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vanillafantasy01 · 8 months

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Lunch Break | Steve Harrington | Male Reader | Lemon

"Your pullout game is weak." - R

"Then you must like being filled if you're still with me >:)" - S

TW: Bottom Male Reader, Gay Smut, Fingering, Hand job, Sub Domination, Reader Gets Turned Into an absolute Fuck Doll [I think...] 🙈 - MDNI

I had a little too much fun with this one y'all, how did I even get to 4k!? 💀🖐🏾 I wanted to make this a little extra kinky by making Steve into a college professor. I hope none of my classmates find out about this. Like I seriously don't know what possessed me to write this LOL

It was mid-break when it happened. Steve had come out of nowhere and latched onto your wrist with such suddenness and force that it had momentarily petrified you, refusing to answer any questions of concern you threw at him. He was actively ignoring you while dragging you to who knows where, and it didn't help that his expression throughout the course was fixed into something severe. It was as if he was mad…annoyed, even.

You're jolted to a stop when Steve abruptly halts ahead of you, seemingly forgetting that you were trailing directly behind him and stopping squarely in front of a… the Janitor's closet? The thickness of his back collides painfully with the tip of your nose as a result, and you grunt in response. Steve doesn't apologize, though. Instead, he opens the door with one swift motion and hastily ushers you into the room before following closely behind himself.

It was dark and musky, the limited source of light penetrating the room's gloom, barely allowing you the necessary rays to make out the general build of it. It was small, and very much so; you and Steve squashed against each other to secure a spot in the room. And as expected, it's filled with brooms and mops of varying sizes and colors.

You're broken out of your thoughts when Steve harshly pins you up against the wall, the unforgiving weight of his body not allowing you any leeway to squirm. A frown still sits upon the frail lips of his face, the ends of his eyes slightly downcast to give off a disapproving look. The room was small, so Steve was practically on top of you to fit in. It made you acutely aware of his overall presence.

He moves his head to rest his chin gently on your shoulder, still frowning as he cradles his jaw into the vulnerable crook of your neck. He stays there for a good minute or two, breathing in and out on your collarbone, and only dares to stop when he gathers the will to speak.

"Sending me nudes during class is too much of a tease, don't you think?"

He licks at the brittle base of your neck while saying this, fondly kissing at and nibbling on your external jugular vein. "Someone could have seen…"

Steve was very possessive when it came to you. A secret he failed dramatically at keeping subtle, despite his best efforts. Leaving countless hickeys on you was his way of laying claim and always being present. The location of his marks would vary on how jealous he was feeling at the moment, more often than not done in random and manageable areas, something you could make do with by simply wearing clothes leaning more towards the baggy and conventional side. Albeit on days he exceptionally felt jealous, they were done in harder-to-cover-up regions, meant to ward off the lingering men that would shamelessly eye fuck you. You would often have to wear turtlenecks when going out because of how frequently he would leave bruises on you, mainly when it came to school. To plainly say he liked marking you would be an understatement with the undivided way he would indulge in it. It was a necessity for him, vamping you. It gave him a sense of undeniable ownership over you.

And truthfully, in a way, he did. The fact that you were cramped into a tight locker on the school ground making out with him and gave little to no fuck was proof. But it wasn't because you were unbothered by the current location and situation you and Steve were in, but rather because it was a losing battle. Steve's pampering was slowly swaying the best out of you, and your desire for submission was beginning to tip the scales, slowly but surely overpowering your morals and standards. Your body was craving him — needed him, and it was starting to fog your reasoning.

Steve parts from your neck to focus on playing with your right helix instead. The sly sensation of his callous left hand snaking beneath your shirt in a slow, tantalizing descent sends sparks running down your spine. He breaches the back of your pants with one swift movement and catches you off guard by cupping the fullness of your ass with such force that it makes your breath hitch. However, he doesn't just stop there, quickly following up on his advance by longingly dry-humping against you. His pants were still on, but even then, you could feel the eager way his dick pulsed against your erection as he continued to grind into you, the receiving pleasure muted from the thin layers of fabric tightly keeping his cock from being out and exposed. But Steve doesn't bat an eye at that. He just wanted to feel you on him—to feel you squirming against his cock. And luckily for him, that is just what you do.

