.
“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.
“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”
You smile. Typically, yes.
“Joel.”
His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 
And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.
You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.
You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.
Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.
Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.
Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.
Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.
You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  
You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 
Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.
You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.
He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.
You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.
He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.
“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.
You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.
It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.
But you’re so tired.
“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”
“You got enough time for that?”
And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.
You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.
You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.
He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.
When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.
He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.
You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.
Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.
“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.
There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.
He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.
Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 
Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?
Isn’t there a catch?
He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.
His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.
He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.
Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 
You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.
“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.
Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.
You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.
You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.
He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.
“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.
You feel that little pull at your navel.
And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.
When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.
It’s fucking filthy.
Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.
Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 
There was always a little gold for contorting your body.
He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.
You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 
When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 
It’s new, different.
But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.
“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”
Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.
“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”
Oh.
He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.
He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.
Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.
He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.
“This alright?”
You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.
“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”
You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.
“Yes. Fuck.”
That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.
He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.
It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 
You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.
It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.
The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.
Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.
He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.
When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.
“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.
At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.
It’s all too much, too pure to be real.
Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.
You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 
He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.
You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.
If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.
And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.
The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.
Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.
“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.
More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.
You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.
Fuck.
You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.
But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.
Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.
“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.
Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.
There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.
The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.
“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”
Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.
He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.
Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.
It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.
Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.
“The hell’s the matter with you?”
It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.
He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.
There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.
“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 
He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.
A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.
Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.
He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.
You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.
You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.
Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.
You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.
But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.
He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.
“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”
He tells you to never say sorry to him again.
Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.
You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.
You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.
Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.
You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.
He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.
He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.
Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.
There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.
At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.
Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  
You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.
Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.
Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 
The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 
Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.
But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 
They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.
And they’ll stay through every season.
1K notes · View notes
bluerosefox · 5 months
Text
Ghost Marriage Allows More Than One!
Tim wakes up in a hotel room in Vegas snuggled against a chest but he wasn't surprised.
He had been in the Sin City for a WE meeting and had brought Bernard along the trip since Tim's birthday was just shy a few days into it and well he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend since most of his family were off world (Dick, Jason, and Bruce all had important missions and they all apologized for missing out and Tim couldn't blame them he understood and he himself couldn't get out of the Vegas meetings no matter what he tried to do.) Or couldn't come to join him (Damian had school as did Duke and Alfred was taking care of them while the others were gone. Steph and Cass were out of country working with some important things with Babs and again he understood.) (Did it still sting yes but they all promised to make it up when they got back, Alfred even promised a coffee cake just for him)
So yeah, Vegas meeting trip turned somewhat birthday fun with his boyfriend. And since Bernard has always been good with encouraging Tim to try things it came to no surprise that during their stay he had managed to convince Tim to try drinking for the night.
Yes terrible influence Bernard was sometimes, but he did make a point. Tim was an adult now and sometimes it's okay to at least try adult dumb stuff, he didn't have to like it and could stop if he really didnt want to but he can at least say he tried it once. That it was okay for Tim to let go of his vigilante brain and just have fun in the one city that was made for it.
So try Tim did. Just for the night.
So yeah, Tim wasn't really surprised when he woke up the next morning, alcohol aftertaste on his breath, head pounding, nose scrunched up from the light of the sun peeking in from the curtains, and snuggling himself into a rather chilly chest...
Wait...
Chilly?
Tim opened his eyes when he realized that. Bernard never felt cold to Tim when they would snuggle, no he was always warm, like a warm heating blanket. It was why Tim loved snuggling him. Why was he-
Tim's eyes widened when he saw not blonde hair on the body in the bed with him but black hair. He almost flung himself off the bed from him startling awake and watched the one he had been snuggled next to mumble in his sleep and turn over.
Tim felt pure dread as he continued to stare, his stomach turning as his thoughts got bad, oh god..God... did he... oh no, no, no no. Oh where was Bernard- FUCK did he really-
Tim flinched when he heard a door open and snapped his eyes towards it. He felt his mouth go dry when he spotted his boyfriend coming out of what was the bathroom of the room and had just finished taking a shower from the sounds of left over dripping water and from the towel he was using to clean his hair.
Bernard stopped in his spot when he noticed Tim staring at him before he gave Tim a very uneasy chuckle, his eyes darting towards the sleeping body on the bed "H-Hey, good morning T. I see you... uhh seen our guest."
Tim felt ready to cry, to beg for forgiveness, but the only sound that came out was a strangled sound because of course he fucked up and ruined one of the best things that ever happened to him and-
But before he could spiral further into his anxiety and dread Bernard kept speaking.
"So ummm. Do you also remember meeting Danny at the bar, getting really tipsy, hanging out, having fun and then like going to a ghost bar with him so he could really drunk because he's like half ghost. And I mean like a legit ghost bar, like we saw Elvis and Marilyn Monroe there and they were like floating. Then we all got like super mega drunk and then... maybe kinda sorta got ghost married... because ghost marriage allows unlimited spouses cause you know, already dead doesn't matter and it's also almost permanent cause again the whole dead thing... Or did I hallucinate all that last night and we just brought in a random stranger to bed?" He asked his voice unsure as he looked between Tim and the stranger Danny in bed before lifting his hand up and showing Tim a glowing ring on it. "I'm pretty sure I didn't dream it up because I kinda woke up with this, and it refuses to come off."
Tim went silent for a moment, wide eyed as he stared back at Bernard before the pounding headache he had hit him harder than ever when the very memories of everything Bernard had said came flooding back to him. With a gasp Tim quickly looked st his own hand and sure enough on his finger was a matching glowing wedding band on it, his eyes snapped towards Danny... Danny Nightingale? Or was it Phantom? said his name was and spotted another matching one as well.
"B is going to kill us." Was the only thing Tim could muster up to say.
1K notes · View notes
help-itrappedmyself · 11 days
Text
Dead On Main part 7
Masterpost
dedicated to @cervinebotanist and @leafyeyes417 for responding so quickly and with such enthusiasm to part 6. Thank you for the encouragement and support.
Danny takes a deep breath. He can hear scrambling from somewhere else in the car, but he can’t pay attention to what’s happening as he focuses inward. He closes his eyes, and reaches inside himself.
Jason has a tiny baby core! Danny almost coos at it, but it’s so underdeveloped that he’s sad instead. Danny can feel ectoplasm in himself, in Jason’s body. But it isn’t enough. This ectoplasm has been reused, reduced, recycled one too many times. It’s got barely enough to stay alive left in it. Jason is mostly being sustained by his human half right now. It feels like play-doh that turns to dust where it should stretch, dried-out and old. It makes him even more sad. And slightly ill. But the sadness makes the rioting ectoplasm calm back down inside him.
Danny opens his eyes. He’s slightly disoriented, but calm now, eyes no longer glowing. They had stopped the car. He looks at Tim, who is leaning against his door and braced against it and Dick’s chair, giving Danny as much space as possible. His hand is almost on the door handle and his tablet on the floor. Dick and Bruce are exchanging panicked looks in the front seat, both now unbuckled for some reason and completely turned to face the backseat.
“Hey, speaking of ectoplasm, this body really needs some.” Danny informs them. “If it doesn’t get some new ectoplasm soon his core is going to cease functioning, and that would be really bad, and possibly irreversible.” 
“Uhhh.” Dick’s panicked look is turning straight to confusion, as is everyone else’s. “What?” 
“I didn’t realize that Jason was, I mean he had mentioned he died, but he- well, I guess I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone either. Does make it easier to talk about since we’re the same, but of course we couldn’t have known yet. But his core needs some help, do you not have access to ectoplasm back home?” Danny is rambling, brain spinning at the thought of how much he and Jason have in common. This big thing that no one else would truly understand by each other. And Vlad, sort of, but nobody likes Vlad. “It’s amazing that we ended up soulmates. He’s only the third person in the world I’ve even heard about with this condition. How long has he been without ectoplasm? Is he having trouble finding any, or does he not know he needs it? Either way, I’m giving him some as soon as possible.” Danny doesn’t know whether he should freak out over that fact that his soulmate is as dead as he is, that he’s currently dying from lack of ecto, or that his soulmate’s entire family is probably going to end up learning about him and ghosts, or the fact that he is currently taking another body that the GIW is going to want to study straight to them. All of these things seem like great reasons to freak out on their own, so all together he is just panicking.
