#my hand is fuckin stiff from typing this all out on my phone rip
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thinking about how I've seen OCD get talked about now, but haven't really seen many posts that actually explain what it is. And like, obviously people shouldn't get all their info about mental conditions from posts, but u can't deny that internet communities and stuff play a major role in people recognizing and putting names to their own experiences.
But like since the general public has like absolutely no idea of what OCD actually is (no thanks to popular media), and a lot of things I see talking about intrusive thoughts don't mention OCD (either bc they originated in OCD circles or bc intrusive thoughts aren't Exclusive to OCD or for some other reason), there should prob be more explanation put out on what OCD actually consists of.
Which is kinda hard in some ways, bc there are so many ways OCD can present in terms of what "themes" a person experiences, so someone talking about what their themes are might not ring a bell with someone who experiences different ones. But like, the core thing with OCD isn't the presence of certain themes, it's a specific pattern of spiraling thoughts and reactions.
Like. OCD is a mental condition/illness where people experience stressful, unwanted, repetitive thoughts. These are intrusive thoughts are what make up the "obsessions" part of the disorder. In response to these intrusive thoughts, a lot of people will perform certain actions or think certain things in an attempt to neutralize or disprove the threat they represent. These are the "compulsions" part of the condition.
For a more "traditional" example, someone experiencing intrusive thoughts that they might catch a communicable disease may obsessively wash their hands or google their symptoms to try to lessen the anxiety. While someone who is worried they might hurt someone (even though they very much do not want to hurt someone) may avoid being near sharp objects or may avoid the people they're afraid of hurting.
One of the issues with OCD is that performing the compulsions provides short term relief, but in the long term it only strengthens the stress caused by the intrusive thoughts, thus furthering the thought spiral and actively making it worse, to the point where, depending on your themes, you may be (almost) convinced that your intrusive thoughts represent the truth or the inevitable or something permanent.
Intrusive thought themes cam be literally anything, but some of the common ones are stuff like
Questioning your sexuality, gender, etc (what if I'm actually straight/gay/bi/trans/cis/etc?)
Being worried about losing control and hurting yourself or others physically, sexually, emotionally, basically any way (what if I want to kill someone? What if I'm a pedophile? What if I'm an abuser? What if I want to stab myself? Etc)
Fear of becoming or being sick
Worrying something bad will happen to you or people you care about
Worrying about your spiritual beliefs or lack thereof (what if I'm actually Christian? What if I'm actually atheist? What if i don't believe in the faith i ascribe to? Etc)
Worrying about relationship status (what if I don't actually love them? What if they're not "the one"? What if they're cheating? What if *I'm* cheating? Etc)
What if I'm a bad person?
Fear of losing things
Fear of things not feeling right (this is often be related to other themes via magical thinking. ex: if I don't have my things organized Just Right then something bad will happen)
Fear of unreality
Compulsions vary by theme a lot obviously, but some common ones include
Hand washing
Organizing things until they Feel Right
Checking and double checking and triple checking to make sure you did something correctly
Obsessively reviewing your memories to disprove a thoughtor make sure you don't believe something
Arguing against the thoughts in an attempt to disprove them
Testing your mental reactions to a thought or to certain kinds of content, to show yourself you don't actually believe or feel something
Obsessively googling symptoms, testimonies, things related to your thoughts
Obsessive prayer
Repeating phrases, mantras, affirmations, etc in an attempt to make thoughts go away
Avoiding things and situations that set off your intrusive thoughts
Repeatedly asking for reassurance from others ("I'm not being xyz, right?")
But yeah this obviously isn't exhaustive but, just, if this kind of thing sounds familiar, you should probably do some research on OCD, bc while intrusive thoughts can occur with other conditions, the intrusive thought-compulsion spiral is the core of OCD and isn't really a subaspect of depression/anxiety/ptsd/etc. and the treatment and management of OCD can look different from other stuff, so its a good thing to look into.
(Also it's important to keep in mind, esp if you're someone that doesn't have it, that someone's intrusive thoughts Are Not "secret desires" or "repressed urges" or anything the person even remotely wants to act on. Someone having harm-related intrusive thoughts is not at risk of actually acting on them, no matter how worried they are of doing so.)
Anyway this was a long post and I don't have a neat way to wrap it up and also I accidentally added a poll and now can't get rid of it so here's free poll. I'm running on nyquil and a small amount of straight gin (which works very well at numbing a sore throat) rn gnite
#ocd#actuallyocd#actually ocd#intrusive thoughts#my hand is fuckin stiff from typing this all out on my phone rip
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Calling It: Good Intentions: Chapter 9: Six Types of Faux Cheese
Summary:
Batman tries to catch up with Red Robin. Then Bruce does have a conversation with Tim. Sort of. Oh, and Jason is horrified with Tim’s dining choices.
TW: angst; minor violence
Batman is not eavesdropping. He's monitoring. There's a difference.
He can feel Alfred's disapproval.
Two checks are already in the mail to the young woman (Jayla Smith) and the Williams from the Wayne Foundation.
Batman knows Red Robin is in town before Nightwing catches up with him during patrol.
"You did what, Nightwing?" Bruce pulls a weary hand over his face, trying to comprehend what his eldest told him. "You understand what an enormous invasion of his privacy that is?"
"You sound just like Babs," Dick pouts. It's the same pout that Dick used to use when Bruce had told Dick he couldn't bring an elephant home with him from the circus.
"Good." Because that means Bruce is doing something right.
Dick runs a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to know how Tim's doing."
"And you didn't just ask because…" Bruce lets his question trail off, squinting at Red Hood's current location.
Dick doesn't answer. Because they both know what the answer would be.
"How's Hood's let's teach Robin how a family works lesson going?"
Bruce nods a few roofs over. Nightwing's head swivels to look.
Both winces as Red Hood drags Robin down a fire escape to spy on something while Robin refuses to move. Unfortunately for Damian, Jason easily has a hundred pounds on the youngest (and virtual no shame in doing this), so Robin's going where Hood wants.
For what it's worth, Jason appeared to be having the time of his life. Damian…not so much.
"Well, it could be worse I suppose," Dick sighs, watching Damian trying to remove Robin's cape (or Jason's hand; could be either one honestly) with a Batarang.
Bruce grunts.
"Should we go and help?"
"No," Bruce grimaces as Hood puts a hand on Robin's forehead to prevent the younger vigilante from hitting him. "They're almost done. Robin has a test in the morning, and Hood promised Robin would get at least six hours of sleep."
"Alright," Dick hums. "I have a few leads I need to run down for O. See you." Nightwing takes a running leap before landing on the neighboring roof.
Batman watches his eldest son until he disappears in the direction of the docks before turning the opposite direction.
Before patrol, Bruce found Red Robin's usual Gotham patrol route. He had wanted to observe Red in the field; something he hasn't done in an embarrassingly long time. It takes an hour of searching before Batman touches down; finding Red Robin fighting a group of muggers.
Batman sticks to the shadows, not wanting to draw focus from the fight, but still close enough he could hear and step in if need be. Bruce observes his youngest adopted son. However, it doesn't appear Red Robin will need Batman's help.
Red moves like water.
For the briefest of moments, Batman's hit with pangs of nostalgia. He wants to help Red take down the muggers like he'd been Robin. Batman wants to have Red's back and for Red to have his.
Batman quashes the feeling. Regret is for Bruce to deal with; not Batman.
Instead, Batman studies Red's moves.
They were precise. Controlled. Deadly.
Batman's eyes narrowed.
Red perform a distinct flip over mugger number two that flows seamlessly into a kick to mugger number three chin before taking mugger number two and throwing him into mugger number four.