A minute or two passes by with him just desperately rutting against your pelvis and you lewdly pushing back against him to help him attain that euphoric friction he was no doubt chasing. Your bodies were moving on their own, taken over by lust. Everything you did was done subconsciously, and you wanted to tell him to stop. To disclose that someone could walk past and hear what the both of you were doing at any given minute, that you could get into serious trouble for what you were doing, and who you were doing it with— but the tightness of his pants as he forced his bulge against you had you involuntarily rocking your hips back instead, your mouths sealed shut… A losing battle.

"St-steve." You can't help but moan.

Your hands reach to entangle your fingers into his hair, and you pull it hard enough to spur him into action, groaning. Steve temporarily breaks from you and leaves you high to quickly fight with his zipper, the aching throb of his sleuth encouraging his hands to go faster.

And sure enough, this time around, when he presses into you, something objectively bigger, pointier, and warmer pokes into the right side of your abdomen, crushed sorely between the sweaty heat of your pressed bodies when Steve retakes his position against you to capture your lips. He moans and humps the soft cup of your palm when you deftly maneuver your hand in between you to take hold of his dick, proudly smirking when you feel Steve shiver against you at your touch.

"…Please…" His voice breaks. "…I need you."

The raw adrenalin and rage of hormones coursing through you only make it possible for you to manage a meager nod in response, your mind stunted and overwhelmed. You couldn't think — at least, you didn't want to. You only wanted Steve, and you wanted him deep inside of you.

Your prayers are answered when Steve pins you harder against the wall by fully pressing the rest of his weight onto you, using the fact that his left hand was already in your pants to gently prod at your hole with the slender tip of his finger — circling, tapping, and rubbing at it through the thin fabric of your brief. You close your eyes. He was being a tease.

You can't say that to your surprise. Steve has always been hellbent on breaking you to the right amount of desperation, knowing that it would be far easier to make you give in to his whims if your needs were taunted, just one "please" away from being met. He would also bask in the way your face would crumble with utter bliss every time you were finally given what your body yearned for… Him.

The motion of Steve's hand snaking up to grasp at your chin forces your eyes back open, and nothing but the image of a devious smirk and a dangerous pair of promiscuously starved eyes invades your line of sight. He stands there, frozen, unfazed by the desperate way your body uncomfortably twined against him at the sudden lack of action. If it weren't for the eager way his dick throbbed against your stomach, you would have thought him frozen.

But no.

That wasn't it.

Steve was actively refusing to give you any more pleasure. "Steve-"

"No."

"But-"

"Wait."

His voice is stern and quick, coming off as raunchy, and it doesn't take long for your brain to register the sinister way he looks at you. It was as if you were prey — something small and vulnerable caught readily in the sharpened claws of an apex predator… Him.

You knew that look, that bubbling rise of primalness in his eyes. The instinct to dominate whatever was in front of him lurking closely underneath. A look he gave you specifically when something especially vindictive came to mind.

Your thoughts are confirmed when Steve releases his body pressure off you with one sudden movement and takes a step back to lean on the door, his middle finger stuck out and leveled perfectly with his hip, aligned suggestively beside his dick. It mimics the latter in the defiant way it points directly at you, and Steve is quick to stop any confusion. He smirks.

"You want me in you… right?" He taunts, his eyes gleaming with mischief when you nod back at him. "…Then work for it."

It takes you a moment to fully register his demand, your eyes blown semi-wide and fixated on the crooked smirk drawing the bruised red of his lips. You don't move or say anything, and Steve only arches a brow in response. Your brain was telling you that this was all just a game, that Steve would blow his facade and burst out chuckling any minute now, saying sike and that he was only messing with you. Steve doesn't move, not even in the slightest…He was dead serious.

You take the two steps necessary to close the distance between you, trying your best to divert your gaze from him to avoid staring him dead in the eye, not wanting to see the smug expression that was, no doubt, gracing his face at your show of submission. Steve had an ego—and one that helped him considerably when it came time to take the lead as the dominant role in bed; something he took to quite effortlessly, might you add, and has been confident and comfortable with ordering you around in and out of your sex life ever since.