Danny doesn’t seem to be able to breathe. 
“Hey, come on, that’s fine, you can totally give Jason some… ectoplasm.” Dick says.
“Danny, you have to breathe, okay.” Tim is much calmer than Dick, so Danny focuses on him as Bruce and Dick whisper in the front. “Danny, match my breathing.” Danny stares at Tim, who is making very exaggerated breathing movements, and tries to time his breathing to match. “We’ll figure everything out, but we don’t need to do it right now.” Tim is still helping Danny, talking calmly, but he says this with enough force to distract the two in the front seat enough for them to shut up for a second. Danny appreciates the bit of silence.
“You need to start driving.” Danny, tells Bruce. “Right now, his human half is sustaining the rest of him almost entirely. If Jason doesn’t get more ecto soon, his other half will die, and I’m not sure what will happen to his human side if that happens. He may die again completely.”
There’s a beat of silence in the car. Bruce stares right into Danny’s eyes.
“You are saying there is an active threat to my son’s life, ” Bruce asks, voice hard. 
Danny nods. Then everyone is buckled back in and Bruce is pulling them back onto the road. 
“You know what’s happening and how to help him?” Bruce asks, voice steady but Danny can sense all the emotion underneath. Bruce is really worried right now, he looks around the car and realizes that Dick and Tim are as well. They both have phones out, but are tense, tuned into his conversation with Bruce.
“Yeah, It’s a simple enough fix, I’m just worried because he’s really…” Danny takes a moment to think of the right word. “Ecto deficient? His core is definitely malnourished, and his body and mind definitely need it. They are being sustained with human stuff for now, but eventually that won’t be enough.” 
“How urgent is this?”
Danny feels for Jason’s core, feeling like he’s invading his privacy, but without other options to check. It’s not cracked, but it’s not fully formed either. Half starved baby core, not even strong enough to present. Its link to an obsession is strong, but frayed enough that Danny can’t tell what it is. The core is not strong enough to produce it’s own ecto, even in response to the obsession being fulfilled. Everything is stable, but strained.
“I’m not an expert, but he’s sustained himself this long. And we’re already on the way. We should be fine, but I’ll keep an eye on it just in case.”
561 notes · View notes
fluentmoviequoter · 2 months
Text
Not So Grumpy
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!pregnant!reader
Summary: Tim is grumpier than usual, and when you decide to visit him at the station, the rookies get an idea of why.
Warnings: pregnant reader. fluff!
Word Count: 1.8k+ words
A/N: Softie Tim? Softie (and clingy) Tim. This takes place sometime during seasons 1-2.
Tumblr media
“Don’t start,” Tim says, sitting beside Angela.
“Whoa, okay,” she replies with a laugh. “Glad to see you’re in such a good mood.”
“That sounds like starting.”
Angela puts her hands up, smiling as she turns away from Tim. “Chen, good luck.”
Tim rolls his eyes, wishing his mornings could go differently. It’s been several weeks of his persistent bad mood, and everyone who has to deal with him is curious about what’s causing it.
“Bradford, can I- could I maybe get you something?” Lucy offers softly.
“No.”
✯✯✯✯✯
You wake up curled against Tim’s side, his arm extended over your waist. His alarm is going off, and he’s smacking the nightstand beside him in a poor attempt to turn it off.
“You have to go to work,” you remind him, kissing his cheek as you move farther up in the bed.
“I’m good,” he replies, sighing as he finds his phone and turns the sound off. “Right here.”
He rolls closer to you, his hand sweeping over your stomach as he looks into your eyes. Tim can be persuasive, but you’ve gotten used to this routine over the last few weeks.
“I’d love for you to stay, I really would, but I don’t think your boss would appreciate it,” you say.
Tim groans, pressing his face against your neck as his arm tightens around you.
“You got clingy,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair and gently scratching his scalp.
“And you won’t let me stay,” Tim mumbles.
“It’s not my fault you wanted to be a cop.”
“You would-“ Tim pauses, sitting up so you can hear him. “You would deprive me of staying at your side during a time like this?”
Chuckling at his dramatics, you push your hand against Tim’s shoulder in a pointless attempt to move him away from you.
“Tim, baby, you see me all the time.”
“Not enough. I’m going to come home one day, and there will be a toddler running around, but I won’t remember any of this.”
You close your eyes and lean back against your pillow. “You have to go to work today so you can come to the doctor with me on Friday, right? Just think about that.”
“I can’t. I can only think of you.”
“You start a family and suddenly you’re the most romantic, clingy guy in the world. Where’d the grump go?”
Tim doesn’t reply as he tries to pull you closer. Rolling away from him, you leave him no choice but to get up and go to work. His disappointed sigh makes you frown; you know he’s being dramatic to cover up how he feels.
“Tim,” you call, sitting up as he walks to you. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I really do want you here as much as possible.”
“I know. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.”
You nod, tilting your chin up in a silent request for a kiss. Tim smiles, shaking his head as he bends to meet you. You pull back before he risks getting distracted.
“The grump is back now,” Tim mumbles.
“Hey! Be nice today,” you call after him.
Tim doesn’t reply, and you know he’ll deny ever hearing you say such a thing.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim slams the door as he exits the shop. Standing with his hands on his hips, he looks at the flat tire before glancing at Lucy.
“I didn’t see it,” she begins, her voice rushed and apologetic.
“Because you weren’t paying attention,” Tim snaps.
“But I-“
“How do you expect to graduate to short sleeves if you can’t even drive, boot?”
“It wasn’t my fault; there was something in the road!”
“Call dispatch,” Tim demands.
“What’s the protocol for this?”
Tim remains silent, leaning against the side of the shop as Lucy racks her brain for the proper procedure. As she radios dispatch and explains the situation, Tim grows grumpier. He’s stranded in a subdivision of Los Angeles with a flat tire that could have been avoided instead of home with you. His conviction about being a cop wanes each moment he’s away from you.
✯✯✯✯✯
Even without seeing the worst of it, you can tell Tim’s attitude has changed lately. His fellow officers and the rookies have been dealing with the grumpiest version of Tim they’ve ever experienced, but you see the clingy, emotional, loving side of whatever is making him act so differently.
After doing a few small chores, which Tim will tell you not to do again, you get ready and decide to pay him a visit at the station. You want to see how he is doing.. mostly, you miss him and want an excuse to see him and hug him.
As you get in your car, you consider calling Tim to ensure he’s at the station and has time for a visitor. He has been protective of you since you met, but it has changed and increased since getting married and throughout the early months of your pregnancy. You shrug, putting your phone away after electing to surprise him instead. 
✯✯✯✯✯
“It would be great if one of you could remember that you’re a police officer!” Tim yells, looking between Nolan, Lucy, and Jackson. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? No excuses? Well maybe you should review those rook books before going out on patrol again.”
He turns quickly, prepared to storm away and find a private place to calm down. When he freezes, the rookies look at one another in confusion. Nolan prepares to speak, and Lucy shakes her head to stop him, unwilling to get yelled at again so soon.
“What are you doing here?” Tim asks.
You step into the bullpen with a smile as Tim rushes to your side.
“Missed you,” you whisper.
“Is that- is she-“ Nolan stutters.
“Pregnant? Yeah. And Tim is… smiling?” Jackson adds.
Lucy gasps, moving in front of Nolan to see better. It’s true: Tim is standing as close as he can, with one hand laid protectively over your stomach while he smiles down at you. His grumpiness, which has made being a rookie nearly unbearable recently, is completely gone, vanished at the sight of you.
