#Tim is so stressed because of everything these fuckers pull

[purplecatghostposts]

Jay, after surviving being shot: Holy shit, I’m alive?? Thank god, I—

Tim, marching up after learning Jay waltzed right into Benedict Hall alone and almost got himself killed: JAY WILLIAM MERRICK.

Jay, sweating: oh god I’m so dead—

#marble hornets #we’re back to silly posting #imagine Tim saying this in a mom voice. that’s important #Jay got full named he knows he’s fucked #MH Canon Divergence where Tim gets Fed Up and gives everyone a piece of his mind #and nobody dies because of it #Tim swipes Alex’s gun and shoots the Operator #because he deserves to most of all #SB Speaks #Tim is so stressed because of everything these fuckers pull #he’s taking the reins now #gave Jay a random middle name. it felt fitting

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 6

I have been incredibly stressed out lately and writing soft things helps, so expect more of these. Also, my inbox is always open for requests! You can find part one of this here. I might do a master post for these shorts soon just to keep them organized and easy to find in order! 

The door to Rhys’ office opened. He looked up, having expected Tim for a morning meeting to go over some reports. What he didn’t expect was for Tim to come in basically dragging Phoenix with him.

Rhys had never seen the two have a serious argument before. Phoenix tended to worship his father, clinging to him affectionately most of the time. Plus, he seemed to be a pretty quiet kid for the most part, not argumentative or aggressive.

But today, he glared at Tim with a fierce expression, mouth twisted in a snarl. Tim looked just as mad, though he didn’t look down at Phoenix as he gripped his hand and pulled him along.

“Lemme go!” Phoenix said, trying to yank his hand away.

Tim didn’t obey. Instead, he pulled Phoenix to a stop and crouched in front of him, pointing a stern finger in his face.

“Not another word out of you until this meeting is over,” he said, voice low and angry. “Not one damn word, Phoenix. You’re going to sit where you usually do and- I don’t know, play or read or something.”

“I dunno how to read!” He was trying to yank his hand free again.

“Then look at the pictures or draw or something! Just sit down and be quiet!” Tim said. “I worked for Handsome Jack so I’d like to think I’m a patient man, but you are on my last freakin’ nerve and it’s only the morning, kid. Go sit.”

Phoenix finally had his hand free. He balled up his little fists, glaring hard at Tim.

“Hit me and I’m making you stay home tomorrow while I go to work,” Tim warned.

Phoenix’s face paled a little. He slowly unclenched his fists and instead stomped his way over to the corner he usually played in, dropping down with his tattered Hyperion bear and glaring at the wall.

“Uh- rough morning?” Rhys said.

“From the damn minute I woke up he was in a bad mood and fighting with me,” Tim said, sitting down and rubbing his temples. “Kinda made me see why Jack locked his kid up far away from himself.”

“Tim!” Rhys said. “That’s horrible!”

“Yea, I know.” Tim sighed. “Sorry, sorry. He doesn’t usually get like this so I’m, uh, not great at the whole discipline thing. Took everything in me not to call his mother and beg her to come, I dunno, put him in time out or something. It doesn’t help that every time I get mad, I sound exactly like Jack did when he’d threaten me and I freaking scare myself.” 

Rhys couldn’t argue with that. Tim scared the hell out of him when he got angry during meetings, the Jack tone slipping out. 

“Can we just- work?” Tim said. “I’m going to die of a stress induced stroke at this rate. I need to focus on something other than my moody kid.”

“Right, work. I can do work,” Rhys said, hastily pulling out the reports.

They began to sort through them, trying to organize them by urgency. Rhys frowned as he shifted through them.

“Dammit, that financial report on the parts we ordered is gone,” he said.

“I’ll grab it,” Tim said, getting up. “They probably forgot to drop it off again. They always do.”

Phoenix’s head snapped up as Tim headed for the door. He started to rise, but Tim shot him a look.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to be a little asshole to me all day and then act like you want to be around me. You stay right there and don’t cause any trouble,” Tim said, yanking the door open and leaving the office.

Phoenix sat down, tears pooling in his eyes. Rhys felt alarmed at the sight.

“Is he gonna come back?” Phoenix asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course he is!” Rhys assured hurriedly. “He just went to grab something.”

“He’s not gonna leave me?” Phoenix said, hugging his bear tightly. 