Batman clenches his fist, exhaling through his nose. He recognizes the fighting style Red's using. Batman forces himself to inhale slowly from his nose. There's only one place in the world where Red could have learned those moves. Batman's mouth became a thin line. Red's elbow soared into mugger number four's nose.
He knows he'd never taught Tim those moves. He never wanted Tim to know those moves.
Dick was right. Bruce had been out of the loop longer than he realizes.
With a mixture of pride and fury, Batman watches as Red takes down the last of the mugger. Red grabs mugger number one by the collar before leaning in. Batman looks on as Red whispers furiously to the mugger. The man looks frightened. The mugger wildly shakes his head no before Red shakes him again. Dazed now, but still terrified, the mugger continues with his head shaking.
Red growls before punching the mugger out cold. He then shuffles through the mugger's pockets before dropped him like a sack of potatoes and kicking him aside.
Batman stiffness at Red's actions. Back when Tim was Robin, Bruce had never seen Robin be so…aggressive. Tim's always been the best at controlling his emotions. Measured. Purposeful of his movements. Precise. Sometimes, to an alarming degree.
Red, however….
Red's back straightens before looks directly at Batman. It's Red's turn for his mouth to thin. They stare at each other for a full minute. Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but in one fluid motion, Red turns his back on Batman, tying up the mugger before pulling out his grappling gun before shooting it onto the roof and flying away.
In a blink, Red's gone.
* * *
Shit, shit, mother fucking shit. How long had Batman been watching me? Goddamnit.
The ground rushes pass under Red's feet. The lead that he's been following for the better part of a month had just hit another dead end. Annnnnnd He's all out of clues.
Annnnnnd Batman had been watching him. He'd seen Red's momentary lose control.
Red soars over two roofs landing hard next to a pair who were robbing an ATM. Because he can't catch a fucking break tonight.
"Ah, great, it's a freak in a fuckin' cape."
"Yeah, that's on my business card," Red punches robber in the face. "Red Robin: Freak in a fucking cape, for all your party needs." The second robber grabs Red from behind, but Red throws him over his shoulder onto the ground. "Guess what?" Red grabs the robber he'd punches in the face before slamming him against the wall. "I'm running a two for one special tonight."
"Lucky us," Robber number two grunts.
"Yup. That means you two," Red pulls a net out, throwing it to catch the robber who started to run away, "are going down for the price of one."
"Yeah?"
A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye catches Reds attention. He glances over. Of course. Red scowl. Batman had found him.
Again. Why in the Hell did Batman pick tonight of all nights to babysit him?
"Yeah," Red pulls out zip ties from his belt, looping them around the robber's wrists, pulling them tight. The wail of sirens screech towards him.
Goddamnit, Batman.
Apparently, the Dark Knight decided Tim isn't able to handle his patrol tonight.
Fantastic.
Red fires his grappling gun, shooting it towards the farthest building Batman, cape whipping around as he flies. Red's feet slam down onto the rooftop. Pausing, Red looks around.
The Perch is miles away. Red's brain flashes to his bike, still tucked in its nook in his garage because it was going to be an easy night. Get the info and get out. That's it.
Even if he made it back to his apartment, Batman already proved he isn't shy about breaking and entering.
Although lost in thought, Red notes Batman is following him. A few building behind but still.
Batman doesn't even trust me to get home on my own. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Switching gears, Red turn, sliding down a fire escape. Landing with a soft thump, Red slides into a dark corner which doubles as a secret entrance to one of his safe houses.
Punching the code into the keypad, the door open with a soft hiss. Red is in the safe house before the door properly opens, fumbling to secure the door again. There's a distinct metal on metal whine before the satisfying chirp of his security system coming to life.
Red flicks the switch to the camera feed from the alley he just vacated. Batman slides down the same fire escape.
Batman slowly wheels around. He's studying the alleyway, trying to figure out how Red escaped his clutches.
Good luck. Hood helped Red set up this safe house specifically to escape the Bats.
"We need to talk, Red." It's barely more than a whisper. Tim's not even sure he correctly. He'd have to look over the footage again before he can be sure.
The Dark Knight's lips thinned before the cape crusader disappears with a whirl of his cape.
Red lets out an irritated snort.
That went well.
Ripping off his cowl, Red throws it to the side before sinking to the ground, rubbing his forehead in vain hope to get rid of the headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes.
He's out of leads. Instead of hunting down new ones, he's been forced to spend the better part of the night trying to escape different members of the Batclan, who, for some Gods only know reason had chosen tonight to pretend to give a crap. And to top it all off, Tim's got fucking board meetings all day tomorrow.
Tim glances at his watch and groans.
Crap.
In less than four hours, Tim had board meetings all day.
Knowing he isn't going to make it to the Perch that night, Tim stands up and in one motion takes off the rest of his uniform before setting his phone's alarm to go off in three hours and crashing onto the bed.
* * *
Bruce's chin is resting on his interlaced fingers. Staring (glaring) at the Batcomputer, watching the footage of Red Robin fighting the muggers on a loop for the last hour. Bruce had thought Dick had been overly dramatic about Tim (as his eldest tended to do).
Now however.…
Tim had never run from Bruce. Or Batman. He'd always been the one Bruce counted on to run towards him, in either form but Red had fled when Batman tried to catch up with him before disappeared completely, of course. Bruce ground his teeth. Red disappearing before Batman got a chance to talk to his son fills Bruce with a sense of fury and pride.
A cup of coffee appears in front of Bruce with a soft clink. "
Masters Damian and Dick have gone to bed, Sir. Master Damian was unusually exhausted after his night of ‘pointless actives'," Bruce didn't need to turn to see the old man's smirk. "Master Jason is still out on patrol but radioed in saying not to wait up. What's are we watching, Master Bruce?"
Bruce glances up at Alfred who is standing at Bruce's shoulder, staring up at the screens.
"Red," Bruce grunt. He leaned back in his chair. "Notice anything?"
"He is quite thin."
Bruce suppresses a snorted because, yes, that would be the first thing Alfred notices. "Yes, he is. Recognize the style?"
Alfred frowns, leaning in. "Is that—are those…?" His voice trails off. "My word. Those are—"
"League of Assassin moves," Bruce scowls at the screen. "Apparently, Ra's has been teaching Tim some new moves." Bruce ran his hand down his face. "I knew…I knew that Tim had taken some time. Explored the world." Guilt began to weigh down in Bruce's gut. "I knew that Tim had some difficultly after losing Robin. But going to Ra's…."
Bruce's voice trails off, watching for the hundredth time his third son land a complicated motion. The Demon's Trap. When the hell did Ra's taught Tim this? Why the hell did Ra's taught him this? Bruce only knew about the move because Talia had shown it to him once, telling him it was a jealously guarded Al Ghul secret. No one outside of the family had ever been taught it. Not even Damian, who was deemed too young.
But here's Tim, doing it like he's been doing it his whole life. It's natural. It's deadly.
One millimeter. That's all would take. One millimeter to go from a stunning blow to a deadly one. But Tim knew right from wrong.
He wouldn't slip.
He couldn't slip.
Unwanted memories threaten to overtake Bruce. One of a young Red bubbled to the surface.
Bruce could still feel the brisk night air on his skin. He'd only taken the Batman mantle back from Dick a few weeks before. He was still getting back into the grove of being Batman; working with a new Robin. Bruce hadn't known that Red Robin was in town. He hadn't seen his son since Tim had pulled Bruce from the time stream.
This hadn't been the circumstances Bruce wanted for their first meeting. Then again, having a screaming match with one of his sons across a roof was on-brand for Batman.
"You don't understand what he did, Batman." Red crosses his arms.
Batman looms over Red, staring at his once partner. "It doesn't matter, Red. There are some lines we never cross."