“You shouldn’t be up walking around,” Tim frets.
“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you I cleaned the kitchen, huh?” you reply.
Tim shakes his head, his thumb brushing over the swell of your baby bump as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.
“Are you feeling okay?” Tim asks softly.
You smile, moving your chin to gesture to your left. Tim’s brows pinch as he turns, glaring at the rookies until they look away, turning to one another in a fake conversation.
“I’m not going to survive this afternoon,” Tim tells you.
“You’ve been grumpy and mean,” you accuse.
“Look, they’re going to annoy me all afternoon. Stay with me? You can do a ride along. Oh! Or you could go into labor so I can stay home with you for a few days.”
“As great as that sounds, I’m going to pass. I’d like to have a healthy baby when the time is right, not on your schedule, grumpy.”
Tim frowns, his hands on either side of your bump.
“But, I promise to be waiting for you the moment you get home,” you add. “And, maybe, if you just tell them the truth, it won’t be so bad.”
“You’ve never dealt with a boot. Or Angela Lopez.”
“Just because you won’t introduce me.”
“For good reason.”
You smile, raising your chin again before Tim kisses you quickly.
“Be careful going home. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Tim watches you leave, waiting until you’re out of sight to turn back toward the rookies. He jerks back slightly when he sees Lucy standing right beside him.
“She’s so cute! You’re so cute together! Why haven’t you mentioned her, Tim?” Lucy gushes. “And where do you hide that guy that was with her? I’ve never met that Tim.”
“And you won’t,” he promises.
“I think he leaves that side of Tim with her,” Nolan adds.
Tim’s jaw clenches. It’s true, he knows, but he doesn’t want details of his personal life to become an accepted topic for the rookies. He raises his hand, and they silence.
“Just- leave it alone for now, and I will introduce you the next time she visits,” he offers. 
As he says it, he makes a mental note to ask you not to visit without warning so he doesn’t have to follow through. The lie is the only way to have peace while in the vicinity of the rookies.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” Jackson muses.
“You’re having a kid?” Angela yells, running down the stairs and grabbing Tim’s arm.
Tim grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before saying, “Yes.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“If it’s a girl, Angela is a great name.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ve got a long list of names that are an absolute no-go,” Tim replies, looking between the rookies and Angela.
“How did you figure this out?” Angela asks Lucy.
“She – who is she?” Lucy begins before realizing that she never heard who you are to Tim.
“My wife,” Tim mutters.
“You’re married?!” Angela and Nolan ask together.
Angela slaps Tim's shoulder, frowning when he looks at her with his eyebrows raised.
“I thought we were friends.”
“What gave you that impression?”
Angela gasps, covering her heart with her hand.
“Uh, Tim?” you ask, standing behind him.
He turns toward you quickly, and Angela’s eyes widen as she looks at you.
“Yeah?” he asks kindly, yet another surprise.
“Can you come with me for a second?” You notice the small crowd behind him, officers who seem more interested in you than anything else. “Hi,” you say, waving at them.
“It is so nice to meet you,” Angela begins, stepping toward you before Tim blocks her way with his arm.
“We’ll do introductions later,” Tim says, putting his arm around you and leading you away.
“I’m holding you to that!” Lucy yells.
Tim leads you into an empty interview room, his eyes searching yours. You take his hand, laying it on your stomach. Something happened when you heard his voice earlier, and you want to share it.
“Say something,” you request. “Anything.”
“I love you,” Tim answers.
His eyes widen as he feels the movement of a kick against his hand. He squats before you, moving his hand under your shirt.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” he asks.
You feel another kick, laughing at how your baby already has Tim wrapped around its finger. 
“You promised to make introductions,” you say, interrupting Tim’s conversation with your stomach.
Tim stands, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. Breathless, you push against his chest as you break away.
“You were right,” you admit. “It would be nice to have you home more.”
“We did it,” Tim whispers, his eyes dropping to your bump.
“I feel like I’m interrupting something,” you mumble.
Tim chuckles, rubbing your back as he leads you to the door.
“Introductions, and then we’re going home,” Tim explains. “Names and nothing more.”
“I would expect no less, Officer Bradford.”
638 notes · View notes
spacedace · 1 year
Text
@proshipper-on-ship​ thank you for the Dick & Dan idea you added to my other post, please enjoy some of the fall out your comment resulted in haha
“So,” Bruce tried, looking hesitantly pleased at the surprisingly light atmosphere around the table. “Anything new and exciting going on with anyone?”
There was a smattering of answers from around the table. Jason didn’t offer anything - which wasn’t surprising, that he was even there and largely not starting a fight was more than enough as far as Dick was concerned - but with some ribbing from Steph, Tim eventually admitted to finally asking that boy he’d been interested in out. Dick joined in on teasing his little brother - and even Jay gave, for him, some gentle ribbing over finally getting the balls to do something, eh Timberland? - while very carefully avoiding mentioning his own sorta-kinda thing with Dan in Bludhaven. He’d deal with his siblings making him miserable and embarrassed over it all when he actually scored a date with him thanks very much.
Things were going good.
And then Damian cleared his throat, looking imperious and uninterested at the same time as he waited for everyone to turn to look at him.
“I have an announcement on an alteration to my personal life.” He declared, chin up and looking like he was already over this whole family-bonding-time thing, which was fair. Damian had gotten better over the years, but he was still not exactly the cute and cuddly little brother. Dick still had the scar from the last time he tried to hug Dami without warning a year ago and got stabbed for the effort. Still, he was sharing, willingly even! That’s progress!
At the head of the table Bruce tilted his head, looking as cautiously hopeful as Dick felt over the youngest Wayne actually offering to share something personal. “Have you decided on what college you want to go to then?”
“No.” Dami dismissed easily, without more than a glance in Bruce’s direction. “Night and I have decided to take some time to travel before continuing any further schooling.”
Huh, honestly, Dick was kinda surprised. With how much of a perfectionist Dami was, he’d thought he’d throw himself into college with the same ferocious, competitive drive he did everything else. But then again, if Elle Nightingale was going to be taking a gap year or two, it wasn’t as if it was that much of a surprise that Dami would go and join her.
The two gremlins had been practically inseparable since they were twelve and discovered a shared love of stabbing people and adopting every animal they see. If Dami’s best friend was going to go gallivanting across the world like she always dreamed of doing, Dick couldn’t actually be that  surprised that Dami would be going with her.
Dick took a sip of his drink as Dami opened his mouth to continue with what was probably going to be to most people the world’s most harrowing game of “how many incredibly dangerous animals can we see before we end up dead on our gap year” that the two demons were undoubtedly planning.
He regretted taking that sip almost immediately as Damian said, “Night and I took our marital vows yesterday. She sends her regrets that she was unable to join us for family dinner tonight.”
Predictably, the room broke out into utter chaos.
Dick choked on his drink, spraying across the table and splattering Babs with a shower of wine. She didn’t even seem to notice, dropping her own glass as she snapped her head over to stare at Damian, the sound of breaking glass and a deep red stain pooling across the table following as she did. At the end of the table, Jay made a noise like a dying goose as the samosa he’d just popped in his mouth threatened to kill him. Cass, perhaps the most outwardly calm at the proclamation, only stared with wide eyes at her younger brother as she hit Jason on the back in an attempt to make sure he didn’t die.
Dick could practically hear the old shrieking AOL dial up noise that was Tim’s brain attempting to process what his little brother had just said, while sitting next to him Steph gave a small shriek of you what? Duke’s head was on a swivel, eyes darting from Damian, to another family member, to Damian and back again as if unsure who to even look at in the moment.
Bruce just…stared, frozen in place, face caught in the most open look of shock Dick thinks the man has ever shown in his life.