Steve chuckles softly when you come to a stop and finally gather the will to look up at him, his eyes gleaming expectantly for the entire duration of you trying to awkwardly shift yourself around the room to fix yourself in front of his body. Your back was faced toward him with your butt licentiously perked out for access, and Steve bites his lip at the sight of it. He was struggling to keep himself from pouncing on you.

You slowly lower yourself onto him, and your legs quake with such density that they threaten to give out right beneath you. You could practically feel the arrogance rolling off of Steve in waves, his fiery gaze burning into the tender skin of your neck from behind, ablaze from the vulnerable way your body reacted to him. It intensifies more when you unintentionally let a moan slip.

"You're going to have to go faster than that if you don't want somebody to catch us." He taunts, moving from his resting spot on your shoulder to nibble on your right helix.

You remind yourself that you're in a literal closet to refrain from cursing him out of embarrassment, choosing to use the little rational thinking you have left to grit your teeth instead. "…Shut up, Steve…"

Steve grins almost devilishly at your demand, and goosebumps emerge on your skin.

"Should you really be talking like that to someone who has you at their mercy?" He questions, leaning into the curve of your back to rest his chin on your shoulder to whisper into your ear. "I could turn you into a bitch in heat with just the curl of my finger."

Steve carefully caresses your prostate to exaggerate his point, biting your collarbone at the crumble of your expression. You were depriving him of the heavenly satisfaction of hearing you moan by trying to stay quiet, and he was slowly starting to disapprove of that.

He liked it when you were vocal. It was an indirect say to how good he was when it came down to pleasuring you, something he took immense pride in. Steve wanted to hear you moan his name—to see you on your knees, begging him to take charge of you.

But you were too shy when it came to sex for that. At least when you still had your sanity. Steve knew all he had to do to bring out that lewd side of you was to tease your limited patience until you eventually grew frustrated enough to take matters into your own hands. You just needed a proper push. One strong enough to have your guard break and have you moaning his name with no care in the world. You were too occupied mentally with the fact that you were in school, making you tense and dramatically stunting your performance.

Steve pulls his middle finger out of you to clump it with his index and ring fingers before collectively spitting on all three of them, not wanting to risk chafing you. It goes without saying that when he retires to re-penetrate you, the doubling of size stops him from sliding in effortlessly, that blissful pressure on your sphincter increasing. Fuck. It was taking everything within him to stop himself from ravishing you. He wanted to take things slow by steadily easing you into it, not wanting to scare you. But you were making it hard with the uncontrollable way you continued to quiver all cute against him, and his body was starting to get impatient with the lack of attention on his part, his dick throbbing poorly for action.

He takes his frustration out on your neck instead, trailing the thick of it and going down to its base while leaving hickey after hickey on his heated expedition to your collarbone, gently nicking it with his teeth.

"You'll have to stretch yourself out more than that if you ever want to take me." Steve mocks.

And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You had barely gotten much down with just his middle finger, more focused on the pleasure it was providing you rather than using it to open yourself up to accommodate Steve.

You steadily ease your body onto the clump of his fingers while trying your best to suppress your moans and gradually allow all three of his digits to pierce the defensive tautness of your hole. Another groan rips its way out of your throat when you feel Steve's fingers buck against your prostate, making him smirk. It was getting more difficult for you to control your urges and moans, your body slowly releasing the tension that had you tense and stuck up in the first place, getting more reckless by the second. Steve enjoyed every second of it— of you.

It wouldn't be long before you would be on your knees begging for him to break you in. Something he thought well deserved of you. Especially after how shamelessly distracting you had been in class, sending him nude after nude and tauntingly smirking at him while sitting and doing suggestive things when his eyes would temporarily catch yours. He would have gotten in trouble for the bulge you provoked if it wasn't for the thick fabric of his jeans.

Steve takes his unoccupied hand to dearly caress your jaw before gently kissing it, only daring to remove his lips when he uses his grip on your chin to bring your head closer to his. His lips find solace on yours with such assertion that it rivals that of a snake coiled to prance. His tongue laps and tangles with yours, the both of your spit intermingling at the ball of your tongues. And as much as he wanted to, Steve didn't take over. Not yet. You weren't ready yet. He plays the field justly, trying to avoid overpowering you with his tongue's movements and striving to keep the power level even.