"I tried to stop it! Hell, I stop my plan! Why else would I be up here? How the hell was I supposed to know Ra's was sending along some added insurance?"
"Because you should always know."
"Not all of us are omniscient, B. Some of us make mistakes."
"Then you should be better."
"I didn't pull the trigger!"
"No, you didn't. You just lined up the shot. And now someone's dead." Bruce's eyes stray over to the cold body of Harkness. Blood is still oozing from the bullet hole in his skull. "And there isn't anything we can do to get around that."
Red coldly laughs. "Except for Hood and your new little Robin, right? They'll get as many free murder passes as they want, right?"
Batman didn't answer because Bruce doesn't have an answer.
Red shakes his head before disappearing into the night.
The next morning, Bruce read the Gotham Gazette and discovers Jack Drakes' murder had been killed the previous night. A suspected gang shooting. Isn't it always in Gotham? That or a vigilante.
Tim Drake-Wayne had not been available to comment. He'd been back to San Francisco before the sun kissed the morning sky.
It had taken months of arguing between himself and Selina and himself and Alfred to see that Tim was just another victim in this.
He'd tried to talk to Tim about it, but anytime a discussion would stray away from work (WE or otherwise) Tim would shut it down. Tim barley tolerated Brucie Wayne interference at Wayne Enterprises back then. He would smile and say all the right things for the cameras and listening ears, but when they were gone, so was he.
So Bruce back off. He let Tim come around in his own time. And he'd started too. At least, that's what Bruce thought.
Alfred puts his hand on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing it. "Don't worry, Master Bruce, Master Tim will come back."
Bruce continues to glare at the screen.
Alfred sighs, "Master Bruce, I know this will be hard for you to understand, but not everything is lost. He's still here. You're still here. I've never known you to give up a fight." Alfred paused before murmuring, "even if it would do you some good too."
Bruce didn't react to the words.
Alfred sighed. "Not everything is your fault, sir."
"No. But I think this might be."
* * *
Beep, beep, beep.
Tim shuts the alarm off on his phone without a looking. Despised being tired, Tim hadn't been able to sleep. Natural solution? Starting his post-mission reports.
"Da fuck are you doing here? Don't you have a nice, cozy apartment, not one mile from here?"
Tim glances up from his laptop to see Jason coming in through the window before going back to his computer. "Long story," Tim crisply replies.
Jason hums back while he heads back to the kitchen. Staring at his laptop, Tim cringes as he heard one, two, three crashes and Jason swearing coming from the kitchen.
"Motherfucker. Who the Hell put this kitchen together," There's another crash followed by a nasty crunching sound. "Goddamnit, Replacement! What moron taught ya how ta put a kitchen together? I'd like ta shoot them."
Tim doesn't remind Jason that he's the one who put the kitchen together.
Tim glance up to see Jason in the doorway, holding a bag. "You know nothin' eatable should be this color, right?"
"I like cheese puffs."
Jason shakes the bag. "And why the fuck do ya have six different types of fake cheese but no actually cheese?"
"I like cheese puffs," Tim repeats.
Jason reads the bag he's holding. "Dis says it's with real cheese."
"See health food."
"I don't see cheese listed in the ingredients."
"I'm sure it's there."
"Ya shouldn't eat anything this color."
"Yeah, well, sue me."
"Okay, how much ya worth?"
"Less than it's worth to you to deal with the press."
"Good point."
"Jay?"
"Ya?"
"Get out of my kitchen. What the fuck were you looking for?"
"I was looking for food. Ya know, the stuff that's supposed ta be in a kitchen," Jason turned back into the kitchen. "Is there anything in here that isn't processed?"
"Coffee."
"Doesn't count."
"Oh. Probably not then." Tim glares at his report which is refusing to make any sense. The slight throbbing behind his eyes isn't helping. What was he writing up again? Right. The lead that has him following the—suddenly, his laptop is yanked off of his lap.
"Hey," Tim scowls at Jason, "I was working on that."
"Yer always working," Jason shoves a burrito into Tim's empty hands. "Take a break. Eat." As if on cue, Tim's stomach growls. Jason smirks at him before sinking onto the bed next to Tim. "Sound's like you're hungry."
Tim glowers at Jason for a second before taking a comically large bite, almost choking on it before getting the food down. Jason snickers at Tim.
"Shut up," Tim coughs.
"Ya can take down an international arms dealer without any coffee but can the great Red Robin take down a breakfast burrito? Wait until the Rogues find out," Tim flip Jason off while Jason laughed. "Oh, yeah, that' real intimating. You got a little egg right," Jason reaches out to smack Tim in the face while Tim laughs, ducking Jason's hand.
"Fuck off. I'm fine."
Jason snorts.
"What? I am," Tim adds, defensively.
Batman probably sent him here to check up on me because I beat the crap out of those mercenaries last night.
Expect, Jason wouldn't do that, right?
"Riiiiiiight. And I'm well adjusted."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Jason. I know the others have been worried about you. Personally, I don't see why. Who isn't well adjusted after being beaten to death by the Joker and brought back to life by their adoptive father on again off again Baby Mama?"
Jason blinks at Tim before throwing a crumpled napkin at Tim's head that Tim easily avoids.
"Dick."
"Sorry, not sorry; he's not here. Check the Manner."
Jason snorts. "Speaking of Dick," Tim tense, not liking where this conversation is headed, "we had a family meeting."
"Really?"
See, no invite, not part of the family. And that's fine.
"Yeah. You came up."
Tim's suddenly fascinated by his burrito. He doesn't want to talk about this (whatever this is) over crappy half-frozen breakfast burritos.
Or to Jason.
Or at all.
Short of jumping out a window, Tim doesn't see a way out of this. It's a tempting thought, though. Then again, Jason would probably jump out after him and sit on Tim while they chat. That would be uncomfortable for both parties. Although for Jason it'd probably just be the whole, he's sitting on Tim thing rather than Tim who would be suffocating.
Instead, Tim waits. "And?"
Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Great, they probably want me out of the city and Jason drew the short straw. Wonder if they'll give me enough time to move out all of my stuff before running me out of town?
"Dick said dat he took the Robin away from ya."
Ah. That's what this heart to heart was about.
I'd rather be run out of town than talk about this.
Tim drops his burrito before getting up and heading towards his closet. It houses some emergency Tim Wayne suites just in case.
"Old news, Jason. It's fine."
"Bullshit," the venom in Jason's voice make Tim pause. "That's bullshit, Repla—Tim. You might be able ta hoodwink the others but not me. I'm the only other person on this fucking planet who knows what the fuck that feels like."
"Jason, I don't know what—"
"Yeah, ya do."
Yeah, he does.
"You know it's okay ta be pissed at him."
"Jason. It's old news," Tim Wayne's voice is firm. Decisive. There isn't any grey area in his tone. "I'm fine," Tim ignores Jason's disbelieving eye roll. "I'm over it."
"Bullshit. There's no fucking way you're over it." Jason pauses before he muttering, "I'm not fucking over it, Tim. There's no way in fucking hell that you're over it."
Tim pauses because, shit, "Jason—"
"Nah, that's really old news, Tim," Jason gives Tim a wry smile, "I was dead, after all. Who'd known that I was gonna come back?"
"Batman. Or Talia."
Jason laughs before sobering. "You know, I'm here for you Timbit, if you ever need anything. Talk about your feelings, hid a body, whatever. I'll even make sure it doesn't get back to the Bat."
A smile brushes Tim's lips. "I know Jay. Thanks."
* * *
Thump.