Damian sniffed and cast a caustic look towards - of all people - Jason, “Unlike some people, I share my good news with the family in a timely manner.”
Jay sputtered, “You know what, fuck you! Fine, you want me to share the news?” Jay snapped his head towards the rest of them. “Jazz is pregnant, baby is due next month on the sixth. Baby shower’s next weekend at Robinson Park, show up or don’t, I really don’t give a fuck.”
Or maybe he was just going to try to kill them with a heart attack.
“What the fuck?!”
“Language!”
“Who the fuck is Jazz?!”
“Language!”
“Night’s elder sister and guardian, Drake, keep up. You should know this, you’re dating her brother.”
“I’m what?”
“And Grayson is having flirtations with her other brother.”
“Dan is Elle’s older brother? Wait - how do you know about that?”
“Todd and I are in the Nightingale family group chat. We have endured far too much waxing poet about your posterior over the past months.”
“Why do they all have variations of the same name? Who gives all their children the same name?”
“He likes my ass?”
“Oh my god, bigger picture Dick, focus.”
“Seriously, do they all have the same name outside of the older sister? I feel like we need to acknowledge they all have the same name.”
“Can we go back to the fact that Damian got married? To Elle? Yesterday? How did you even do that without anyone knowing?
“Dr. Nightingale is a notary.”
“…Dr. Nightingale as in the woman Bruce is investigating Dr. Nightingale?”
“Okay but the name thing? Please tell me you’re not naming the baby some variation of the name Daniel.”
“If the gremlins get their way it will be. Do you know how many lists we’ve made that they keep sabotaging?”
“So you have Dan’s number? Could you give it to me?”
“Jesus Christ, Dick I’m begging you.”
“Why did you guys even get married?”
“For the diplomatic immunity.”
“You don’t have diplomatic immunity.”
“I do now.”
“What does that mean?”
4K notes · View notes
fancycat-thesilvertux · 10 months
Text
Okay, so I’m a fan of Brain Dead - these two overworked boys who need hugs, melatonin, and to sleep in a comfortable pillow fort while wrapped in soft blankets like burritos (bonus points if it’s actual tortilla-pattern blankets) - and I’m also a fan of petty revenge like -
Tim accidentally getting married to Ghost King Danny because Red Robin got captured and used as a sacrifice by a cult to summon the Ghost King to reign destruction but mishap someone forgot to read up on their runes so the “sacrifice” was actually a “sacrificial bride”, meaning magical contract between GK!Danny and Tim.
And Danny, when he gets summoned and realizes what happened, is like, nope. Takes down the cultists, does abscond with Red Robin just to explain the situation and how right now, the dude is his Queen Consort or co-king because magically enforced marriage at least they don’t have to copulate that would have been even worse. And Tim is just computer crashing as he gets an information dump on how one, there’s another realm that’s, two, filled with dead people who, three, is ruled by a guy his age and who, four, Tim is now married to because, five, cultists really need to do their hOMEWORK WHAT THE HELL -
And did I mention that the contract lets them know no secrets between them? So Danny knows who Tim is meaning he knows who the Batfam is but that’s okay since Tim knows who Danny is and oh wow that explains a lot about Jason now with the ecto-contamination by impure ectoplasm -
And Tim really doesn’t want to tell the Batfam what happened since he still has insecurities regarding his place in the family which isn’t helped by their treatment - and Danny is seething because him and Tim actually get along pretty well as friends and Tim has quickly worked his way into Danny’s Obsession of Protecc because Danny will always protect those he cares about and he doesn’t like how Tim gets treated especially when it came to learning about Tim’s missing spleen.
Now here’s the funny part of this AU - because of the marriage contract between Danny and Tim, Tim gets the perks of being Queen Consort/co-king in having power over ectoplasmic beings, so when Jason’s going in on Tim who has been stressed from the situation despite Danny and Tim’s new friends in Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Jazz, and Dani (and Dan if you want to include him) doing their best to help him destress which he greatly appreciates, is still operating on little to no sleep, AND just found out that somebody replaced his extra strong coffee with decaf, Jason who calls Tim “Replacement” one last time -
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Tim snarled at Jason, his eyes glowing a scarily familiar green to the Batfam. Jason’s own eyes began to glow green in response, but instead of his feeling angry, the Pits encouraging him to hurt, Jason can feel the Pits actually COWERING back instead this time, and an incredible urge to not say another peep.
Meanwhile the rest of the Batfam is also freaking out because holy shit when did Tim take a dip in the Pits?!
2K notes · View notes
boysborntodie · 3 months
Text
Details from The Outsiders you may have forgotten or missed
-Cherry doesn't appear after the hearing (her not waving Ponyboy is just a movie thing)
-Ponyboy fucking hates people with green eyes so bad and gets pissed when someone points out he also has green eyes
-Steve always combs his hair into complicated swirls
-The Greasers always play football together
-Soda is one of the only Greasers who never gets drunk
-He also doesn't smoke unless something is bothering him or he wants to look tuff
-Darry, on the other hand, never smokes because it would affect his perfect body which he is very proud of
-Darry is also proud of being smart and sensible
-Ponyboy is the heaviest smoker out of the Curtis family
-Johnny started smoking at 9 and Steve at 11
-Johnny would've run away from Tulsa if it weren't for the gang
-Soda gives killer massages
-Ponyboy's razor wasn't working while he had to dissect a frog so he just took out his knife
-Darry goes skiing with some of his old friends sometimes
-Cherry and Marcia barrel race often and are pretty good at it
-Soda used to ride in rodeos but after breaking a ligament, his dad made him quit
-Sometimes Soda and Steve let Ponyboy help them fix the cars at the DX
-Johnny is the most law-abiding of the gang, and didn't even carry a knife until the Socs jumped him
-Cherry has an older brother
-Ponyboy used to have a yeller cur dog
-Johnny's scar his from his temple to his cheekbone (it's huge and also hard to look at)
-Two-Bit is great at doing impressions
-Two-Bit often raises one eyebrow, and the gang associate the gesture with him
-Dally and the Curtis mother got along well before she died
-Ponyboy is a scarily good liar
-Ponyboy notes that while he sees Johnny as a scared puppy, he actually looks rather hardened and cold to a stranger
-Johnny's skin is lighter under his bangs
-When at the church, Johnny puts his jean jacket over Ponyboy while he went out to get groceries
-Steve, Dally and Two-Bit wouldn't have thought of buying soap at a grocery store
-Ponyboy calls himself a Pepsi addict
-Dally hardly ever cuts his hair
-Johnny loves drag races
-The Curtis Dad took the brothers out hunting often in the country
-Ponyboy has the best aim but hates shooting
-Dally heard of the old church from a cousin
-Ponyboy is the youngest person on the track team but still one of the fastest
-Darry was the closest to their dad
-Steve once called Darry 'all brawn ans no brains' which made Darry made because it reminded him of the fact he didn't go to college
-Darry will suddenly pick up a random Greasers and swings them around
-The Curtis Dad used to call Soda 'Pepsi-Cola'
-The Shepard gang and the Curtis gang have fought seriously on at least on occasion (but it's nothing compared to the rumble)
-The Curtis brothers stayed at the hospital all night for Johnny and Dally until a doctor forced them to leave
-Johnny has a clean police record
-Ponyboy chews his fingernails when nervous
-Johnny often sleeps at Two-Bit's house
-The Curtis brothers all have huge appetites
-Darry always checks Ponyboy's Math homework for mistakes
-Johnny looks like his mother; having the same black hair, dark eyes and tiny built/height
-Soda did actually try really hard to stay in school but he kept failing
-Darry and Ponyboy both enjoyed school and athletics while Soda isn't into either
-The only thing Dally did honestly was jockeying
-Johnny really good at poker (or Ponyboy is really bad)
-The only time Johnny has been confident and not scared in his life, was when rescuing the kids in the church
-Johnny actually gets hurt because he pushed Ponyboy out first of the church
-Sodapop loves attention and was good with the reporters
-Sodapop has a crazy sweet tooth
-The Curtis brothers all love chocolate
-Darry never locks the front door in case one of the gang need a place to stay
-Ponyboy once found Tim Shepard sitting on their couch reading the newspaper
-Ponyboy thinks that Two-Bit wouldn't have gone inside the church if he was there
-Two Bit wished that the one hurt was anybody but Johnny and that the gang would have still been able to get along had it been anyone else
-Darry once took an aerobatics course and taught all the Greasers everything he knew
-Soda and Two-Bit were doing aerobatics and then got arrested for disturbing the peace
-The Curtis gang are noted to be better at fighting than the Shepard gang
-Tim Shepard looked like a model from the magazines Ponyboy reads
-Ponyboy notes that sweat ran down Dally's face when Johnny died, but it was probably tears
-Cherry drives a Sting Ray
-Curly once slipped off a telephone poll and broke his arm
-Johny's a good listener and all the members of the gang often go to tell him about their day or their problems
-Johnny says in his letter that the lives of kids were worth more than his
887 notes · View notes
wahta-auqa · 1 month
Text
Part 2 of Danny the Troll
Part 1 | Masterpost
When Danny moved into the Wayne Mansion, the first thing he did was snoop around. He had a close call with Vlad, he wasn’t going to be stuck in another mansion with another fruit loop. So yeah, now he is wandering around the mansion, as phantom and invisible, so far, nothing has happened, nothing was out of place, but he knew there were something off about this place. So, after dinner, he told everyone he was going to go to sleep and went upstairs. After waiting an hour, and perfecting ‘Pillow Danny’ to take his place, he turned into phantom once more.