“No. He better not,” Rhys said. A tear leaked down Phoenix’s cheek. “That was a joke! No, no, he’s not leaving you. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I yelled at him,” Phoenix said, holding the bear up so he could bury his face against it. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he doesn’t like me no more?”

“A-Anymore,” Rhys said awkwardly. “Not, um, not ‘no more’. Right, bad time for this. Oh, boy, I wish I offered to go grab that report instead.” He cleared his throat. “Tim is coming back, Phoenix.”

Phoenix lifted his head, but only to watch the door. He got up, pacing more anxiously than usual.

When Tim finally did return, Phoenix stiffened, getting defensive instead of looking relieved. Tim only glanced at him before dropping the report on the desk and sitting back down.

“You didn’t say how long you were gonna go for,” Phoenix accused. 

“Didn’t think you’d care,” Tim said. “You’ve hated me all morning. Figured you’d be glad for the break.”

Phoenix snatched a book off the shelf he was by, throwing it at Tim’s head as hard as he could. “Stupid asshole!” 

The book struck Tim and he let out a hiss, though Rhys couldn’t tell if the noise was in surprise or pain. He stood up, whipping around.

“You little-” he snarled.

Phoenix scrambled back into the corner, trembling. Tim turned away from him, raking his hands through his hair and grinding his teeth together.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice tense. “I will never hurt you. But I’m going to leave this room before I say something I regret, I am going to get the strongest coffee I can fucking find, and I am going to take my time coming back while I think of some way to punish you for doing that.”

He moved for the door. Phoenix, still trembling, pushed himself away from the corner, eyes wide as he reached out a hand.

“Dad!” he said.

Tim shut the door. 

Phoenix sat down, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing his face against them as he began to cry. He always cried silently, never the loud sobs of other kids Rhys had been around.

“He’s not comin’ back!” Phoenix managed around his silent sobs. “He’s gonna leave me here!”

Rhys wondered when his office had become the home of Lawrence family drama. He bit his lip, but he felt bad seeing the kid cry so hard. 

“He’s coming back. You did throw a book at his head. He’s just mad,” Rhys said.

“He was gone!” Phoenix said, picking his head up and wiping at his eyes. Rhys struggled to understand him, his voice choked with tears. “I woke up and he was gone and- and- I thought he wasn’t comin’ back and-”

“Alright, slow down,” Rhys said, turning his chair to face Phoenix and leaning forward. “What do you mean he was gone?”

“Last night!” Phoenix said. “I woke up and he was gone. I had a bad dream and he wasn’t there!” 

Rhys knew Phoenix slept in Tim’s bed, his separation anxiety too severe to spend a night away from Tim. As far as Rhys knew, Phoenix tended to follow Tim wherever he went, even at home. 

“Did he...come back?” Rhys said.

Phoenix nodded, wiping at his eyes. “But not for a long time.”

“Well, he’ll come back now, too. And if he doesn’t come back in twenty minutes, we’ll go look for him,” Rhys said, more because he didn’t know what to do with a distraught child. 

Phoenix was crying again, putting his face back against his knees. Oh, jeez, the kid really thought his dad had just abandoned him for good.

“Phoenix,” Rhys said, getting up and crouching next to him. “Tim’s coming back.”

Phoenix slowly lifted his head. His eyes were big and scared, that sliver of blue standing out more than usual. 

Rhys sighed heavily and opened his arms. “Alright, alright. But just this once.”

Phoenix sniffled and reached a hand out to Rhys, giving him a one-armed hug. He pressed his face into Rhys’ shoulder as Rhys hugged him back.

Rhys sat next to him for a while until Tim finally came back. Phoenix shrank back as Tim entered the room, coffee in hand.

“I decided that- Well, no, I didn’t decide, I actually called your mom, but- Whatever, you have to weed the garden when we get home. She thinks it’ll help you let out your anger and punish you at the same time. And if you throw another damn book at my head, I’m taking away all your books at home,” Tim said, setting his coffee on the desk.

“You have a garden?” Rhys said, then shook his head. Not the point here. “Tim, he said he woke up and you were gone.”

“Huh?” Tim said. “When? You were up before me this morning.”

Phoenix averted his eyes. “Last night. I woke up and you were gone for a really long time.”

Tim furrowed his brow before understanding lit his face. “I didn’t leave you, Phoenix. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went downstairs to get some work done until I was tired. I was just trying not to wake you up.”

“I had a bad dream,” Phoenix whispered, eyes watering. “Pretty Boy killed you. And I woke up and you weren’t there!”