Steve parts from you with a heated breath, a single strand of spit connecting you as you melt into his embrace, your back still arched and with Steve's fingers enthusiastically exploring the depths of you. It was as if your body was limp and Steve was your support cane, your expression dazed and eyes thoughtlessly crinkled. Your mind was nothing but a complete maze of haze, and it took one look on Steve's part at them for him to know that you were finally ready.

His fingers depart from you with a sickening squelch to find comfort on either side of your hips, still slick. Now nothing was blocking him from being entirely flushed with you, and that meant his dick resting firmly on the plump top of your ass, his tip poking angrily into the arched curve of your back. Steve shudders when you grind back onto him, groans of approval leaving him to run several laps in your ears. His breath gradually ascends into something aggressive, becoming shallower and more inconsistent with each minute he anticipates being in you.

"Can I put it in...?" Steve growls, swallowing, the exposed veins along his body bulging appealingly as his chest heaves. His throat felt dry.

Steve's face was red, and evidently more so, his dick, the thirstful movement of his hands on your body evidence of him not being able to withstand another minute of not being in you. Steve grabs his dick and aligns it perfectly with your hole in one eager movement.

His tip prods your sphincter, his hand on your waist steadily easing you back into him. Steve wanted so desperately to be in you. So badly for the both of you to get lost and revel in the moment—the pleasure. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion. The feeling of your hand reaching in between your twined bodies and wrapping around him encourages a shock-like almost chill to shoot through his legs, and his hips subconsciously jerk forward. "Y/N... Please..."

The tip breaks the protective tightness of your hole with the first supported thrust of Steve's, and he has to plant his head in your neck to ground himself. You were tight; hot, the combination of both turning his brain to mush. It was almost pathetic how easily his body crumbled into submission the second he was within you.

Steve bites your nape when you finish inserting his dick, his toes curling in the confines of his shoes. "Fuck~"

The pleasure was immense—overwhelming with the degree of ecstasy that washed over him like tidal waves, lapping against his skin until they eventually crashed against the rocky shores of his consciousness. With that one slow thrust, everything was lost, and Steve found himself mentally fighting to refrain from reaching his all-time high. He couldn't come. Not after the big game he put up earlier.

He stays there for a minute or two, allowing you and him some time to adjust to the incinerating pleasure your bodies were simultaneously drunk off of. Steve only dares to move when he doesn't feel like one contraction on your part will make him prematurely ejaculate. It tears a trembling moan from you, and Steve uses it as an opportunity to slide both his middle and ring finger in your mouth, playing with your tongue by repetitively pulling and clasping at it, the spit backing up in your throat threatening to choke you ever now and then. Your brain teeters on the edge of going white, braindead—utterly blank from the restrictive breaths Steve's fingers were allowing you. It was already a mess—you were already a mess, and Steve's roaming hands were only making it worse. Steve doesn't stop though, seemingly unaware of this by the lustful way he continued to fuck into you. He was turning you into a sweaty, heated, quivering bitch-in-heat. It didn't help that his unyielding grip on your tongue was starting to make spit trail out from the right side of your mouth and pool at your collarbone.

You're allowed a break to breathe when Steve pulls out his fingers to grab at your waist, his dick still managing to pulse wildly within you despite the prolonged session it had to endure. He was breathing shallower, his pace shifting into something increasingly breathy with each thrust—heavy and inconsistent. His thrust faster, harder, and more erratic, Steve forces moan after moan out of you, his teeth breaking the feeble skin on your neck when he sinks his teeth into your nape.

The lewd sounds you were making were no doubt rebounding the school halls from the lascivious way it echoed the room you were in. If anything, you were practically a stereo on blast for all within range to hear. And at first, it was scary. You didn't want to get caught, not in such a scandalous position. Yet, all the same, you were stirred...exhilarated, almost. As much as the idea of getting caught terrified the living hell out of you, it was arousing you to limits you didn't even know were possible. It was as if the dread of getting caught was an unfaltering flame, the precariousness of your situation infinitely fuelling your lust. You wanted it—carved it, and that made you feel sick.

You're broken out of your thoughts with a harsh groan in your right ear from Steve and him cursing. Your back was still arched, your face tiredly plastered against the closet's wall. You can feel the tedious way Steve's muscles clench and unclench against you: his arms, his legs, his torso... his dick. He was going to cum.