First, he stuck his head out into the hall, making sure no one was there and then proceeded to walk around the mansion to find somebody. He found Alfred in the kitchen cleaning, and Duke talking to him about how exciting it was not being the new guy but wished that they could tell him the truth of the family. Danny got suspicious. This truth needs to be known, especially with his own secrets. He decided to see if they had a basement. Maybe they had some super-secret laboratory that he could poke his nose around. He phased through the floor but only got a cave system, which was odd and its own way, but not unheard of. As he was leaving, he heard voices and got his guard back up. When he followed them, he found Damien and Dick fighting in a ring with Cass, Jason, Tim and Steph egging them on. ‘Great,’ thought Danny thought, they have some super-secret underground fighting ring.
Before Danny could decide his next plan of action, a gruff loud voice cut through the cave, “Dick, Damian. It’s time to go.” And there he was, Bruce in a Batman costume, pulling a mask over his face. Danny paused and then looked around the cave. A dinosaur sculpture, a giant penny, the batmobile, motorcycles, a computer set, a medical room and so much his brain felt like it was being fried. ‘WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FU-’ His own thoughts stalled as he looked at his new-kind of-not really-siblings. Damian was dressed as Robin without a mask, Dick was dressed as Nightwing with joggers on, Cass was Orphan wearing a red jacket, Jason was pulling on a Red Hood’s helmet, Tim was Red Robin in a lab coat, and Steph was Spoiler wearing a coat over her suit.
‘NO,’ Danny thought, ‘THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING’ and flew up, back to his room. Danny transformed back and started pacing around his room. “I can’t stay here,” he mumbled to himself, “It’s too dangerous.” “I gotta talk to Sam and Tucker,” Danny went to his the desk and started his laptop. He opened his browser and typed in ‘disco’ with Discord auto-filling, but when he pressed enter, the auto-filled result changed. The browser opened his Twitch channel ‘The Crazy Theories of Unknown’ to a specific stream he had done with Wes, ‘Fallout & Discourse: The Ecto Acts Repealed.’ Danny, in his shocked state, just looked at the screen. He did this stream just before he was taken away from his parents for negligence.
Around 2 months, the Justice League came to Amity, to corral the GIW and inform everyone in Amity, that the GIW and Ecto Acts were fake. A couple days later, Wes came to him, apologizing and wanting to make it up to him for trying to reveal his identity. In the craze of GIW being revealed, their intent was also revealed, plans of dissecting any ghosts they got their hands on, the bombs they tried to send to the Ghost Zone and the media blackout they put around the Amity and surrounding towns. So, they planned the stream, one just explaining what the GIW did, what ghosts were, everything here, there, everywhere, and what it was like as a civilian teenager living in Amity. It was his last stream and his most popular one.
It got focus on him and his family, revealing that his parents were sending money to support the GIW through Vlad. Thus starting an investigation at his home, Child Protective Services got involved, and then Jazz and him were being taken away. CPS explained that their home life was dangerous and that their parents were neglectful, which they didn’t comment on, just side-eyed each other. Once alone, Jazz explained she wasn’t angry at him and that she, too, had been trying to get in contact with CPS for the last 2 to 3 years. Jazz told him everything would be fine now, they would likely be put into housing together, and she would try to get custody when she turned 18. Jazz had a job and had been saving any and all the money she could, but then the other shoe dropped.
Photos and videos of Jazz had been released shooting at ghosts and being congratulated by their parents. Which was a huge misunderstanding, Jazz was helping Phantom, not their parents, but CPS had decided to separate them. Jazz was only months away from turning 18 and, therefore, was going to be sent somewhere for temporary housing. While Danny still had a little under 3 years before he turned 18, so he was going to be given semi-permanent housing. Jazz was being housed at her boyfriend’s house while CPS sent Danny out of state. Apparently, the Justice League recommended it, stating that Danny had shown more reactive behaviour to the ghost attacks and needed more around-the-clock supervision.
Jazz only relented when she was granted access to communicate with Danny and was told that she still could petition to be his guardian when she turned 18. Sam and Tucker thought this was a good opportunity for him to also get away from the ghosts and town, since the portal was shut down when his house got investigated. Danny was going to live with this billionaire with an adoption problem. He was also going to be homeschooled for the time being, so that he could catch up on schoolwork on his own time and not be overwhelmed by his now resounding fame.
Now? He’s just found out that the Wayne family are vigilantes. While staring at his and Wes’ faces for another 5 minutes, he had an idea, it wasn’t a good one, but also just so devious.
One Week Later
Danny had spent the last week talking about streaming again around the Wayne’s. What he wanted to cover and even did a ‘I’m Back!’ stream, to commit to the bit. He had asked everyone if they wanted to be part of his streams, and his first one was about Batman and Robin. That got Bruce and Damian’s attention, they both asked questions about the stream, and Danny waved them off with an answer of “I’m only going over the origins of them,” which got Dick’s attention. Danny asked the three of them to join, but Damian didn’t want to be on camera, so Jason offered to join. Setting the next part of his plan in motion.
The following day, Danny scheduled the stream 3 hours before the Wayne's usually leave the Batcave, and Bruce was getting his extra microphones. Danny brought down his computer and cameras, setting them up in the main seating room. While Damian wasn’t going to be on camera, he wanted to watch, so did Dick, Duke, Tim, Steph, Alfred and their family friend Barbara. Jason was in his seat, messing with his hair when he asked, “So, is the anything you want us to be prepared for in the stream?” Danny paused and pretended to think about it, “No, I want honest reactions and just give your Gotham 2 cents.” Danny was borrowing one of Tim's computers to put in front of Bruce and Jason. It was on the Twitch, pre-live waiting screen, so they will be able to see themselves and see any questions. His own computer would control what everyone would be seeing.
Danny had the room rearranged. He moved a single seater beside the tv but left some room for his mic, and put a table for his laptop on the other side of the chair. Across from him was the couch and the coffee table for the laptop for Bruce and Jason. The TV was hooked up to his computer to mirror one of his laptop screens, to the slideshow he premade. He would also be mirroring the slideshow in Twitch as an overlay so they could see it better. The tv was only for them really. 