Tim looks up from the mountain of forms to see that Tam had placed a full mug of coffee down in front of him. He nods his thanks before picking up the full mug inhaling deeply from the cup. It was Tim's favorite blend, an Arabica bean blend from Costa Rica, cost twenty dollars a pound, and only brought out for emergencies.
Which can only mean one thing.
"I have good news, bad news, and worst news."
Called it.
"How are you so giddy when you're about to give your boss bad news," Tim reclines in his CEO chair.
"Talent," Tam smiles, "hey look, bonus good new for you bossman! You have a talented, patience, wonderful assistant who is criminally underpaid."
"I already knew that, Tam," Tim chuckles, sipping his coffee. "You tell me that weekly."
"And I have yet to see a raise," Tam sighs dramatically.
"I'll put it on my to-do list," Tim studies Tam as he sips his coffee. She's subconsciously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. This isn't normal Tam behavior.
"Alright then, out with it."
Tam waits for Tim to put his mug down before launching into her speech, "Mr. Wayne is here to see you. As in, Bruce fucking Wayne is sitting in our waiting area refusing to leave until you see him."
A minuscule groan escapes from Tim before he could help himself. It's been three hours since Tim had seen anyone in the Batfamily.
Tam doesn't comment, "he also said to tell you that it's been a while since Brucie has done anything overly…eccentric."
An acute throbbing beginning to form in Tim's front temple. Tim sips his coffee.
Tim squeezes his eyes shut so the light couldn't enter his vision; praying that he could hold off the migrant that was threatening to take over his skull all morning. He exhales slowly through his nostrils trying (and failing) to control the pounding in his head.
"I don't suppose you told him that I had a full day," Tim's controlled voice asks.
Tam tuts, "what, I'm I new here? Of course I did."
"A full day that includes a meeting with the board and investors," Tim continues, ignoring Tam's sarcasm.
"Told him that too."
"And he doesn't care?"
"Not in the least."
"Great."
"Yep. You want me to show him in?"
No.
"Fine. Call me when the board meeting is about to start. The last thing I need today is to miss that meeting."
"Will do, Tim," she turns to leave.
"Hey, wait a minute," Tam pauses, looking back at Tim, "you said you had good news."
"Yeah," Tam smirks, "I brought you coffee."
Tim snorts making a mental note to an email to the payroll department later that day to give Tam a pay increase.
Tam give Tim a significant smile before cracking the entryway open, "Tim will see you now."
Tam moves aside as Brucie strolls in bearing a large paper bag. Tam's mouths behave to Tim before shutting the door. Bruce and Tim watch each other for a moment before Bruce crossing the room in three strides, settling in one of the two chairs in front of Tim's desk.
"Bruce, what can I do for you," Tim inquires, twirling around in his chair, sliding papers about, searching for his notes for the board meeting. It has nothing to do with the man settling himself in Tim's previously vacant seat.
Really. It didn't.
"I don't have very long; the board meeting is about to start, but, if you want to give me the deets real quick, or write them down, I'll get to it as soon as possible."
"Tim," Tim's body freezes for a split second, old Robin training kicking in because that tone never meant anything good, before remembering he's not that Robin anymore (remember?), "I'm not here for anything. Not a case, not to start a fight."
Tim's fight or flight response twitches as despite Bruce's calm tone. It makes Tim think of better times, back in the days when Tim had been Robin, and Bruce had comforted the then young Robin after a rough patrol. Tim shakes himself, remembering the time and place they're currently in.
"I have something to give you."
Tim searches his memories. Why on Earth would Bruce be giving Tim anything? Or anybody else in the Batfamily for that matter? Is there something he'd missed? Tim glances at the calendar fastening to the wall. There aren't any holidays coming up; Tim ceased celebrating his birthday years ago.
A swirl of painful memories well up whenever Tim thinks too hard about his birthday so he'd stop celebrating it. There isn't any reason for the Bats to be giving Tim the time of day, let alone anything else.
It takes Bruce clearing his throat for Tim to register that he'd frozen while looking through his papers. Tim seizes the notebook he'd been hunting for before turning back to face Bruce.
Tim lifts his eyebrows at Bruce; keeping his voice indifferent, he says, "oh, you already have the info for me? Great, I'll look at it when I get back from the board meeting. But I have to get going now, or I'm going to be late."
Tim makes to get up, but Bruce is faster.
Fucking Batman.
He flips the paper bag over, dumping the contents onto Tim's desk. Jumping back into his chair, he almost topples over (silver lining, he doesn't shriek). Recovering himself quickly (because, well, Bats) Tim inspects the bits of paper that littered the top of his desk.
It was regular, white, dull, printer paper. Tim studies several pieces of confetti with the WE letterhead on it. The print on the paper was minuscule. He picks up a bit with his loopy signature on it. There are at least three more pieces.
What the hell would Bruce have with my signature all over it?
Tim shoots Bruce a cynical expression before his CEO mask slips back on, "shredded paperwork? Is this some sort of bizarre protest? You want WE to go paperless or something? Or," Tim picks up a handful of the confetti, throwing it up in the air, "do you want us to host a party?"
Jerk move? Sure. Every so often though it was worth it.
Bruce furors his brow. "No."
Yep, he's getting a Bat induced migraine. Great, been a while since I got one of these. Tim waits for his former mentor to say something while Bruce stares unblinkingly at Tim.
Tim sighs, "look, Bruce, I have a board meeting," glancing at the clock on his computer and wincing, "liiiiiike now, so could you tell me what you need?"
Bruce gives Tim an unimpressed look. Not that Tim isn't entirely used to that look by now, typical though, it was a bit more subtle.
And from Damian.
Or Dick.
Although Batman had been known to give all of his Robins that look at one time or another.
Once, Jason and Dick argued over who'd gotten that look more often. After an hour of fighting, Alfred finally put the argument to rest with a raised eyebrow.
Tim hadn't said it at the time, but he knew he was the one who got the most Wayne unimpressed looks.
And not just from Damian.
With a buzz and flashing red light of the intercom, Tim broke off the staring contest (battle of wills) between himself and Bruce.
"Hey Tim, the board meeting is about to start," Tam's voice crackles through the speaker.
Tim presses the intercom button, "thanks, Tam. I'll be out in just a minute. Can you tell the board I'll be there shortly?"
"Will do bossman," with a chirp, the intercom's red light goes out.
This time, when Tim gets up, Bruce does not shower his desk with shredded paper so, yay for small victories, right?
Tim grabs his notes for the board meeting, praying his pounding skull won't turn into headache until after the board meeting. As Tim reaches for the door handle, those dreams are dashed.
"How's Ra's?"
It was a simple question.
It really is.
One that makes Tim stop dead in his tracks.
How the hell did Bruce find out about Tim's vacation (shut up Con, it was. I slept and everything, okay?!)? He vaguely remembers Bart or Con or someone telling him they talked to Jason when Tim was gone, but they'd kept Jay on a need to know. They only told Jason that Tim was missing and texted Jay when Tim back.
Mostly.
Tim knows his team wouldn't have said anything about his time with Ra's.
Mostly because they still didn't know anything about what happened with him and Ra's.
There's only so many times you can turn down a millennium-old megalomaniac before his feels start to get hurt.
Then again, this is Batman he's dealing with. Tim wouldn't put it past Bruce to put a tracker in the back of his neck like a dog one of the many times he'd been unconscious in the Batcave. It was just the sort of thing Batman would do.
This must be the real reason Bruce bothered to visit Tim today. It's probably why Batman followed Red for hours last night. Maybe it's just another fucking power game between Ra's and Bruce. It's been a while since I've been caught in the middle of one of those. Fantastic, those are always a fucking mess to clean up.
Keeping his CEO mask firmly in place, Tim turn. Bruce hasn't moved from his chair. He's gazing up at Tim with a calculating expression. Tim raises an eyebrow at him.