“Pretty Boy?” Rhys said in confusion.

Tim scrubbed a hand down his face. “The fucker who cost me my hand. He spent a long time hunting me down, and he finally caught me.” 

Tim came over to them. Phoenix shrank back as Tim crouched in front of him.

“So you dreamed I was killed, and then you woke up and you couldn’t find me,” he said slowly. He closed his eyes, muttered “Shit”, and opened them. “And when I left and didn’t tell you when I’d come back, it scared you, didn’t it? That's why you got mad at me.”

“It- There was too much and I-” Phoenix began to cry again, closing his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Yea, I know, I know,” Tim said, reaching out and putting a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. When Phoenix didn’t flinch away, he pulled the boy into his lap and rocked with him. “I know. It’s okay. It’s called being overwhelmed. I feel it too sometimes.”

“Please don’t hate me, daddy,” Phoenix whimpered.

Tim looked torn. Rhys had never heard Phoenix call his parents mommy or daddy before, and apparently Tim wasn’t used to it either. It made Phoenix seem that much younger, clutching his father and crying into his chest.

“I could never hate you. I hate that you threw a book at my head, and if you ever do that again you’ll spend the rest of your life pulling weeds from the garden. But I could never hate you,” Tim said, hugging him tightly and kissing his head. “You got overwhelmed. It happens. You need to tell me when you’re...when it’s too much. Okay? You need to tell me. Then we can avoid all this.”

“Um…” Rhys knew he shouldn’t, but he felt it needed to be pointed out. “You weren’t exactly being mature, either.”

“Hey! I-” Tim groaned. “Yea, no, I wasn’t. That’s on me. Still getting used to being a parent with responsibilities. I’m sorry I was an asshole, Phoenix.”

Phoenix gripped Tim’s shoulder and pulled himself up to kiss the side of Tim’s head, where the book had hit. “Sorry I threw a book at your head. Do you hate me?”

“I just said I didn’t, and I never will,” Tim said, pulling him back down. “Hey, it’s really just karma. I used to drive my mom crazy when I was your age. I’d do some stupid kid thing, she’d yell at me, I’d cry, and she’d apologize later and say she was trying her best. I get it now.”

Phoenix wiped at his eyes and rested his head on Tim’s chest, gripping his shirt again. “You can’t die, dad. Ever.”

“I don’t know about ‘ever’, but I’m doing my best, pal,” Tim said, running a hand through Phoenix’s messy hair. “Pretty Boy’s dead, and good riddance to the bastard. You don’t have to be afraid of him hurting me anymore.”

Phoenix reached out, taking Tim’s cybernetic hand. His eyes watered again, even as Tim curled his fake fingers over Phoenix’s hand.

“He, ah, he saw me while they were treating me after I lost my hand,” Tim explained to Rhys. “I had to cut it off to save the casino and everyone on it from an emergency protocol. When the adrenaline wore off I didn’t...really handle it as well as I probably could’ve. In my defense, it hurt like a bitch, and I was at imminent risk of infection.”

Rhys waved his own cybernetic arm. “Not quite the same circumstances, but I get it.”

“Rhys? Thank you,” Tim said quietly, hugging Phoenix tighter to himself. “I’m not exactly great at this. If you hadn’t talked to him, I probably would’ve kept being an asshole and making it worse. I should’ve thought to talk to him, but he was so combative this morning that I just gave up on that and went right to being a dick to my own kid.”

“O-Oh, it was nothing,” Rhys said. “You know, I’m just, um, I’m just used to mediating during meetings and stuff.”

Tim smiled at him, small and genuine. “Sure, Rhys. Thanks for caring about him.”

He stood up with Phoenix in his arms, kissing him again. Rhys got up and awkwardly pat Phoenix on the back.

“You look tired. Want to take a nap on the chair there while we do our work?” Tim said.

“Can I…” Phoenix trailed off and clung tighter to Tim.

“Sure,” Tim said, smiling at him. “I do love to have my boy with me.”

Phoenix’s expression brightened, and he threw his arms around Tim’s neck. “I love you, dad. I won’t throw books at you no more. Anymore.” He peeked at Rhys.

Rhys laughed. “Yea. No throwing books anymore.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, and so is my headache,” Tim said, sitting down and rubbing Phoenix’s back with one hand, lifting a report with his free one.

