klariwitch

klariwitch

tim’s witch boy

Ao3- dunneltag879

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klariwitch·2 days agoText

Thank you @biconkon for tagging me you’re an absolute sweetheart!! <3


Last song: The Girl from Ipanema by Frank Sinatra & August by flipturn


Last movie: Batman: Death in the Family & Sacagawea (documentary for Apush homework)


Currently watching: bobs burgers, young justice & rottmnt


Currently reading: House of leaves(rereading) & 90s young justice comics


Currently craving: more plants!!! (In general) & caramel iced coffee & spring rolls


Tags(no pressure :)): @lovely-bellflower @comicsandhoney @pinkassasin

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klariwitch·3 days agoText

I don’t care who you are or how you found this post but p l e a s e send me your favorite song or songs!!!

I’m in desperate need for new music and I mostly like all genres, I listen to anything from Bowie, to Frank Sinatra, to MCR, to Hozier, to vampire weekend, Rex Orange County, Johnny Cash, etc!! Especially if your one of my followers!!! I’d love to hear what everyone’s currently listening to!!

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klariwitch·5 days agoText

The Violations of Scent


 Having things that weren’t his or at least not meant to be his was something Tim was rather used to, it was but a second nature. For instance, the title of robin, or the seat as Wayne enterprise’s CEO. So, why did the mere fabric feel so entirely different from all the rest?


It’d been a little over a year since Kon’s tragic perish, and only 98 cloning attempts in did Tim finally break.


His knuckles bled, arms covered in micro shards of glass from constant punching, pounding and cracking of the thick glass tube that contained Superboy’s infamous shirt.


It was the last thing that smelt like him, of sweat, leather and maybe a hint some sort of spice?


Tim hugged the shirt for a long time, and he laid in the pile of glass for what felt like an enternity, though was only but a half hour.


When he finally arose, the pricks in his skin intensified with pain, so he clutched the shirt on his way to the shower.

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klariwitch·7 days agoText

Someone to Lose


“Blood son my ass” Tim hissed as the door opened with a click. The manor was quiet, it was delicate and unloved, and for those reasons he knew for a fact nothing had changed. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe Janet and Jack were just on another expedition.


No, this time they weren’t coming back, instead long gone, forgotten and already starting to deteriorate in their oh so lovely tombs.


The manor would be out of the drake name by the end of the month. He’d allow it to be sold fully furnished and he’d take only his parents belongings with him. Tim decided he’d donate prizes they’ve brought home from expeditions to museums, the clothes would be mostly donated, jewelry pawned, and the rest? Maybe a nice storage container.


Believe it or not, but time apart from the toxic duo was relieving. Tim couldn’t see the abuse till their passing, but now he felt like he could breath. It felt almost similar to the rush he first got as robin.


Right…robin. A lost title. Dead, just like the many other special things and people in his life. All dead and buried in the back of his mind, people and things he once cherished, unlike Janet and Jack.


No more isolation, no more punches or slaps, no more mind controls and manipulation. He was free, free of parental harm and supervision, maybe he’d throw a party? He didn’t know who he’d invite. The only ones he’d care to party with were long gone, his choices in people seemed to be instead dwindling.


“That’s why we make more friends, Timothy,” he mocked his mother’s voice. Only, in the ways she meant it, it wasn’t to make friends, just slaves and people to do ones bidding, mere pawns. It was tempting, too, maybe manipulation and abuse were somehow in his DNA, maybe he was more like them than he thought.


The boy plopped down on the sofa in the sitting room, stiff, barely used just like the rest of the house. He glanced around, noticing the way the doorways arched and the carpet caved in under the legs of the opposite sofa and the million dollar coffee table in front of him. There was a bar in the corner, still fully stocked with his mother’s champagne and his father’s brandy, when was the last time it had been touched? Silence settled in then. It was cold and brutal, yet comforting in a nostalgic way of his adolescence.


Tim felt a sudden sense of pride then. He’d survived. He was on his own, all alone, no longer a puppet to dead Janet, no longer a punching bag to Jack. “I won,” he stated to the house, running a hand through his overgrown hair, a smile curving at the corners of his lips. It was victory at last, he could almost taste it on his lips, cracked and brittled. It was the sour type of victory, the kind felt after revenge. They were dead after all, and the part of him that did love them, felt guilty for not doing more, but out of all the loss he’d faced lately, maybe these deaths he could alter into a slight win, rather than a typical lose.