"mm~ Wait- Steve~" You tried to warn, your voice slurred and your words broken. If he didn't stop ramming into you at the specific angle and stimulating your prostate, you were going to come all over the wall.

But Steve doesn't heed your warning, ignoring your plead altogether by brushing you off with another bite to your neck, just hard enough to leave another one of his marks behind. It seems to be the tipping point because not long after, you can feel something warm and slick shooting up into you, Steve groggily moaning in your right ear. He catches his breath by licking the swollen wound on your neck and nibbling on it, not making it long before you follow in his steps and ride a high of your own, coming yourself.

It makes Steve smirk in his resting position against you, his hands leaving your hips to tenderly rub at your arms, "We have 5 minutes until your next class..." Steve kisses you, "But we could skip it if you want to... I can see your legs trembling from here."

You try to retort, but your body is so tired that you can only grumble back at him in response, your mind focusing on one thing.

Steve came in you...

You lean back into him to catch your breath and playfully elbow him in the stomach when you do. "Your pullout game is weak."

But Steve smiles smugly at your attempt to belittle him and sets his chin on your shoulder to hover just off your ear. "Then you must like being filled if you're still with me."

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x male reader #male x male #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #stranger things x male reader #stranger things x reader #gay fanfiction #gay #gay reader #lgbtq #im so scared to post this lol #omg!!!

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nyerusnova · 8 months

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Glad to see that Tim being a giant Dick Grayson fanboy is finally being highlighted again, and sparking more discussion especially on their early relationship! (Please gimme more!!! I love them so much, augh!)

Probably as a result of that surge, there seems to be reciprocal chatter on the topic of how young Tim actually felt towards Jason, too. It's honestly pretty interesting, because it's more nuanced than it appears at first glance.

Which means it's very fun to dissect! ✨

There's a degree of subjectivity to keep in mind, because readers are going to have different interpretations of the same scenes, or will pull from entirely different scenes than one another to form their individual view on this topic. That's just how it is in comic book fandom, for many things! Regardless, in this case... if the scale ranges from the extreme of "Jason was Tim's Robin" to the other extreme of "Tim actually hated Jason [as Robin] or thought he was a loser that got himself killed" — the actual truth is closer to the middle, as is often the case.

At least, in my opinion.

Mainly I want to focus on those relatively early days with this post, to highlight Tim's initial(-ish) feelings towards his heroes, and touch on the point at which they really begin to change. This turned into a very long post, though. Brevity is beyond my skill, so grab snacks and water lol. Transcripts for each image will be posted at the very end under the cut.

So, the two storylines I want to cover are "Rite of Passage," which is rolls into "Identity Crisis." (NOT to be confused with the major crossover event "Identity Crisis™" which came years later, and is where Jack Drake dies.... But it sure is an interesting coincidence that Tim deals with the loss of each parent in two similarly named stories!) These take place before Tim is even Robin, and I'll be considering them as one arc for this post.

Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 (July, 1990) -- Pages 1 & 2

"When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero."

"One day, I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit."

To start off, we have this opening from "Rite of Passage." Tim is still in training here, mainly helping Bruce with minor stuff from the cave. His parents are off traveling, alive and well as of these next few pages. He's still bright-eyed and full of wonder. An extraordinarily weird but ultimately innocent kid.

So his view on Jason is positive and fairly simple: a hero, and someone to look up to as Robin. Clearly, Tim here doesn't think Jason was deficient in his role, either as a protector of Gotham or as Batman's trusted partner.

Moreover, Tim already held Dick in very high regard because he was amazingly skilled before he became Robin. To Tim, that's not something he'll ever be able to achieve. Meanwhile, Jason wasn't like that. He was a regular kid without crazy acrobatic training since practically birth. Yet he still went on to be a hero—which is obviously motivational for Tim who finds himself in similar shoes.

It's true that Tim only ever knew or thought of Jason as Robin, and idolized him in that regard. But that's kind of all that mattered to him at that point, because he was this kid who was utterly star-struck by his heroes. Even if he's technically aware of their shortcomings as people, it's overshadowed by the hero-worship.