Phoenix fell asleep, nestled against Tim’s chest. Rhys couldn’t help but smile a little at the two of them, proud he could help reconcile them, and a little panicked at how close to them he’d grown.

But as Tim laughed quietly at poor wording in a report, trying not to jostle Phoenix too much, Rhys shook that panic from himself. Maybe getting dragged into the Lawrence family wasn’t so bad, especially when he could help these two traumatized people be a little happier in the world and with each other.

#borderlands #timothy lawrence #borderlands rhys #dad tim & uncle rhys #borderlands au #My writing

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2020: Day 2 - In the hands of the enemy 

Prompt: Pick who dies

Summary: Much to Jason’s annoyance, he’s been chosen to make the decision of which brother should live and which one should die. 

Enjoy! :D

“It’s a pretty simple decision really.” The henchman says sardonically. “Who lives and who dies?”

Jason is very grateful that he was now wearing a helmet which covered his face so no one could see his expression. No one had to see the way he was biting his lip with worry or the way his eyes flicked backwards and forwards between Dick and Tim opposite him. 

His brothers were on their knees before him, their hands tied behind their backs and not looking too good for wear. Tim was struggling to keep his head up, every other second or so he would jerk it up before slumping again as if he could barely stay awake, that wound on his shoulder wasn’t looking too good either, it’s been bleeding steadily for a while now and it really needs to get treated soon. Dick, on the other hand, had his head held up high and was snarling at the men around them, nothing more than a bruise covering his jaw.

The two of them were a complete comparison to Jason who was strapped tightly to a chair opposite them. His wrists and ankles were strapped similarly to the chair by leather bounds, making sure he couldn’t move.

It was stupid, all three of them having been caught stupidly off guard. Even with all of their abilities they were still outnumbered and had been over-powered, captured and now put in this apparent life or death situation. Much to Jason’s annoyance, he’s the one that has to pick which brother lives and what one dies.

Standing opposite him, behind Dick and Tim’s kneeling forms, was the head of the henchmen, the one in charge apparently. He waved a pointed gun between Dick and Tim, asking Jason to choose which one he should shoot. The ‘boss’ only needs two of them alive and to make it more interesting they get to kill one while they wait for him to arrive. Who this boss was, remains a mystery but that's one that’ll be needed to be solved after they get out of this mess. Bruce is going to be so pissed at all of them.

“Time is ticking Red Hood. Which one lives and which one dies?” The henchman declares loudly again, still waving that gun around. “Make your choice before I make it for you.”

Jason wishes he had his own gun, then he can blow that fuckers face to smithereens. He looks at his brothers forms, Tim wasn’t doing so well and if he doesn’t get treated soon then he really would die. Dick seemed to be doing okay, his elder brother was hiding his pain well but Jason knew it was all an act. Dick was looking at him and was ever so slightly shaking his head, but Jason chose to ignore it.

Where was Bruce when they needed him? Surely this wouldn’t be a second time the man leaves his Robin to die in the hands of the enemy?

The sound of a gun cocking grabs his attention. Looking away from Dick, Jason glares at the henchman standing behind his brothers.

“Times going down Hood. Make your choice.”

Would he actually shoot one of them and let the other live? Jason doesn’t think he has the balls to actually shoot one of them. He grits his teeth, carries on glaring at the man through his helmet and remains stubbornly silent.

The henchman lets out an irritated huff. “Fine. I’m going to count down from ten, if you don’t say a name then I’m choosing whoever I want. 10.” He continues to wave the gun between Dick and Tim.

“9.”

He won’t do it.

“8.”

It’s all just a bluff, a big show being put on.

“7.”

Where was Bruce, hopefully the man was on his way. Even if it is all a bluff, his help would be greatly appreciated right now.

“6.”

Tim still wasn’t looking good. Had the kid finally passed out because he wasn’t moving?

“5.”

Dick was staring at him, trying to convey a message to his by the slight shake of the head.

“4.”

Where was Bruce?

“3.”

If Jason was to choose, who would be more likely to survive a gunshot right now? Would he be able to buy them some time if he did choose?

“2.”

What if he wasn’t bluffing?

“1.”

“Nightwing!” Jason suddenly blurts out. “Shoot Nightwing.”

What the hell? What was he thinking! Before him Dick stiffens on the ground as the henchman pauses, looking at him confused for a moment like he couldn’t actually believe Jason chose one of them to be shot.

Whether it was intended or not, the desired effected of buying them some time had paid off because in that moment of pause, all hell breaks loose. The door to the room explodes open at the same time as the rotting windows shatter.