“I won,” he restated, this time standing up and strutting over to the bar. He pulled out a bottle of champagne from the mini fridge along with a long glass. He’s done so all the many times before, pouring his mother a flute of champagne and his father a shot of brandy, only this time it wasn’t for them, and the alcohol wouldn’t be accompanied with loud fights and more often than not Jack taking it out on his son. He took his glass, champagne poured nearly to the brim.


“To the drakes!” The teen exclaimed with a grin, the liquid sloshing around as he raised the glass to no one. Tim took a glance around the room, giving each piece of furniture, wall, and conversation piece a lively and proud look before he allowed himself to continue, “may we all burn in hell.”

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klariwitch·12 days agoText

Southern Nights


Read it on ao3


Tim was driving. Driving far away. Where was he going? Even he didn’t know that. Just, far away from Gotham, far away from California, far away from Paris, far away from from his family, from his friends, and most importantly far away from all the graves he seems to be collecting.


He halted the car eventually, he even climbed out of the drivers seat and took a look around. All around him he saw not much other than the open and empty dirt road—surrounded by fields of wheat. After all the stops, all the gas, all the hours of driving, all the lack of sleep and refusal to eat, he found himself here: in Kansas.


It was July. It was July and Timothy Drake had stolen his dad’s old mustang, drove hours upon hours, only stopping for gas because he felt he had somewhere he needed to go. It was July and Timothy Drake disassociated his whole drive and ended up in Kansas. It was July and Timothy drake was in Kansas.


Soon, he could only find himself running through those fields of wheat, wanting something else, anything else. He wanted to disappear right then and there, in that field of soft, golden wheat. He hoped the ground would open up and the earth would consume him whole.


So against the dirt he laid, staring up at the stars, a sense of nostalgia or deja vu hitting him in an instant. Because back then, there was always a shadow following him, an obnoxious, stupid, charming, handsome, comforting shadow. That shadow was long gone, emptiness only filling up that old void. And much like Peter Pan, Tim lost his shadow, only unlike Peter’s there was no finding it.


“Fuck. What am I doing here?” He pondered, standing up slowly in the moonlight. Unfortunately, the ground had not swallowed Tim the way he hoped, instead, Tim found himself heading back to the car, dirt on his knees and wheat in his hair. The soft sound of music growing as he walked closer.


southern nights

have you ever felt a southern night?

free as a breeze

not to mention the trees

whistlin’ tunes that you know and love so


A deep voice sung along with the lyrics, and upon approaching the road, Tim became face to face with him.


“Remember that one summer when you stayed over at the farm a few years back? Remember we went way out into the field because we couldn’t sleep, we took pa’s old radio and cranked it up to just the right volume for dancing. Remember how idiotic we were when this song came on? Well, even though we were just messing around while we danced to it, that was actually the moment I fell for you,” Conner smiled warmly. He sat on the hood of the red mustang, his head bouncing as he hummed along to the song.


Tim took a breath, he shuttered in the cold, walking back to the drivers side. Kon el, Conner Kent, the Superboy just admitted his love to him and yet, his presence made his blood boil. “I don’t know what sick fuck set you up to this but you need to leave,” Tim growled, a clear sob being pushed down as he spoke.

He couldn’t look at him, not now. Not after all the happened. “I know you’re not fucking real I’m just hallucinating or something,” He assured himself, giving a nod.


“What are you talking about? I’ve been following you for miles, Tim, hours. You just randomly left everyone without telling anyone where you were going, without saying goodbye..” Conner floated into the passengers seat, looking hurt by Tim’s words. “Why here? Why are you in Kansas, bud? Everyone was so worried, we thought Ra’s took you, or maybe worse.”


They sat in silence for several moments before Tim started up the car again, and in enough time his foot was on the gas and they were zipping down the dirt road, crisp wind in their hair. “I’m fine, and Ra’s isn’t here.”



southern skies

have you ever noticed southern skies?

it’s precious beauty lies just beyond the eye


“Why are you still here?” Tim called to his passenger over the loud radio, he didn’t even look at him, he could feel himself dissociating again, “I said, why the fuck are you here Conner?”


“I told you, you just left everyone, out of nowhere-“


“No!” The car picked up speed, and now Tim found himself face to face with the Kryptonian. “You’re supposed to be dead! You died!”


old man

he and his dog, they walk the old land

every flower touched his cold hand

as he slowly walked by

weeping’ willow would cry for joy, joy


“No I’m not, Tim remember Paris? Remember when you hugged me the time after that? How you said you were sure now? You knew that I was alive, I’ve been alive, I am alive!” Conner looked at him as if he were crazy. “Tim what’s going on? You took out your fucking tracker? I mean how did you even do that? Why? I just- I don’t understand.”