Bruce came with the extra mic, and Danny helped set it up on their side of the room. When Bruce and Jason took their seats, everyone else had also taken a seat out of the camera’s view, Bruce asked, “This is my first time being on the Twitch, is it like radio? Do we have some delay to fix any mistakes?” Danny stopped and thought about it this time, “Maybe, I wouldn’t know how to do that, I’m not that advanced.” Danny went to take his seat, and started testing his microphone, “Testing, One Two Three, Tri Du Unu Testado” Jason raised his eyebrow at the Esperanto, “What langua-” “So, the stream will start with me introducing myself, and then you both can introduce yourselves. I will end the introduction with the segment.” Danny started the slideshow, it was a title card for his channel, ‘Danny Fenton: The Crazy Theories of Unknown,’ with some pictures of Batman and the various different Robins, as a sneak peek of what’s to come.
“Wait, how did you get those pictures?” Bruce looked puzzled, as some of these photo’s, he didn’t even recognized, score one for ghost photographers. “Don’t worry about it.” Danny started typing into his computer and started playing light music. “So the stream will start in 5” “Wait, we don-” 
“4” “have anythin-”
“3” “prepared”
“2” And like a switch, they slipped on easy going smiles.
“Hey, everyone, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.” A rush of chats came flying in from over 12,000 different people. “I’m Danny, and I have some guests here today. My fost-wait- maybe we should have gone over introductions beforehand?” Danny paused dramatically, looking dead into the camera. “The Wayne who has been housing me for the last month.” Danny nodded to Bruce and Jason. Bruce went first, “Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne. I’ve never done The Twitch before, I hope I can learn something new.” Bruce tilted his head and kept his smile going. Jason’s smile strained a bit when Bruce called it ‘The Twitch’ before introducing himself, “I’m Jason, and I hope he stops calling it ‘The Twitch’.” Jason side-eyed Bruce before Danny continued with, “So today’s segment is all about Gotham’s Vigilantes.” Danny’s smile just turned up a little more, “And how Batman never really existed, and Robin was the first true vigilante of Gotham”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fun Fact: Whenever I write Barbara’s name, I have to write Bara Bara, then take away the ‘a’ and the space.
Also, this is what the room looks like, here. Just imagine a TV set up in the middle.
412 notes · View notes
snaileer · 5 months
Text
Everyone Loves a 2-for-1 Sale Part 3
Part 1 & 2 (And original Prompt)
The dining room was suspiciously quiet for a Wayne breakfast when Danny walked in.
He glanced up from his phone, pulling one earbud out, “Oh feel free to continue arguing my morality like I’m an object, my music’s on full volume.”
Dick looked uncomfortable, “We weren’t-Look, Ti- Danny, we are just a bit curious as to why you’re…. here,” Dick finished, glancing at the others like asking if they’d share the plate of batguilt-fries with him.
“Surely the world could have done without a second Drake,” Damian cut in before Danny could even start.
“And we could have done without even one of you, yet here you are,” Danny glared, “Factory defects and all.”
Damian jerked upwards with a raised knife, narrowly pushed back down by Dick.
Danny rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his phone-Tim’s phone-their phone. He held a folded paper out to Bruce with two fingers, still typing, “I have a list, if you want it.”
He continued typing as they opening the note and read it, he knew what it said.
To Do in Gotham:
1. Get to Gotham
2. Find original - don’t freak family out
3. -Find- Talk to Bruce
4. Convince Vicki Vale that Tim is/ actually engaged to Tam Fox
5. Get safe house
6. New identity? (what do clones do? - ask Connor)
7.
8.
9. Leave?
“What’s number seven and eight?” Dick asked, and Danny actively made sure his typing pattern didn’t change.
“Don’t know yet,” He answered with a shrug, the picture of nonchalance. Bruce probably didn’t believe him.
Didn’t matter. Dick did. Because Dick felt guilty.
Bat guilty.
About time he believed him about something.
And Danny didn’t care about Damian’s opinions one way or another.
He stepped away from the table, plopping another grape in his mouth as he walked past, “Welp that’s it for me, busy day, fake engagement, gotta find some crutches because I don’t think Vicki will accept my ‘you got new legs Lieutenant Dan-ny’ joke, all that,”
Danny slipped out the door past a sleep-deprived Tim with a jaunty salute, “All’s well in Clone Town!”
Danny kept walking, his brain running miles ahead of him, Ted Tobin steering the wheel with his fingers on the keypad of his phone as he moved forward and mentally filled in the list.
Number 7: Find Ra’s Al Ghul and the Lazarus pits.
Number 8: Stabilize yourself.
Danny continued up the stairs. He had people to see and rings to buy. Busy is the life of a saboteur.
Red Robin watched his clone linger in the jeweler’s store, trying to keep the frown from taking over his whole face.
He was making Tim’s life difficult. Tim suspected it was on purpose.
Largely because people would ask way too many questions if two Tim Drakes showed up in Gotham at the same time.
Hence, Red Robin being relegated to rooftop surveillance.
He turned his attention back to the clone, watching as he left the shop and turned down the street. Red Robin swept after him, following from above.
The clone remained focused on his phone- which was also Tim’s by the way, and stolen- as he walked down the street, turning into an alley without even looking up.
Tim tilted his head and swung to the rooftop, peering into the darkness.
“You could always just come down and actually talk to me, you know?”
Tim dropped into the alley, unsurprised to come face to face with the clone. It was weird to see his own face look so annoyed by him.
“Thought it was best to stay out of sight. We’re not exactly a daylight hero.”
Danny rolled his eyes, “Already annoyed with Vicki Vale?”
Tim nearly growled, “That is your fault,”
“Oh come on, you can’t tell me it’s not hilarious.”
“You’ve spent all morning in ring shops! I have meetings!”
“Lucius can handle them. It’s not like we actually did anything this last year anyways.”
Tim stared at him for a second, confusion in the squint of his eyes and laced with suspicion.
Danny groaned with a roll of his eyes, “Fine, you want me to stay put somewhere so you can do your civilian thing?”
“Yes.”
“I am not staying in the manor. You can’t make me.”
Dread filled him as Tim smiled, “Not a problem.”
Danny glared at Tim standing arms wide in the center of the room of his emptiest safe house, “This is so not what I meant and you know it.”
Tim’s face betrayed nothing, “Look, none of us are happy with this situation-“
Danny scoffed. Understatement of the century.
“But..” Tim continued with a pointed look, “It’s my fault, and I get that. So…compromise? You stay here, work on cold cases while I sort out my current job, and when I’m done, we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”
Danny sighed, feeling Ted Tobin stir to life with plans already forming.
“Fine.”
Tim nodded succinctly, reaching for a laptop and multiple cords, “Ok, here’s my old computer, -huh, I could have sworn that had a different charger- anyways- I’ll take this,” he plucks the phone from Danny’s hands in one smooth motion, giving a mocking smile in return to Danny’s glare, “Thank you very much, now I just have to-and find the guy who…”
Tim’s voice tapers off into mumbles as he heads into the bedroom to peel off his suit, fingers focused on the keypad of his newly reacquired phone.
Danny slumps himself down on the secondhand couch, dust echoing around him. This was fine, he could do stuff in the meanwhile, maybe help Tim with his case -or solve it himself, he bets he could- and then finish the new specs for the suit wings that Danny’s suit still didn’t have.
Tim fumbled through the doorway, now in civilian clothes, already on a call with Lucius probably, or Tam. Tam helped him a lot.
Danny slouched further into the silence.
It felt like being left behind by his parents.
They had bigger priorities.
Archaeology.
Ghosts.
Danny shook his head, opening the computer and letting Ted Tobin fish through the passwords for case files.
He’s nearly 3 hours deep when he really pauses for the first time, finally stopping the continuous notes sitting next him, each a different clue. Most for different cases.
The current case pulled up on his screen scratches at him, facts slotting into place with rapid fire precision.