"What are you talking about, Bruce?"
A flicker of annoyance and something else (concern? Couldn't be. That feeling is revered for essential people) flashes across Bruce's face so quickly, if Tim had blinked he would've missed it. As is, Tim isn't sure what he saw it at all.
"I think," Bruce's voice is controlled like he's choosing each word with great care. Odd but okay, "you know exactly what I'm talking about Tim." Bruce pauses, clearly expecting Tim to say something, but when Tim remained silent, Bruce carries on, "Red has picked up some new…moves."
Oh.
OH.
OHHHHHH.
Tim has to physically stop himself from slumping in relief (a small sigh of relief does escape before he could stop it). Bruce's talking about Red.
Specifically, the training that he received from Ra's during Bruce's disappearance. Bruce doesn't know about Tim's vacation; otherwise, Tim would be wearing a Goddamn ankle monitor.
Bait's hard to find nowadays.
Especially good bait.
Carefully, Tim says, "you know I spent some time with…them when you were…gone. What did you think we were doing? Drinking tea?"
Bruce presses his lips together so tightly, they're in danger of disappearing. Evidently, this isn't a good enough answer for him. Well, too fucking bad, that's all he's getting. Tim glances at his watch, willing his headache not to get any worse.
It does. Plus Tim's late.
Great.
"Look, Bruce, it was great seeing you and all, but I have to go. Gotta make sure your family company stays in the black."
Bruce grimaces. "That reminds me, last night Dick--"
Tim walks out of his office before Bruce could finish his sentence.
* * *
Despite what the clock in board meeting said, Tim is sure he'd been in that room all day. Like really, how many times does Tim have to shoot down the idea of selling WE's stock to Queen Consolidate? Even if they offer double the asking price, it's the principle of the matter.
His pounding head hadn't helped matters. Tim managed to ignore it throughout the meetings, but now he's going to have to pay the price.
Reaching Tam's desk, Tim glancing around for any eavesdroppers. When he doesn't see anybody, he turns back to Tam. "Hey, Tam," she glances at him while typing on her computer.
"Hey, Tim," Tam smiles.
"Yeah, hey. Listen, tell me there isn't anything else on the books for today," at Tam's narrowing eyes (which clearly says, you want to skive off work don't you?), Tim is quick to continue, "it just, I'm getting the worst headache, and I don't want it to, you know, get any worse."
At the mention of Tim's headache, Tam's eyes soften. Being as she was the only person at WE who knows about his missing spleen, whenever Tam hears a sneeze she'd happily send her boss home. Typically, it's annoying; Tim ignores most things Tam call ‘debilitating disease'.
Who doesn't come into work with walking pneumonia? It's called walking for a reason.
This does give Tim a distance advantage at the moment. Whenever he askes to leave because of illness, Tam always obliges.
Tam opens his calendar on her computer, looking at his schedule, "well, there aren't any appointment for today. I knew you were going back out of town for work, so after the board meeting I didn't put anything else on the schedule."
Tim feels a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Great, thanks, Tam."
Tam hums in acknowledgment. Tim enters his office and sees the heap of shredded paper still on his desk. Tim sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Tam?"
"Yes, bossman," her voice comes from right behind Tim. If Tim hadn't once been a Bat, he would've jumped.
Periodically, Tam tries to do something to startle Tim. She has yet to succeed. Instead of discouraging her, she seems to have taken this as a personal challenge.
Instead, he turns to look at her, gesturing at his desk. "Why?"
Tam leans around Tim to look. She raises an eyebrow before walking around him and over to his desk. Tam picks up a shredded piece of paper.
"Wow. I wondered what Mr. Wayne did with those contracts."
Tim give Tam with a puzzled look, "contracts?"
Tam fixes Tim with an incredulous look. "He came in last week, asking for the contracts that would change ownership of the company from you to Dick, Damian, or himself," she shifts guiltily. "I, uh, might not have been the most polite about giving him the contracts."
Oh, Tim could imagine what Tam would have been like with Bruce. She'd made her displeasure over the documents existing known, stating quite clearly that if they were ever signed, she was quitting on the spot.
The memory of her glaring at Tim still warms his insides.
"Anyways, he asked to see the contracts yesterday and when I…inquired as to why Mr. Wayne would need these contracts…well, I think I have a decent idea what Gotham Criminals see nightly," Tam grimaces. Yeah, Tim has gotten a few of those looks in his lifetime. "So I pulled the contracts and gave them to him, but I got a call before I knew it, he was gone."
Yeah, that sounded like Bruce.
"What's that got to do with…all of this?"
Shooting Tim an annoyed look, Tam says, "what do you think?"
She holds up the piece in her hand for Tim's inspection. Sighing, Tim takes the bit Tam's holding out before she dumps handful onto his palm.
It could be…no. Bruce wouldn't be stupid enough to shred the paperwork giving him back the company. Although this arrangement does give him more time for Batman….
As Tim muses to himself, Tam takes his recycle bin from the side of Tim's desk and starting to sweep the shredded paper into it. At the very bottom of the pile of debris, there's an envelope with Tim's name written in elegant handwriting.
Bruce's handwriting.
Bruce must have slipped it under the confetti somehow.
Fucking Batman.
The last scrap of paper flutters into the bin Tam's holding as Tim picks up the letter. Flipping it over, he sees the Wayne family crest on the envelope.
He wrote this at the Manner. He wrote this in the Manner before bringing it here. It's something he planned. Not a spur of the moment thing.
Tam, eyeing Tim, says, "I'll be right outside if you need anything, Tim. Okay?"
"Yeah, thanks, Tam," Tim absentmindedly replies.
Tim waits until he hears the door click shut after Tam. He weighs his options.
He could one, open the letter now, two, wait until he got home to open it, or three (and the most logical course of action), tosses it.
Ignoring Bruce is never a good idea. He can be just as, if not more, persistence than Dick once he's noticed something.
This is going to be my life for the next year, isn't it? Various Bats harassing me until they get bored or there's another alien invasion? This is Hell, isn't it? I'm in Hell?
Before he can dive much deeper into that thought, Tim's head gave another powerful pulse. Tim, cursing his bad luck (like migraine, man? On top of everything else? Who fucking needs them?), drops the letter into his briefcase before departing.
Link to AO3:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/48214189
#calling it#fanfiction#chapter 9#Tim Drake-centric#dick grayson#Jason Todd#bruce wayne#tam fox#angst#minor violence
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Excerpt from “Vengeance is Mine” third installment of the Today’s a Blessing, Tomorrow’s a Miracle by John Doe (Home Invasion ENT)
CHAPTER 33
“True enough. “I drained my piragua, left the cup on the cart and fixed Cobrita with a penetrating look. “Be back in a minute. “
I headed towards the botanica and crossed paths with a scrawny black cat that regarded me with questioning purple eyes. We split a pole and the tall shadow I casted over the asphalt, traversed the shadow of another black cat. I cut my gaze and met the mesmerizing, greedy-green eyes of a fat black cat with a prominent scar on his back.
I rung the bell and was buzzed inside the botanica. The air was spiced with Jasmine and hazy with incense smoke. And stained with something ancient and darker than the abyss. The botanica was decorated in a majestic theme of velvet, silk and mahogany. Shelves veiled behind fine cloths of various fabrics from silk to satin sowed in intricate patterns and weaved into beautiful designs harbored ceramic statues of various saints; from Chango, the saint of war who protects warriors, to El Elgua, the saint of good fortune. Shrines adorned the walls, giving the room a royal appearance. Unlit balla candles, caged pigeons and chicken used for sacrifice and coconuts were everywhere else.