Tim couldn’t hear him though, he’d fell back down the rabbit hole of disassociation, much like the way he ended up here, only who knows where he’d make it this time, or if he’d even make it, period.


He could still feel the warmth in his heart from those nights, the times he was told Conner was indeed alive, the times he actually touched him, and yet he still insisted this was not happening. Going further back now, he could recall the moments of peace he felt when they danced that summer. They danced in the fields outside the Kent farm, an old radio blasting old songs for the two young friends. They danced like idiots, but Tim didn’t feel like an idiot. He felt at peace, he felt comfortable, he felt loved. They were young, naive, and he supposed in love as well.


Now, life was confusing. He was torn between his talks with his therapist, about him seeing things, hearing things, things that weren’t actually there, and just wanting to jump into Conner’s arms and cry on his shoulder. He knew he wasn’t real, after all this time he wasn’t just suddenly back.


“God. Fuck you Conner Kent. Can’t you see I’m grieving?” Tim shot him a glare, Conner returned a frown, he looked heartbroken. Part of Tim wanted to just reach out for him, he wanted to just give in so badly…he wanted to feel that warmth again.


mystery

like this and many others in the trees

blow in the night

in the southern skies


Conner put a hand on the back of Tim’s neck, dragging his thumb along the tips of his overgrown hair. The car sped up.


Tim couldn’t control himself anymore, he turned to Conner, hungrily grabbing his jaw as he pulled him close to kiss him. Conner ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, kissing him back just as eagerly. The two intertwined, grasping at one another like it was the end of the world—like if they let go they’d die.


southern nights,

they feel so good, it’s a frightening

wish I could

stop this world from fighting


Tim broke the kiss momentarily, catching his breath before he was pulled back in by his chin, the angle this time different than before. Now Tim had his fingers twisting through Conner’s hair, his other hand playing absent mindlessly with Conner’s T-shirt.


When he pulled away a second time, he felt a firm hand on his waist, he cradled Conner’s face in his hands, looking at him in the eye with tears as he whispered one soft “I’m so sorry”


Then they crashed.


And Tim went limp in Conner’s arms.


southern skies

have you ever noticed?

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klariwitch·12 days agoText

comicsandhoney:

Sounds were such a funny thing.  A way of communication, that could vary so much in so many ways. Tones, voices, volume, whether the sound was hollow, ragged, whether it was sore, squeaky. 
Whether it wanted to express pain, whether it wanted to scream out love. 

“Tim, I need to leave. I need to go, now.” Conner Kent was standing on the frame of a door, wearing his uniform and leather jacket. The jacket had sewn signatures, it had stickers and paddings. His hair was messy and his glasses were hanging on his jacket pocket. “I- they need me.” His voice was hollow, demanding, fearful, in pain.

“No you- no you don’t!” Tim Drake stood up from the chair, anger boiling inside him. “They don’t- They don’t need you, Kon! They just- they just want to use you,” his voice faltered. The outgoing sounds were the small, deep taps on the doorframe with Kon’s fingertips. “You’re going to get hurt, really hurt, and then they’re going to leave you.

“They don’t care about what happens you, Kon. They just want your powers and your strength, it’s going to drain, and then… and then you won’t be here anymore.” 

The tapping stopped, Kon walked towards him. “Maybe they don’t need me, but others do. Only Supers in battle, remember?” The sounds were small, creaks of the wooden tiles, drips of water. “I need to go help them.” 

Tears prickled at Tim’s eyelids. “Then I will go with you,” he reached for his uniform. “You can’t go alone, besides, I-” 

Kon grabbed his arm, his fingers tightly laced on Tim’s skin. “You can’t go. Not even Batman is going, it’s just us Supers, you guys won’t survive out there.” 

“I don’t care, Kon! You can’t go on some suicide mission, just because Clark is demanding it!” Tim wiped falling tears from his cheeks. “You’re going, then so am I…” Tim knew the answer already, the only possible outcome of the conversation. Kon was going to leave, and Tim was going to stay. 

“You know you can’t go, Tim! You- you’re not indestructible, I can’t throw you onto my battles.” 

The sounds were still drips, not so much creaks on the tiles. The swarm of voices, fighting, trying to outspeak the other, they were strong and thick. It came out a whisper. “Just- Just promise me-” Tim’s face melted into a frown. Promises were stupid, they were unrealistic and shameful signs of false hopes. “You’re going to be back?” 