It was kind of the same with Bruce as Batman at first. (Which was still enough for Tim to risk life and limb to help his beloved hero, before Bruce even knew his name.) Dick was the only one Tim had any sort of "personal" relationship with beforehand, so there is an extra level of attachment—and hence why it was the nidus for his obsession with Batman. Yet even then, it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Dick as a person until later. Until then, Tim's ideas of him were all he had, too. With Jason, Tim just didn't get to know him at any point before his return (oof), apart from what he heard over the years secondhand (also oof).

Ultimately, it's the loss of innocence—along with the ricocheting bullet that is the unresolved guilt of those around him—that begins to change Tim's perception. Not just of Jason, but of things in general.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 13

"I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry, they're full of rage. They want to hit back."

Losing his mother was a major shift for Tim, obviously. This is right after the previous storyline, and Tim's had the worst week or two of his life (so far). His monologue here is a reference to what happened to both Dick and Jason. The unbearable pain of loss, the rage masking the grief underneath. And importantly, that he feels both of them were justified in their anger. (And Bruce too, indirectly.)

The major theme of the aptly named "Identity Crisis" is to mirror aspects of Dick and Jason and Tim's lives—to show how they converged onto the same tragic road. It's something that Tim notices early in the story, and was frightened by. Now, horrifically, it's become a part of him as well. His parents are gone, and he was entirely helpless to do anything about it. Dick was the same way, Jason was the same way. The cycle is repeated.

In particular, the part about him wanting to go to Haiti for revenge—for his mother—sort of struck me as being an intentional parallel to Jason and Ethiopia. It's a bit of a stretch, especially in isolation, so others may see it differently (e.g. the angry ramblings of a grieving child that does sound like something anyone might say). But it always stuck out to me because of how much Tim is compared directly to Jason in this arc. More on that below.

It's not something I can really give an accurate feel of because it's a lot of subtle things that begin to add up, so I'd encourage folks to read this arc themselves to see what I mean. (Or maybe you'll still disagree which is fine too lol.) Again, many things are in reference to both Dick and Jason in relation to Tim, but it's weighted more on Jason's side.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 18

"You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't!"

Tim's grief has begun to pull away the veil of idealism that enshrouded his heroes in his mind. It doesn't apply only to Jason, but to the rest of them. Plus add the fact that Tim's keenly aware that he's being managed, even if the adults around him are careful to not outright say certain things. He still knows.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all worried about Tim potentially turning into "another Jason." They (and mainly Bruce) caution Tim to not ignore his emotions, but they're still concerned that he may be overly eager to prove himself in order to cope, and could get hurt or killed as a result. While they aren't wrong for their caution—especially at how unsettlingly similar all the circumstances are—they aren't very subtle about the elephant in the room.

Imagine how that would affect Tim's perception of his predecessor, especially when he's in the midst of a traumatic event he hasn't had time to fully process. The negative association is pretty much inevitable.

Tim's known from day one that he's walking in Jason's shadow, and now it's become inescapable. Tim went from seeing Jason as a goal to reach, to feeling that unless he surpasses him, he wasn't going to be taken seriously by anyone. However, as of this arc, Tim doesn't even fully come to that point yet.

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Pages 14 & 15

"Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone!"

It's really easy to take away "Tim totally thought Jason got himself killed" as the main thing here, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

First some context: Bruce has gone out on a mission to get Scarecrow, and expressly forbade Tim from doing any shenanigans. Meanwhile, Tim is grappling with wanting to prove himself and trying to help Bruce from the cave, all while trying to deal with his emotions. At some point, he falls asleep and ends up having like... exhaustion-grief hallucinations of Dick!Robin and Jason!Robin who confusingly caution yet encourage him. The main theme of this part is facing your fears.

Depending on how you want to interpret the intent of Jason's dialogue here, you could go several ways with it. Ranging from "writer's feelings towards Jason" to "a peek into Tim's mind as his fears manifest as visions of his heroes" or some mixture thereof.

Though Tim argues with Bruce that Batman needs a Robin, we're shown that Tim is understandably scared of joining Batman's "war." He's still not willing to let Bruce go it alone, though, and that's something he feels more strongly than his fear.