A third black cat emerged from a counter and posed in my path, looking up at me with melodious maroon eyes. He posed in exquisite feline elegance. For an instant I could of swore the cat grinned.
The huge man behind the counter glared at me, reeking hostility. He had a huge hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle without a label. It was undoubtedly Ron-Cana; a supped-up fermentation of over-proof rum as common to Caribbean Latinos as Moonshine to Southerners.
I contemplated the three cats, reflecting on Death always coming in threes. For that matter, everything of significance had to do with a trinity.
My energies were all over the place, being pulled and triggered by the unstable atmosphere. And I knew evil lived here. I could feel the trapped spirits warring inside the botanica. Could even hear satanic chants of the dark side of Santeria resonating off the walls.
Pulling heavily on my cancerstick, I bounced straight towards the back, where the Santeria priestess, witch, voodoo doctor, or whatever you call those who communicate, trade and negotiate with malevolent spirits, held her dark rituals.
The gorilla shot from his seat with so much intensity I thought he might pounce on me. “You are not permitted to smoke in here! You already know that you can not go back there right now. The priestess is busy. “
I took a toke of smoke and slowly whipped the silenced PP9 from the small of my back, letting him see it.
His face registered maximum fear. Eyes searching for a shield. He reflexively released his bottle of over-proof rum and raised it in front of his face.
PP9 Walther spoke.
Piph!
The slug ripped through the gorilla’s palm and slammed in his nose. The pierced hand pressed against the hole in his snout. Blood flowing down his wrist, trickled to the floor.
Eyeing him like he was stupid, I took a drag, exhaled a smoke ring.
His mouth opened to scream. I saw his tonsils.
Piph!
The second Copperhead flew in his mouth, plowed through the back of his head, sending brain matter and blood flying inside a chicken cage. The birds went into a frenzy. The cats hissed. I felt abnormally cold, like spirits were passing through me or striking me. At once I eyed every blood-streaked creature. I stood over the gorilla and pumped a final slug in his wig. Scribbled my three to the face signature across his mug. Made his head jump then thump from the impact.
The stench of sulfur extinguished the other smells.
I opened the backdoor, marched down the dimly lit hall with a cancerstick stuffed in my mouth, opened another door and entered a dark room. Lit candles circled satanic designs on the floor written in chicken blood. In a trance, a Santeria priestess chanted in Spanish, communicating with evil forces, oblivious that Death had infiltrated her demonic chamber, holding a cocked Walther with one in the chamber.
Sporting gunpowder cologne, I remained in the cut, candle flames flickering shadows across my face, casted fireballs in my eyes.
The Santeria priestess was young, but somehow old. A physically attractive Cubana with flowing long black hair shaved on the sides, a hourglass figure and a healthy glow to her skin tone. But her soul was gone. She was only a vessel. The convoy of evil spirits that used her body as a port, had torn out her soul and replaced it with hate. Although I’d long suspected Isabella of flirting with the dark side of Santeria, it was the first time I saw her unmasked. It never ceased to amaze me how so many physically irresistible women were spiritually ugly.
As Isabella chanted, I recalled the time she lured me to her home under the fictitious pretense that her husband Jean Jacques was bedridden. It was the one and only time that I destroyed her walls. That thirsty Thursday morning in her twelfth story condo, the sick and twisted Santeria priestess whom claimed to own my soul, literally ripped off my shorts and tried to suck the skin off my meat. I fucked her brutally and cruelly on her balcony overlooking the Biscayne Bay until she bled. She burned with lust begging for more. I ran up in her anal like I was going to war. She was on all four, shouting for more. I had a Tim-boot on her bare back, pounding her hardcore, spiteful because her sexual allure was so enticing that I was up in her raw. She tremored from a violent anal-gasm. Rectum erupting, coconut cream bubbling and foaming. I whipped out, wrapped a hand around her neck, the other coiled around her hair and stabbed her throat, trying to pierce the base of her spine or suffocate her . She gagged, sucking with fervor until I exploded between her tonsils. She choked on semen coughing and gasping. I hoped she asphyxiated. The crazed and deranged nympho maniac insisted that I stick it back in her bleeding pussy. Blood and vagina and sex fluids was splattered all over the balcony. When I refused, she become aggressive and obsessive. Eyes lit with madness. Her pussy was on fire. I saw it smoking. Demonically dick-possessed, she threatened to crush my soul if I didn’t stick it in or eat it. I slapt her face with stiff-dick till it split her lip, stuffed her in a pretzeled version of missionary, spat in her face and jammed it back in her anal, and pummeled her insides in a frenzy. The sick bitch loved degradation. Lust burned through her like wild fire and she threw her hips to meet my maddening thrusts. With a savage roar, I squeeted liquid-hate all over her ringed belly-button, pierced nipples and contorted fuck-face. Dissatisfied with the degree of defilement and disrespect she begged me to further desecrate her body, thirsting for a urine shower. Whether she’d asked or not, heavy piss showers were in her forecast. I R. Kelly-ed the sick bitch, left her sinking in piss, and skipped out of her apartment, humming ‘Remix to Ignition’.
Isabella stalked me for the following months. Threatened to sell my soul to the devil, called my home phone adapting psychotic voices, making obscene sexual demands. Yet, whenever I saw her at functions with her husband Jean Jacques she was the model wife. Always acting like she couldn’t stand me, like she hadn’t lured me over to their home where she practically raped me under threat of selling my soul.
Isabella’s behavior signed her own death certificate.
I’d come to serve the Santeria priestess’ death warrant.
I shook out of that reverie, returned to the present and cleared my throat.
The maneuver jolted Isabella out of her sinister trance. She whirled like a tornado with so much fury I’m surprised I hadn’t been blown back. She fixed her deranged black eyes on me. I was taken aback by the concentrated evil rooted on her face. By the fiery aura she emanated. Her ghastly-white complexion wasn’t earthly. It reminded me of the undead. The possessed. Demonic.
When a level of sanity settled in her eyes, she spoke in a low but forceful macabre tone that was not her own. “What are you doing here? “
I was looking at real evil and the encounter was going to be lethal. There’d be no sequel.
Visually struggling with the raging spirits that waged war in her body, Isabella gripped the beads around her neck with such intensity I thought she might crush them to dust. “Did you give my husband our cut? “ The voice was her’s; throaty and smoky. Her color returned. It was like the evil entities wanted me to know what type of force I was fuckin with. “ Or did you come for something else?” She bit her lip, unbuttoning her ritual robe with a level of seduction I’d never encountered. It was unreal. “Maybe you came to fuck me again. “ It was yet another voice. Husky, sneering and balmy. “I know you want to fuck me till I bleed. “
The fusion of sex appeal, lust and evil she radiated was thick enough to swim in, deep enough to drown in.
Temptation.
“I knew you would come back to me. I stuck Santa Ochota on you. “Back to the voice I’d associated with her natural speech, but understood that it was one of three voices that spoke through her.
A trinity.
“I’m abut to do a Babylonian belly dance for you Alberto. “ She performed a tantalizing strip tease as she came out of her robe. Moving her body in ways I hadn’t thought possible. She twerked in yellow Victoria Secrets boy-shorts, V-cut bra and black stiletto heels. Her body was tight, powerful, busty and ripe; strong rounded hips, narrow waist, sculpted stomach and mango tits. Her fat ass looked so round and soft as she twerked like an expert, making one cheek jerk. She pulled her boy-shorts to the side revealing the prettiest vaginal lips. She made her pussy pop. “Fuck this chocha Alberto. Get your cut of this love.”