Kon smiled at him. A sad smile, a waver of the lips, a broken goodbye, nonetheless, he kept quiet. 

“You’re going to be back, right?” The sounds were the ticking of a clock, the dripping of liquid, the crack in Tim’s voice. “Right, Kon?” 

Tim Drake opened his eyes, the color of cream absorbing his energy. His hands were tied back, his feet strapped to the wooden legs of a chair, the same colour or the wooden tiles of the building. He was wearing a suit, strapped in white, the same colour of the padded walls. The sounds were the same. Faint creaks, light beeping, taps, drips. 

Tim looked down and he saw white blended with red. Streaks and splatters of his own blood, staining a white suit. Bruises on what he could see of his arms, a salty taste on his lips. 

Tim closed his eyes, he counted to ten. It was a calming excercise, to say out loud everything known as a fact. Tim kept his eyes closed, and his lips stung when he spoke. 

“My name is Tim Drake, I am…” He didn’t have to answer that question. “My favourite color is r-re-” He didn’t need to answer that one either. 

He started over. “My name is Tim Drake, I was the sec- third, yes, third robin, my favourite drink is… apple juice, a-and-” 

Again. “My name is Timothy Drake, I used to work with Batman, my favourite ice cream flavour is peppermint, and-” Tim’s throat was dry. “and Conner Kent is dead.” 

Voices, sounds, they were so varied. A voice could use so many different tones, so many different letters to say, songs to sing, rythms to hum, phrases to whisper. 
A voice would also make sounds like a whimper, a laugh, a sob, a scream. 

Today, all those sounds filled the cream-coloured room.

“Right, Kon?” 

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klariwitch·12 days agoText

Okay, so we all are aware that the way Lex Luther and Kon interacted during Reign of the Supermen was HILLARIOUS, 100% gen z behavior.

So, I’d like to propose dc make a show of Kon, his daddy issues and hell, just add in young justice. Do you know how funny the core four would be in a show like that?? Pure gen z humor. It’d be like the Harley Quinn show. Just. ✨Immaculate ✨

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klariwitch·20 days agoText

My Everything


It was a Thursday night in Gotham city. Raining, per usual, because when was it not? The dense drops of icy water fell in heavy pitter patters on the rooftops, on cars, and the pavement below. The air in the gothic city was musky and cold and yet, a certain kryptonian found himself completely dry. He had himself floating it his bubble to a wide steel balcony now only a few feet in front of him.


The bubble like force popped as he made his way inside, unlocking and opening the door quietly with the same skills as many other times before, and soon his boots hit marble tile. At least now the rain was not much more than an outside muffle.


Kon glanced around the room, the apartment was clean, expensive and especially unloved. It was the type of clean before company would come over when your mom would make sure the house looked completely unlived it. The easy answer was the obvious daily or weekly maid, however he still found it very eerie.


It all just looked completely plastic. Plastic, not in a cheap way but, plastic in the sense that the owner was fake, that this wasn’t really them. He had hoped that at least this time, it wouldn’t feel like another Barbie house—a mere toy, though the new living space was very easy to disappoint.


“Why are you here?” A frustrated voice called, to which he had figured came from the open bathroom down the hall. Kon had tried to be quiet, tried to not disturb, and quite honestly he hasn’t actually made any noise at all. Detectives instinct.


When Kon approached the bathroom, he could see the voice’s owner finally, and the plastic boy did indeed match the plastic apartment. He was a mere Barbie boy in his little Barbie world.

“Tim,” Kon smiled, to which the boy let out a softer sigh, though the agitation was still visible in his voice. He could even see the boy wince.


“What are you doing here? It’s four in the morning,” Tim replied. He was sitting on the marble counter, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. His Red Robin suit was thrown around in pieces on the floor, the cowl next to him, boots in the hall and all the rest of the suit thrown in the corner next to the shower. Tim had his head turned to the left of him, trying it best to get a good look at his shoulder in the mirror, it was slit open and bleeding. He seemed to be attempting at a sorry excuse for stitches, but with the angle and the way the mirror made everything backwards, Kon could only shiver as he watched the boy poke the wrong spots of tender skin with the sharp needle.