The officer assigned to the case is a vet.
The case is perpetrated by a senatorial candidate.
The officer assigned served on three active fronts and 2 undisclosed.
The guilty candidate is running support for a bill cutting veteran supports.
Best of all?
It’s not in Gotham.
Danny smiles as Ted Tobin’s plan fills in, piece by piece.
Ra’s Al Ghul should really make it harder to hack into his confidential back market mercenary dealings.
Then again, maybe it was for the better. How else would he make sure Red Robin was able to intercept the assassin in time to save that poor officer’s life the night before his case-closing arrest?
“Detective, I assumed holding my business outside of Gotham would keep it from being the concern of you and yours,” Ra’s’ voice is muffled through the bag over his head, “It seems I was wrong.”
“Oh well, you know me…,” The bag is ripped roughly off his head, leaving him blinking rapidly against the light even as he smirks, “Always butting into things when I shouldn’t. It’s kind of what we do.”
“Tell me, Timothy,” Ra’s says, turning his back to him once more, as he waves his ninjas away, “What does this officer matter to you, more than a state away from your usual stomping grounds? What-“ Ra’s pauses as a different ninja approaches him to whisper in his ear. His body stills.
“Well, we’ll start there. First of all, as I’m sure you just found out, I’m not Timothy,” Danny says, standing up smoothly. He relishes the look Ra’s gives him as he turns around. “And secondly, the officer wasn’t what mattered. Getting you here on the other hand. Now that.. that takes a little more planning.” Danny brushes himself off, removing the cowl to leave just his own domino behind.
Ra’s al Ghul hums, his eyebrow twitching up even as his eyes narrow in suspicion.
“What? No sudden desire to stab? No impromptu attempt to put a sword through my chest?”
“You are curious. So much like the detective, and yet… my people tell me he is currently patrolling in Gotham with the Grayson boy.”
Danny scoffs, “Oh great, another fruit loop interested in me, like I need a new one of those.”
Ra’s’ stare doesn’t change. Albeit a bit more annoyed, but still flat and calm.
“You wanna know what makes me different from Timothy, Ra’s?” Danny pauses, taking a deep breath and letting the ectoplasm ripple inside him for the first time in months. “The difference between me and him,” When he looks up he knows his eyes glow fluorescent green, “Is that I’m stronger.”
Bonus Scene:
Dick stared at Tim’s clone as he left, sweeping past the original’s bleary form stumbling to the coffee machine.
“Are we sure he’s Drake’s clone? He seems… less of a fool,” Damian sneered, watching Tim stand listlessly in front of the cabinet, coffeemaker off, and tablet in hand.
He looked out of the Dining room doors, spotting Danny standing not far away in front of one of the closets by the stairs rather than the actual steps, fingers tapping away.
Damian turned back to his breakfast, “I retract my statement. Clearly his stupidity was simply blinding.”
737 notes · View notes
flamingpudding · 4 months
Text
Drake's family secret #2
Previous Part
Tim was prepared, he had done as much research / digging as he could squeeze in between meetings, even going so far as rescheduling some of them to get more time until the tour guide would lead the high school students to his office.
Some things he had found were worrying even to the point of wanting to just take Danny and move him permanently to Gotham. Even if he knew that Gotham wasn't the safest city either. He had seen the other boy's interest in the aerospace department through the cameras, but with his digging he had found that Danny had been on a fast track for a Junior Space Program with the grades to support it.
Diggin that information up had made Tim proud, thinking that if there was something good about the Drake family it was that both Danny and him appear to have a very good set of brain cells. Though that proud feeling didn't last long when he dug further.
Because then an accident happened to him, leaving him with his last medical record stating a heart condition. After that there were no more dated medical records. In addition the timing of the accident lined up with when Danny's grades pummeled. He went from a A student to a C student in the month following the accident. Not only that but it also appeared that he racked up quite the number of teacher complaints to which he then got labeled as a delinquent student in his files.
Tim had narrowed his eyes at the screen as he lined up the timeline, with some additional information he had found about Amity Park. That information had not been easy to dig up, he had rescheduled at least two meetings so he could work uninterrupted on the strange firewalls that were protecting it, and even then he only got a handful of newspaper clips out of it. But that had been enough, for now.
Because Danny Fenton's accident and declining grades lined up with the appearance of a ghost menace hero Invis-o-Bill. A coincidence? Definitely not. Looked like hero-ing wasn't just a Wayne family thing.
Either way Tim had dug up a lot in a short amount of time about his possible brother. He was still missing a lot of puzzle pieces but he figured he could probably get that information once he made a successful first contact with Danny.
Which was about to happen in a little more than 5 minutes.
His eyes flicked to the door, then to the live security camera feet on his laptop. Yep they were right outside his door. Taking a deep breath and closing his laptop Tim moved to lean on his desk from the front, facing the door.
His plan was easy. give the kids a little motivational speech, spout some inspiring nonsense of 'you too can achieve great things' before dismissing cheerfully but hold Danny back, because his last name was Fenton and Tim 'recognised' it from a list of potential scientist to investment. Have a successful talk and show some interest in the - weird he actually didn't want to touch on but probably will have to consider because Danny had an accident that gave him meta powers that made him decide to go out as meta hero - stuff Danny's foster parents were researching. Ruffle his hair and subtitle pluck one of his hairs in that motion.
For a first DNA test that would be enough. Even if blood or spit would definitely be better, since he had no guarantee to also get the hair root if he just plucked one.
When the knock on his door resounded he cheerfully told them to come in and started phase one of his grand first contact plan. If anyone asked him what he told the students afterwards, he probably wouldn't be able to recount anything he told them as 'motivational speech'. He did his best though to not let his eyes constantly wander over towards the boy.
He took a little satisfaction in the fact that one of the two close friends his possible brother had appeared to be starry eyed at the fact that they got to meet him. That definitely would come in handy later on.
When some of the students started to look rather bored with their attention wandering, Tim thought that this was probably the best timing to enter phase two. Dismissing them with some scripted farewell words, he waited a little. As he expected Danny and his two friends lacked behind when the students left his office.
He cleared his throat, catching their attention. "Mr. Fenton?"
Danny looked at him wide eyed as he turned around to stare at him and Tim internally laughed. "Your parents are on our list of Scientists for possible investment. If you have the time, would it be possible to have a little chat right now?"
He noted how Danny exchanged a look with his friends and the girl among them instantly started to glare at him suspiciously as Danny's seemed to narrow. He cleared his throat once more. "I will ensure that you will get safely back to the hotel your school is staying at. I just think this would be the perfect chance to learn a bit more about ecto-science? That was what they called it, right?"
Okay, plan was not going as hoped as Danny was now full on glaring, not as heated as the girl but still glaring. His other friends had now also lost the starry eyed look in his eyes and was watching him with clear suspicion.
Damage control, damage control! Stop sounding so formal! His mind screamed as Tim once more cleared his throat nervously. "If now is inconvenient, maybe we could meet for a coffee later? I really am hoping to learn a bit more than what's written in stuffy reports."
"We got some free exploring time tomorrow afternoon. It's Tim Drake! We could at least hear him out." One of his friends stage whispered to Danny who continued to watch him with narrowed, glaring eyes.
"Tucker, no." Danny whispered back before addressing Tim. "Sorry, I have no interest in my parents work."
Before Tim could say anything else Danny dragged his friends out of his office to catch up with the other students. Leaving Tim stunned before he dragged a hand down his face. So much for phase two of his first contact plan.
"Okay noted, his parents' research is not the best way to open up contact." Tim muttered before walking around his desk and opening his laptop again. He needed to readjust his plans. Luckily one of Danny's friends, Tucker, gave him some valuable information.
Maybe he could convince Steph or Duke to go to the mall with him to make it appear more natural. Dick could also be an option, he was in town at the moment. But either way that would also risk further questions, when he 'coincidentally' ran into Danny Fenton. He didn't think reasoning with Dick about some good old brotherly bonds would distract his eldest brother long enough.