Meanwhile, hallucination!Jason's warnings are a lamentation of what happened to him in a way, but it actually exactly describes Tim's current situation even more so. Unlike Jason, Tim is under-trained, under-experienced, doesn't even have a suit of his own yet. But like Jason, he can't sit by and do nothing while someone he cares about is in danger. Tim knows that if he goes out there, he will probably get himself killed, and it will be his own fault. So he's about to disobey Batman's orders, and fly right into danger. If that got Jason killed, then Tim—who is in a way worse position experience-wise—has every chance of ending up the same.

Like... it's about Jason, but it's also about Tim. It's Tim's worst fears made manifest, via the representation of why he is even here in the first place (Jason's death).

That's my theory anyway, but perhaps this is an overly charitable reading of this scene on my end. (Not that I think that makes me wrong lol.) However given that Grant wrote both parts of this arc, and the beginning of which is especially favorable towards Jason, it certainly is something to ponder. I have a lot of thoughts on it I can't expand on here tbh but perhaps that'll be another post.

Anyway, returning to the point of the similarities vs differences between Tim and Jason: since this is the arc that solidified Tim as the next Robin in comic continuity, it makes sense that the writers really pushed the comparisons between the two of them, specifically. (Even though Dick was pretty similar, as going against Batman's orders is the Robin thing to do, it's not his shoes Tim is directly filling.) So making Tim's "debut" story arc mirror Jason's "swansong" is an obvious narrative choice.

To drive home the parallels, I wanted to include this panel from just a few pages prior to the "daydream":

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Page 9

"The suit is magic."

That so distressingly close to Jason's famous "being Robin gives me magic" line (Batman #385, page 6). Given all the previous context, it's hard for me to just dismiss it as pure coincidence. Even if it is, the point still stands. Tim is shown having the some of the same heartbreakingly naive views as Jason once did, right in front of Jason's memorial, just as he's about to go and run off into the night against orders.

I think that speaks for itself. There's a lot to take away from it, if you so choose. Especially given the context of that specific Jason arc.

Alright, back to the main course:

So in the end, Tim actually goes out in civvies and a ski mask because if he fails, then at least he wouldn't bring shame to Robin's legacy™. When he gets fear gassed saving Batman, it's once again both Dick and Jason that he hallucinates encouraging him to push past his fear. (Shout out to the fact that he's literally more afraid of tarnishing the legacy of Batman & Robin than he is of dying.... I'm sure this will not be a recurring thing for him in the future.)

Tim's ideology is shown to be similar to Jason's, and the actions Tim ultimately takes are similar to Jason's... but the outcome is different. And it really isn't just "Tim succeeded where Jason failed." At least, that's not what I took away from this. Rather, Tim had no reason to succeed any more than he had to fail, just that he did. Luck combined with caution because he knew what happened to his predecessor, and the fact that Batman was there to finish the job all made the difference.

You could say (and I know some will) that it's just classic Jason character assassination and the writers trying to implore readers that this new kid is different we promise pls don't hate us look how much better he is! But in this case, that feels like it undermines the whole point of this story. It doesn't fit with what the characters actually say.

Thus, we return to the question of how Tim felt towards his predecessor. And the answer is different from where we started, because Tim is different. Not that different though. Because even though at this point Tim—like all the adults around him—has probably attributed Jason "going off on his own" being what led to his death, Tim still thought of him as a hero to look up to. It's about Robin, first and foremost, yes. But Tim is fully aware of the people who made that suit mean what it does, because it's all intertwined.

Batman vol. 1 #457 (Dec., 1990) -- Page 20

"I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it."

Even further, Tim thinks of it in terms of Jason having given his life for what he believed in, for the legacy that now falls to Tim. There's a sense of gravitas there. He's afraid of failing both the Robins who came before him.

Ultimately do I think Tim adored and loved Jason on the same level as Dick or something? No. It's not comparable. (Dick was like part of some of Tim's earliest memories and everything! They have a really unique bond ok.) Yet Tim was also far from thinking poorly of Jason so early on. Frankly, it seems that Tim thought of Jason as a noble hero and a cautionary tale. Yes he took risks and sometimes went too far, generally stuff that Tim doesn't want to repeat and all that. At the same time, Tim still saw him as someone whose legacy and memory was worth honoring.