“I was-“ Kon started. Then he shook his head, sighed and inched his way more into the room and made his way up to the boy. “This is actually painful to watch, allow me,” he sighed, giving a half chuckle as he took the needle in his hand, only to begin sewing the porcelain skin together, amazed at how easily it went through. “I was just in the neighborhood and I figured I’d might as well drop by and nag you to go to sleep, assuming you were still awake—which you are.” He finished, keeping a steady hand as he continued the stitches. He watched Tim wince a bit every now and then. “Your turn though, how’d you get this nasty cut?” Kon gestured to his shoulder, not breaking his concentration.

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klariwitch·a month agoText

comicsandhoney:

Tim and Kon really said diy crafts

doctorsteeb:

comicsandhoney:

okay so you know in the movie “Justice League: Doom”, Superman gets shot or something, and it’s like a kryptonite bullet (or something) and then Batman gave Cyborg a piece of Kryptonite, and told him to alter his blaster to the minimum, and use the Kryptonite as a lens, so he can cut through Superman’s skin, and Martian manhunter can use his shape-shifting abilities to… y’know… wriggle his fingers into Superman’s chest, where the bullet is. 

klariwitch:

How the absolute f u c k does kon have piercings????

Okay so we all know that like kryptonian skin is TOUGH, bulletproof even depending on what comics you’re reading or what you’re watching. And I know kon is only half kryptonian but in most series and comics he’s a lot more indestructible compared to the normal human, the fact that normal needles can’t penetrate his skin has in fact been brought up before.

So how the hell does this man have piercings???


There’s only one thing I can think of: clip-ons

Anyways that’s possibly how Kon got his piercings, A Kryptonite lens. 

Tim coated the tip of a needle in kryptonite and did the piercings himself

I think this might be my new favorite timkon headcannon ajdjdmhdjfjf

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klariwitch·a month agoText

comicsandhoney:

okay so you know in the movie “Justice League: Doom”, Superman gets shot or something, and it’s like a kryptonite bullet (or something) and then Batman gave Cyborg a piece of Kryptonite, and told him to alter his blaster to the minimum, and use the Kryptonite as a lens, so he can cut through Superman’s skin, and Martian manhunter can use his shape-shifting abilities to… y’know… wriggle his fingers into Superman’s chest, where the bullet is. 

klariwitch:

How the absolute f u c k does kon have piercings????

Okay so we all know that like kryptonian skin is TOUGH, bulletproof even depending on what comics you’re reading or what you’re watching. And I know kon is only half kryptonian but in most series and comics he’s a lot more indestructible compared to the normal human, the fact that normal needles can’t penetrate his skin has in fact been brought up before.

So how the hell does this man have piercings???


There’s only one thing I can think of: clip-ons

Anyways that’s possibly how Kon got his piercings, A Kryptonite lens. 

Okay so what I’m hearing is a DIY

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klariwitch·a month agoText

How the absolute f u c k does kon have piercings????

Okay so we all know that like kryptonian skin is TOUGH, bulletproof even depending on what comics you’re reading or what you’re watching. And I know kon is only half kryptonian but in most series and comics he’s a lot more indestructible compared to the normal human, the fact that normal needles can’t penetrate his skin has in fact been brought up before.

So how the hell does this man have piercings???


There’s only one thing I can think of: clip-ons

736 notes · See All
klariwitch·a month agoText

comicsandhoney:

“Do you feel it?” His lips barely moved, and his eyes remained closed. Kon listened to Tim silently, his feet on the edge of the tallest balcony in Metropolis, but Tim was standing on his toes, even closer to the edge. 

Feel what? He wanted to ask. But he knew. 
They were feeling death. 

She always stood beside them, beside Tim. Every time his feet lifted off the ground, every time he appointed himself for another mission, death followed. She seemed to be Tim’s best friend, always holding his hand. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Tim continued. “Don’t you think?” 

No, he didn’t think so. But he wasn’t going to say anything, for this time, as many times before, Tim wasn’t talking to him. 
He was talking to himself, to whoever was listening.

“I could just… I could let it devour me whole.” Tim’s eyes kept closed, and his lips weren’t moving. He was leaning forward by the second, but Kon kept quiet. 
He knew how it felt, in modes and levels. 
Yet Tim was different. 
Tim was the reincarnation of beauty, always so vulnerable yet strong, strong from trying to be choked down by darkness. Beauty was like that, seeming so pure, so innocent, so tough, when in reality it was simply light in a bottle, fading down slowly, devoured by darkness. 

Kon looked at Tim once more. His eyes were shut close now, not a simple rest of the eyelids. His feet rested lightly on the balcony, and his lips were slightly parted. The soft blue dress shirt he was wearing was being held back by the wind. 
It was as if even the wind knew what was about to happen. 