“I came to bless you with your cut. “I pointed the pistol at her face. “The devil’s cut. “
Her eyes ignited into flames. “You dare come in my sanctuary and threaten me with a pistol? “The voice belonged to the macabre-sounding evil entity. “ I own your soul! “
I blew smoke in her face.
“I curse you and everything you- “
P-P-Phiph!
I put three slugs in her face and blew her back to hell. The Santeria priestess landed inside the circumference of the candles, over satanic symbols drawed in chicken blood.
“This time you sacrifice your own blood.” I pumped a slug in her heart. “No more chicken blood. “ I kneeled over her corpse and asked, “Now you tell me, who owns who’s soul?”
Suddenly, I was alerted to other malignant presences. The three black cats were seated around the satanic designs in a perfect triangle. Benevolent expressions etched their feline faces. Their stares were so mesmerizing, captivating. I was locked on them. Shackled in some type of hypnosis paralysis. I couldn’t move, the room seem to spin beneath my feet, and I was hit with a wave of vertigo. I knew that if I fell, I would never get up, that I’d keep falling straight to hell.
The cats were grinning. And I knew the evil spirits that had habited Isabella fled to the shelter of the cats in her moment of extinction.
I was down on one knee when the PP9 jerked in my hand.
Piph!
The fat cat exploded into a puff of fur and blood.
The scrawny cat’s face registered confusion. The elegant cat’s eyes communicated understanding.
I grunted as I regained my bearings and footing, unafraid of the spirits jumping into me once I annihilated the only other living vessels.
The spirit of Vendetta that dictated my every step had them under pressure. He allowed no room for any other entities in my body.
Perceptive, the possessed cats attempted to flee. I chased them down with rapid fire, smearing them all over the place.
The cats died slow agonizing deaths that spoke of torment. When the last of the cats mournful wails subsided, the candles all died.
Engulfed in the darkness, I puffed my cancerstick, sucking on it like it was an oxygen tank, knowing this world held things a lot more detrimental to my health than cigarettes
Feeling nothing, I walked back to the botanica, stepped over the gorilla floating in a pool of spreading blood, contemplated a swig of his Ron-cana, yet, stepped in the office and snatched up the keys to the front door. It was the only way out. Security was designed in such a way that no one could come or leave without being buzzed in or out.
Everyone was dead though … buzzing the devil’s intercom.
As I walked through the botanica, pass the caged pigeons and chickens I realized that those three evil entities could of sought refuge and escaped to one of the birds. And as I studied those caged birds I knew that that was exactly what had occurred.
Flicking my Bic lighter, I smiled at the blood-speckled birds. In return they cooed and clucked.
I stepped back over the gorilla’s corpse, retrieved his bottle of over-proof rum off the counter and began dousing all the fine clothes veiling the statued saints. Flooding their shrines in Caribbean moonshine. I lit fire to various fine cloths. All along eyeing the frightened birds. I took a swig of the Buck, wiped my mouth and splashed the rest over the trapped birds.
Fire was rapidly spreading, growing. flames licked and whipped at me.
I steamed my cancerstick to the green line like it was the last mothafucka left, when the cherry was alive and sizzling, I flicked the butt into the cage with the most blood-speckled birds.
I walked out of the flaming botanica to the sound of flapping wings on fire.
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Interview with NERDS 2DX
Born in Jamaica, Queens NERDS has been adding his own unique style to every wall he approaches. From train yards to The Bushwick Collective, NERDS has no limits. His passion and dedication to the game is unmatchable. Without further ado, Writers Ink presents NERDS 2DX!
Why “NERDS”? What inspired you to choose that combination of letters?
I was always the bad smart kid in school… lol
When did you start writing?
Shit… I started noticing graff in like 7th grade, but I didn’t start to “actively” participate until High School… So like ’99, but I didn’t write “Nerds” back then… lol
Word, so about 17 years… That’s putting in work. What were the first few words you put up? Or just one prior?
I used to write “PAER,” that was my first tag.
When was the first time you went to prison?
Mid 2000’s… Like late ’05-’07… I was living in Miami, fucking up my septum with that good oil based coke… Selling 8balls and shit… Got jammed up on some charges… …I thought they were small at the time, but Florida’s judicial system isn’t New York’s. I was basically just doing my Charlie Sheen at the time… I felt like I was lucky to get that 18+ months… This was basically the time the pill mills started popping up everywhere… We all were smoking a lot of pills, going out and robbing the dope boys… Smacking $20 rocks out of their hands and doin’ the Carl Lewis… I was glad to make it out of there alive… They can keep that 18 months… It’s a gift… lol.
That’s pretty wicked. When you were in Miami, were you still writing “PAER” or had you transitioned to “NERDS.”
I got the name “NERD” around ’01-’02… I didn’t add the “S” until maybe ’07-’08 when I came back from Florida… I didn’t write much in Miami… The scene was so different… I didn’t have a car either… When I did steal or “acquire” a car… I was pretty preoccupied with other crimes…
What made you decide to come back to New York?
I had nothing left for me down there… So I decided to come back and start all over…
What was the first thing you did when you came back to New York?
The first thing I did was link up with the squad… Start painting again… I felt like I needed to get back to a sense of normalcy… And that felt like the only way.
JINS, NERDS, JROZ
What kind of spots do you and the squad like to hit?
It really all depends on the mood I’m in… Sometimes it’s something very thought out and well planned… Sometimes I have to drink a lot and I’m just like “Fuck it.”… I try to keep it diverse… Most of my squad would probably agree… We all like to challenge each other, keep us all developing.
Those shredded layers you paint are staggering, what inspired that idea?
Honestly, that idea all came from me doing collages on that fine art shit… I had like garbage bags full of ripped paper in my house… One day I was blackout drunk and started visualizing these fonts all stacked up… The idea just started really basic and then developed fairly quick… Especially once I started free-styling the colors… I’m not one of those writers who has crates of paint at their house… I’m usually working with rattlers and shit I find in my back seat… lmao… No sponsors. So it just made a lot of sense to stagger them… Especially when you’re working with quarter cans and 1 good cap… Hahah. Just gimme five scraps and I’ll smoke anybody…lol… I’ll blow cans up if I have to… lmao.
Lmao, word. That’s what’s up. How long did it take to paint that mural at the Bushwick Collective Wall in 2015?
That was actually the first non-graffiti mural I’d ever done… And at the time the biggest piece of work I had ever done… I painted it on a scaffold in the rain after work everyday for three days straight… I like a challenge… lol.
Spoken like a true savage. What type of opportunities have you had to travel different places for both galleries and straight up graffiti?
In the last few years I’ve traveled a lot… Exploring different abandoned buildings on the east coast… I fell in love with that lifestyle immediately… The isolation spoke to me in some sick way… lol… I’ve been invited to a few different festivals… experienced a lot of different cultures… Met a lot of white bitches with fat asses… They’re out there… lol.
Speaking of abandos, was that phone actually working? Or was that just for the ‘gram?? Lol. How’d you even find that place?
Lmao… Nah that shit was actually working. Deadass… made some local calls on that bad boy… Abandos are a dangerous game, especially going at it alone. If you want to find them, then you have to open your eyes… They’re all around… Keep your ears to the street and keep those clippers handy… lol.
What do you think about social media and graffiti combined?
I’ve always said that the internet itself is a tool… A tool improperly used can be dangerous… With that being said a lot of good writers careers have done well because of social media… Myself included, but I’ve been doing this when social media consisted of Bombing Science magazine and ArtCrimes.com… lmao… The internet has created a lot of hybrid styles… Which I’m all for, but a lot of the community and history has been lost… I feel like it’s a double-edged sword… Styles with no master… Street art is the entitled, ungrateful offspring of graffiti… Like the crazy dad who finally makes sense when you’re older… lol.