It's complicated, which is why I like it so much—because it feels real. Having conflicting feelings towards someone is... so human. Especially someone you never got to know, yet who plays such an integral role in your life via the shadow of their death. How can you feel anything but complicated towards them?

It has to be said that, yes, Tim's views—even before Jason's return—change over the years. He becomes more jaded as a person and is surrounded by people who are even more jaded than him... and who often mention Jason as the "failed Robin." It's something that's hung over Tim's head all the damn time. The curse of the Robin mantle.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Tim's idea of him becomes more akin to "sounds like a skill issue" as the years go by. All bets are off after Jason's return, and the Titans Tower Incident™. At that point it's firmly "I am better than you, loser" lmao.

And... that's all without getting too into things like authorial intent and general "moods" of different DC writers towards Jason at a given point. Or retcons that played a role in his characterization and how other characters talk about him, depending on what "era" you're reading. That's way beyond the scope of this post though!

TLDR; even though young Tim Drake was obsessed with Dick Grayson as Robin, he still looked up to Jason Todd as well. He didn't think of Jason as a cringefail loser until later. :)

(image dialogue transcripts under cut ↓)

Dialogue Transcript for Image 1 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 1):

Narration box (Tim): When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 2 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 2):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Narration box: But he was nothing special, really. Just a boy, who was taught--trained--brought to his full potential by someone who knew how. Just a boy... like me. I know I can do it. I know I can. One day I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit. One day I'll be a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 3 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Page 13):

Tim: I hate him! I hate him! I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry. Full of rage. They want to hit back. They want to fill the hole that's burning inside them.

Bruce: There's more to it than that, son. Much more.

Tim: I know. It's just--I feel--like going to Haiti myself and strangling that creep with my bare hands!

Bruce: The Obeah Man will spend the rest of his life in a prison hospital. He's history. Forget him! But don't fight against your anger. It's natural. Accept it. Live with it. One day it'll be your friend.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 4 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Panels from page 18):

Tim: Because you think my mother's death has upset me too much. Well, it did. But I've taken your words to heart. I can cope. You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't. But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Why can't you have a little faith in me?

Dialogue Transcript for Image 5 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 14):

Narration box (Tim): Blast it! My head's starting to swim. I'm about ready to give up. I almost wish I'd never heard of Batman and Robin!

Vision Dick: Heroes never give up, Tim.

Vision Jason: You know that.

Tim: Dick--! Jason Todd!

Vision Dick: You're training to fight in a war, Tim. It'll last all your life. No matter what, you have to go on fighting.

Vision Jason: Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone! I thought I knew better than Batman. I thought I could run before I could walk. I killed myself, Tim. Because I couldn't wait. Because I couldn't think it through.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 6 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 15):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Vision Dick: Think, Tim. Concentrate!

Vision Jason: You can do it.

Both: You can do it!

Tim, waking up: What--? Robin...?

Narration box (Tim): I must have been daydreaming. They're right, though. There's a solution to everything. I can find it! So here I go again... Whim. Caprice. Doing something without forethought.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 7 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Panel from page 9):

Narration box (Tim): The suit is magic. It gives you power. It hides your weakness. It makes you give it everything you've got. It makes you a hero. If only I could!

Dialogue Transcript for Image 8 (Batman vol. 1 #457 -- Page 20):

Bruce: Are you afraid of it?

Tim: No. It isn't fear. It's more... the suit carries so much history. I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it. Failing them--what they fought so hard to build--that's what worries me!

Bruce: I appreciate that, Tim. That costume weighs a whole lot more than any symbol should... and I'd be failing you if I expected you to bear that weight. So... let me know what you think.

Narration box: A mask has a double edged, he said. It hides your own anxiety as it strikes fear into your enemy.

#tim drake #jason todd #dcu #dc comcis #batfamily #meta #I'm so sorry this post got out of hand fr #it was meant to be a quick drabble with some comic panels and instead i just...... kept going #this post is specifically for my one (1) bestie who cares and the like 2 ppl who might be as insane as me about Timmy #idk why I'm like this im just obsessed with Tim's relationship with early Batfam & co lately???#late 80 and early 90s comics my beloveds......#anyway if this gets more than 5 notes i'll be shocked and scared lol #nyerus.txt #text post #long post

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