Kon stepped down from the balcony. He reached for Tim’s hand. “Tim, we should be leaving…”

“I could let it devour me whole.” Tim whispered to the wind. His eyes were still snapped shut. 

Kon didn’t want to use his super-strength on Tim. He didn’t even want to not use his super-strength. Tim looked so peaceful, yet so sad and dangerous.
Tim looked dangerous. Not a danger to Kon, not the civilians of Metropolis. 
But to himself. 

He grabbed Tim’s hand once again, tighter this time. He tugged, trying to pull him from the edge of the balcony. 

Tim opened his eyes. He looked at Kon. He turned towards him, still on the tip of his toes, still on the far edge of the balcony. 
He smiled. 
He tugged back at Kon’s hands. 

“Dance with me, Kon.”  He leaned aimlessly towards Kon. He met his eyes once again and held his loose hand on his shoulder. 

“Dance with me.” 

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klariwitch·a month agoText

Wish you were sober


It was a quarter to midnight when Kon showed up to the gala, his hair was now undone and falling back into messy curls from his flight over. He’d came as fast as he could, which was indeed fast, given the distance between the battle ground of lex’s shenanigans in metropolis, to Kansas, then over to Gotham. He was all dressed up, wearing his nicest (only) black blazer, the appropriate dress pants and a white button up. Though, even for as dressed up as he was, Kon still felt extremely underdressed upon entering the ball room. There was something about the place that reeked, snobs. He didn’t know how Tim did it, he was at these galas all the time, anywhere from charity events to holiday parties, the Waynes did it all. Must be tiresome.


“Tim!” he called, rushing over to the young CEO who seemed to be mingling his way about. The boy had just got finished with what Kon assumed as a boring business conversation, with some older and professional looking man. Kon could just make out Tim’s relived sigh even from the other side of the room.


“You made it,” Tim smiled at his best friend , cupping a hand over his shoulder once he appeared at his side. Kon smiled back, glancing around at the people in the room once more before bringing his attention back to Tim, and pulling his friend back a few steps in caution. There were listening ears all over the room, better to distance themselves as much as they could, even if only by a little bit.


“Clark and I found more intel on what Lexcorp has been up to, of course while doing all that Lex had bigger plans, caused ruckus all over the south side of the city. We of course stopped him but, I honestly thought i’d be here a lot sooner. Cause, then you know I had to fly back to the farm, ma wouldn’t quit nagging me about getting hurt, then of course there was the flight over here and bart called before i could get in-“ Kon had been rambling for sometime now, and Tim who would typically have interrupted at this point maybe with curiosity of what Lexcorp was up to, or even just shushing him, seeming how they were at a very public gala, and they were only a little out of the crowd, in the corner of the room. Only, Tim didn’t seem to have anything to say, in fact he didn’t seem to have been listening at all. “Tim? buddy? You good?” Kon tilted his head, looking down at his oblivious friend, even putting a hand on his shoulder to see if he would react to that.


“mmm, what?” Tim slurred, finally looking up at Kon. He took a drink of the rounded glass in his hand, that of which Kon had failed to notice before. How had he been so oblivious to the crimson drink Tim had been holding?


“Who on god’s earth gave you alcohol?”


read the rest on ao3

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klariwitch·a month agoText

Tim drake headcannon:


so i’ve been torn between the idea of tim having either really nice handwriting or horrible handwriting since generally really smart people have bad handwriting but also i’m sure growing up rich he had to practice neat handwriting, so i’d like to present what i’ve concluded:


timothy drake the playboy, ceo of wayne enterprises, heir to drake industries has beautiful cursive, constitution-ass handwriting.



however, red robin has scribbly, messy, i’m talking like doctor handwriting



bonus: kon cannot read either (this automatically turned down the idea of love letters)

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klariwitch·a month agoText

sketchingtons:

The idea of a Klarion and Tim friendship has taken over my life, and now I will subject it onto all of y’all as well ajsgshs

They get together and share their recent chaotic escapades as they do their nails and eat snacks-Tim introduces klarion to pop culture, especially all the popular media featuring witches (wicked, bewitched, Sabrina the teenage witch, etc.), and they def binge watch them when they hang out 😌👌

(Also props to the discord, they gave me the idea for Tim to adopt Dex-Starr so that’s a staple of this au now lolol)

Y’all I’ve fallen in love with drawing these 2 and if anyone wants to hit me up with fun scenarios/shenanigans to draw (or fun outfits for klarion to wear, the chaotic fashion disaster) pls let me know! 👀

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