Maybe it was about time to get at least one of his siblings in on the Drake's family secret.
Or not depending, he could also check their exploring route via the city cameras and then just go coincidentally into the same coffee or food place Danny and his friends happened to go to.
Yeah that sounded better than getting his siblings involved already.
743 notes · View notes
onmyyan · 1 year
Text
Things that just make sense as the Yan!Batfamily's shared Darling.
A/N: slight smutty hc's at the end but so slight, Yandere shenanigans, shared Darling NOT EDITED
Alone time simply no longer exists, someone is constantly vying for your attention, even when you think you're alone one of them is lurking nearby
All of them are terrible with boundaries but Dick! is! the! worst!! First son means first dibbs in his brain, sure he may not have spotted you first or met you first but he makes damn sure to be your first in everything else he can.
I just love the idea of you being 21-23 around Damian's age and him being the one to befriend you initially, be it as a fellow student or an intern at Wayne Tech, he would notice you immediately and always have his eye on you from that point forward.
He holds it over the others heads forever, he genuinely wants them to get smart about something with him, way too quick to pull out the "I'm the reason we have her card." Which instantly shuts all of them up including Bruce.
He'd know you were their Darling before your first conversation, and when you two inevitably do speak and hit it off, it only furthers proves his initial thought- you were the one.
When you first come home and are, understandably freaked the fucked out, Bruce is the one to come in and calm you down, undoes your restraints with a tender hand, massages the sore areas with an apology, goes on to explain that you're safe and nothing would ever hurt you again.
Tim uses his big brain to trick you into thinking he's not as bad as the others.
He'd never chain you to the bed out of possession like Dick or beat a man's skull in for looking at you too long like Jason.
He wasn't as intense as Damian or controlling as Bruce. He was perfect for you.
If anyone of them ever overwhelmed you with their love Tim was the one you'd bury your face into, lucky him, you miss the evil little smile he shoots the rest of the family every time.
Jason is s lot like a shelter dog. On guard 24/7 and always ready for a threat, the only way to calm him down when he gets like this is to pull him into your chest and let him melt into you for a few hours.
Dick takes you to the roof to watch the stars, he's a pro at this by now and always makes you feel safe. He likes to sit with his back against the wall of the roof, knees spread on the side of your huddled body as you say on his lap. You'd be in a pair of his sweats and an old hoodie, surrounded entirely by him, just the way he liked it.
Your birthday is a warzone, fistfights have broken out about who gave the best gift.
If Jason is in his city girl era he will leave a bloody heart on the wall at every one of his fights for you. A little J+(Y) in the middle to really seal the cheesy deal.
Bruce hires you as an assistant for three reasons.
1. You were complaining about being bored while they went about their day jobs and he loved the cute way you'd brighten whenever he got you what you wanted.
2. He knew he'd gain some huge brownie points
3. He got an excuse to see you more than the boys and you wore a tight little Secretary outfit while he did.
Plus he loves the idea of taking you against his desk while on the phone with some nobody shareholders, trying so so hard to keep his voice level while you're twitching and creaming around him.
Damian would read with you in the garden, your days with him would be softer than you'd imagine, comfortable silences and moonlit dancing, he's a true romantic at heart.
Tim loves everything you do, he makes it a mission to be a like you as possible, so much so now whenever you wanna indulge in one of your favorite activities he's the first person you think of, he's got you trained well.
There's a schedule made to adequately divide your time amongst them, of course you know nothing about it, but they'll hold meetings in the cave to talk about you, how you're adjusting, if they have any gripes or complaints- this is when they're aired out.
They know their love language is illegal unconventional in societies eyes so they account for it, in public you're their fathers loyal assistant, they'll allow themselves to be photographed with random women to keep suspicions off the true nature of your relationship.
And if you're thinking "hm I bet I could use that against them. Maybe say they couldn't love me as they claim if they're sleeping around" Don't. You'd be getting that poor random woman eviscerated.
I hear you asking "Surely Batman wouldn't break his sacred rule for a Darling." And you're right, he wouldn't.
But Jason would.
And all of a sudden Batman doesn't find it so hard to look the other way, so long as he gets to look at your pretty face while he does it.
You get fucked in the Batmobile at some point
3K notes · View notes
your-yandere-kiss · 7 months
Note
Can you imagine being the shared darling of the batfam? Cuz I sure can 👀. Wish I could beam my ideas directly into your brain cuz I'm nowhere near coherent enough to write them down 💀
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I LOVE this and I'm building on the idea a little bit...🦇🖤 I think Darling begins as belonging to one member of the Batfam, a romantic darling.
Bruce meets Darling through her work as a plucky detective with a bad habit of getting into trouble. As Bruce, he charms, wines, and dines her and as Batman he saves her life, Darling slowly unraveling the truth of both men as they fall deeper and deeper in love....though she still doesn't know just how dark that love truly is until it's too late.
Dick stumbles upon his Darling as Nightwing, the damsel in distress! Can anything be more romantic? Of course he starts stalking protecting her from afar before approaching her as Dick and after that, game over! He's madly in love and Darling is going to love him too, no matter what!
Jason meets Darling at some stuffy event Bruce dragged him to one night. She's the daughter of some suit and, after bumping into him in an attempt to escape some creep, they talk and laugh and dance together, Jason feeling happy for the first time. Perhaps that's how it happens. How he starts stalking her, killing for her, coveting her in ways he cannot understand. He should feel bad. Guilty even. But Jason's too in love to care anymore...
Tim meets Darling at school, on dreary day. He's doodling in a notebook and they're reading a book they have hidden behind a textbook, Tim stretching to see what it is. Twilight. Unable to resist, he leans forward and, in his best Batman voice, whispers "hang on tight, spider monkey" making them both start laughing in the middle of class. Yeah, they got detention. But they fall in love too, the seeds of a dark obsession planted on that fateful day.
Barbara has known Darling her whole life. She's always been a friend but for the past few years, something has changed. Barb has changed, friendship becoming love and love becoming obsession. She truly is ashamed of it but she cannot stop herself from watching over Darling, deluding herself into signs that mean her love is returned.
Damien meets Darling through his work...because she's the Penguin's daughter. They didn't even know that Cobblepot was married much less that he had a kid. But there she is, a picture of sweetness and innocence in such a dark world, and Daemon is drawn to her at once. He knows it's twisted and he doesn't care, too enamored to question himself.
Cassandra meets Darling through work, both on opposite sides of the line, Darling as a villain and Cass as a hero. But that just makes Cass love her more, seeing Darling as someone who is in need of saving more then anyone else. Darling was born into a crime family and, though she's not a bad person at heart, she feels as though she had no choice while secretly dreaming of escape...so Cass isn't wrong.
Duke meets Darling at a museum, a school trip that met up with a local public school. They both snuck away from their groups in order to check out an as-of-yet unopened exhibit and spend the day running around, avoiding teachers/security, and being cute. He leaves with Darling's number and a newfound obsession. 🖤
But I think all of the Darlings have something in common. Living in the same corner of Gotham, a sleepy (and thankfully villain attack free) little place, one of the oldest parts of the city. Everything, from the shops and apartments/houses to the street lamps, is still in it's original Victorian Era style. Everything is dark but cozy and in candlelight, looking over a small park. They each have a pet, an interesting job, and a secret diary (not so secret when you have a yandere reading it but anyway)!
All it takes is one.
One yandere to fall in love and bring you into the madness. Because one dark night you'll be brought home in chains, already the prisoner of one twisted love...only for the prison to grow darker, a twisted love growing tenfold. I think, for the most part, it would be a Romantic yandere x Darling x Platonic yanderes but I also like the idea of a Poly Yanderes x Darling situation (the batboys sharing a darling????). 🖤🖤
537 notes · View notes