Who would you say has influenced your style the most?
At this point in my life, I get influences from all different areas of art… That’s a loaded question… Growing up in Queens I was mentored by a lot of old school BMK crew… Optick/ Smend… As I grew up traveling around the city, I became more aware of the variance of styles… SLOPE from BK had a lot of styles… SETUP.. I was definitely influenced by ESPO and his gates…. I never wanted to feel one dimensional in a specific style… As I got older I pushed myself to be diverse… So at this point I don’t even sketch anymore… It’s just a bag of tricks at this point… I like it like that… I’m a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, rolled in a big ass cigarette with coke on the tip… Hahaha.
From your story about Miami I can tell things were pretty wild. What was a wild experience you had in NY?
A few years ago when I was shooting my video entitled “No Invite” I went to Yonkers to search out a ‘bando. I had never been there before and had no idea how to get in…(**Side-note** At this point I had been on a three day cocaine binge. I had about 2 G’s left tucked in my sock. I was really fucked up… You know the type of fucked up that every line of Coke do you do falls out of your nostrils because your septum is just overworked…) Anyway I find the entrance to the building through a basement window that had about a 12 foot drop to the ground … there was a chain attached to the wall a few feet from the window that I grab and climb down. Meanwhile I had no idea how I was going to get out of the building when I was done nevertheless …But Fuck it though……I made my Way to the third floor. I found a wall with good light and started to unpack my paint (But If You’ve never had the unfortunate pleasure of spending three days with no sleep doing cocaine like Marion Barry… Chances are you will begin to hallucinate.) All of a sudden I hear someone say “Hellooo.” I pause while going through my cans and there is the voice again “Helloooooo??? “with some weird accent. At this point I couldn’t tell whether I was hallucinating or if this was really happening. There was the voice again, “Helloooooooooooooooo” with a weird Russian Polish-ish fuckin’ accent. So all of a sudden….I couldn’t tell you why… haha… I just yell Out ..”What’s Good Nigga!!”…..I still don’t know if I’m hallucinating or not yet or if it’s the fuckin’ boys but I’m wayyyyy to fucked up to be analyzing the situation that deep…haha… The dude yells back “Hey hey hey!!!… I’m lost, I can’t find the way I came in!!!”….about 45 seconds later he comes around the corner into the room I’m in… He’s one of those German/ Polish/ Russian /Mediterranean Merrill wearing photographer urbex dudes… I tell him the way I came in and he tells me he tried it and can’t climb the chain. He’s extra flustered… I tell him “Relax… I got you…” I show him the room where I climbed in through the window… I climb back up the chain on some American drugs ninja warrior shit and dead grant out the frame of the window off with just my feet. I grab his hand and lift him to a point where’s he’s comfortable enough to scale the chain… (I swear just reliving this story is fuckin’ ridiculous…lol.) I shimmy back down the chain, he’s extremely grateful… He says something to me and gives me a salute lol, (the type of salute you see Afghanistan kids give American soldiers…lol.) I trek back upstairs to finish the piece I started… About 1 hour later it gets really dark really fast… So I make my way back to the room to climb out. It’s fuckin’ freezing, my hands are cold and stiff, the chain I have to climb is like an ice cube, and I’m totally gassed. I don’t have the energy to climb it… I start walking room to room trying to find one loose plywood board on any random window…I’m kicking shit..trying to get out by any means… I don’t even give a fuck about the cops at this point I’m freezing… Any booking is better than death…#deadass… I sit down and light a cigarette and evaluate the situation. All of a sudden a flash light hits me through the elevated window and I hear that weird ass Russian/German/ Polish niggas voice…”HELLO!?!?!?!”……I just break out laughing… (It turned out that garbled foreign shit he was sayin’ to me as he went out the window earlier was him letting me know he was coming back with friends later)..They throw down a rope ladder and climb down. We give each other pounds and exchange language neutral expressions of respect and gratitude. I climbed out the window and never saw those tourists again…karma, huh?
When have you gone to bookings and got placed in the same cell with someone you knew?
Every time I go to jail or booking or whatever I always end up with a story. I’ve got more stories than the fuckin’ bible…lol. Sometimes when I’m about to tell a story even I know how unbelievable some of this shit is…lol
So, it’s maybe 09-11…hahah…whatever. I’m walking down 62nd on the east, fresh new chrome uni. At the time I was flipping everything from dimes to biftys of green straight delivery style. I even had a beeper on some late mid 90s clockers shit (Dope Spike Lee Movie.) I just ground the tip down of this brand new uni silver from my mans “Geo” at the Scrap Yard…
I’m approaching 1st ave and there’s a fresh mailbox… I roll up on it, bust off a quick handstyle. Exclamation, swirl, all that… I keep walking… All of a sudden I hear this whistle start blowing crazy…!!!!!!!!!!!….!!!!!!!!!!!!…..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…
I turn around and 2 bike cops roll up on me fast as fuck… Did the power slide and everything..Baywatch shit… At this point I’m literally on the curb standing on the sewer grate… Out of pure instinct I drop the marker in the gutter… “Where’s the marker buddy?….Where’s the cans?…Turn around …You think we didn’t see you?” I don’t say shit… They look around for a while and see it in the gutter…(* I fucking swear to you*… They brought a fucking police tow truck to lift up the grate and retrieve the marker like it was a fucking CSI investigation no lie.*)… They ship me to the precinct… From the precinct to the Tombs (my 2nd Home)… Once I make it To the second cell I’m tired and there’s no open space… I see this dude layer out across a big piece of real estate….I walk over and I don’t know why but the first thing I see is his sneakers… Some Black shell toes with rainbows stripes…(I know a nigga with those kicks…I’ve never seen anyone else with them, but they’re obviously not the only pair in existence.) His shirt is pulled over his face to block the fluorescent lighting…I tap him on the shoulder.. “Ayo…Slide down a little bit nigga…” He pulls the shirt off his head…..NEMZ ..muthafucker!!!!!! …We start bugging out… The CO is telling us calm down and shit…He got wrapped up in some other shit (that’s his story to tell..hahaha.) Anyway it turned out he’s already been here for like 24hrs. By the time we reach the lawyer cell we have been together for hrs… (Btw Shout Out To Azel Cs..Lower East side Boy…there isn’t a a bookings I’ve been in that he doesn’t have scratchies/ lighter tags u name it.) We go up to see the judge, some of his family was there and they’ve met me on different occasions…lol. So when they saw me there they thought we were co-defendants…hahahah…Let’s just say I wasn’t that welcome at the family house for a while…hahah.. #deadass… lol.
Anyone you want to give a shout out to?
First and foremost none of this would be possible without ME… So let me start by thanking myself… Big Shout Out To My Ace.. DIM TIS CSF… I never would of been in this game if it wasn’t for him… Shout out to The whole TIS Familia…SENO, SEAK, NEMZ CIR, and my nigga EONIS out in Atlanta… My 2dx family state to state…DEK, SMASH, SANS, RUKUS, MINUS, SNEK, Smirk, CRIS, ETHEK, REUP out in Baltimore and SKIZM… All My CSFamily…Brooklyn!!…GIGS, FRESH5, SLUE… All my WATCriminals…USEE, LEER, GASE EK, BIRD… My Dude RANT in Ohio… My Man CAKED WPK..”Aka” Brick Tosser…..The team is huge… Also Shout out to the homies EVAK, EGORE, CENT… My nigga OVER NFG… And Of Course The Great JIN’S 5MH…..Shout out to Queens… And Last But Not Least… RIP BAK ,RIP ZNO ,RIP PANAS, RIP YEAH ,RIP CEFR…. You’re truly Missed… We’ll paint again soon…..…I’m Out.
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