Three figures enter the room and swiftly take out the henchmen. The henchman in charge doesn’t even get a chance to blink before he’s getting knocked out by a roundhouse kick from Batgirl.

Once they were all down, the figures all rush towards them, two of them head towards Nightwing and Red Robin and cut them loose, while the third comes to Jason and frees him from his restraints.

During all of that Jason couldn’t believe what he had done, his mind had shut down as he kept replaying the scene over and over again in his mind. He barely paid any attention as they were rescued and herded into the batmobile and taken straight to the cave to be checked over.

Everything was a blur as they asked him questions, checked him over for any injuries and tried to work out what happened. Jason couldn’t exactly recall what he had told his family because he was still caught up over what had happened earlier.

It was later on when he was on his own in his bedroom, that Jason decided he needed to deal with what had happened. His mind was still reeling over the events that had occurred and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep without confronting it.

Leaving his room he makes his way to down one of the many corridors of the manor and heads to Dick’s bedroom. Hoping that his brother wasn’t yet asleep, Jason taps lightly on the door and lets himself in. Thankfully, Dick is awake and is simply sat on his bed scrolling through his phone. He looks up as Jason enters and raises an eyebrow.

“Hey Jay, everything alright?” The question comes out sounding concerned, which is fair enough. How often does Jason go to Dick with his problems anymore? Not a lot, that’s how many.

Jason silently closes the door and goes to sit on the end of the bed. He refuses to look at Dick as he plays with his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

He feels Dick shift on the bed and feels his brother’s gaze on him. “Sorry about what?”

“For choosing you. To get shot I mean.”

Dick lets out a sigh and Jason feels a hand land on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s fine Jason. There's nothing to be sorry about. It was going to be either Tim or me, and I rather it be me go than him. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

“I chose you to die Dick. I made that decision.” Jason stresses that point and looks at his brother. “How can you say it’s alright?”

Dick moves his hand from his shoulder to cup Jason’s face. Dick makes eye contact with him and keeps his tone firm, “Because nothing happened Jay. The others got to us on time, you saying my name brought us those few seconds that were needed. It saved us. Please don’t fret about it.”

Jason opens his mouth to protest further, because how could Dick be okay with what he had done, but the older man simply pulls him in for a hug. The angle was awkward and uncomfortable but Jason found himself melting into the hold and soon hugs Dick back.

He guesses he could bring it up again tomorrow, it’s been a long day and for now he needs to focus on that Dick is okay and how Tim is currently alive and resting in the med bay in the cave.

#Whumptober2020 #day two #pick who dies #fanfiction #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #angst #guilt #injury #sibling relationship #bit of fluff #guilty Jason

[neerasrealm]

Stories

In which Doby and Toby talk to Tim about their time with The Operator. Set shortly after the war with Zalgo Word count: 1302

The room was big. Bigger than he expected, and very comfy. The carpet was soft and he could sink his feet right into it. There was a large window to his left that let him see the woods outside. The walls were a soft cream colour, or rather, they might have been. A lot of the wall was covered with painted murals. Murals of calming landscapes that were so skillfully painted you'd think they were photos. The furniture was comfy too. They were sat on a plush leather couch, though there was a soft armchair sitting empty across from them. There were also bean bag chairs, and a one armed couch made to lay on. There were also shelves with plastic bins on them, each labelled with its contents. "Drawing supplies", "stress balls", "slime", "stim toys". They'd already raided the shelf for things to entertain them while they waited. 

For the better part of fifteen minutes Toby had been toying with some slime he'd taken from one of the bins. It was thick and a pleasing blue colour, like a tropical sea. Toby would pull it apart then squish the slime together again. Neither of them really spoke, they didn't know what to talk about after- well, everything...so they just sat there, listening to the soft clicks coming from the infinity cube Doby was toying with. 

A knock on the door made them look up and it was pushed open. A man stepped into the room and looked them over. He was somewhat short, and stocky. His hand was bandaged up, and he had a few random bruises and still-healing cuts across his body. He wore a red and black flannel shirt that was rolled up to his elbows. Under it, he wore a grey t-shirt and blue jeans. "Hey," he greeted after a couple seconds of the three of them staring at each other. "I uh- I'm supposed to talk to you guys." He said as he walked over to the chair across from them. "That okay?"

Doby gave a nod. Toby finally looked up from his slime and gave an enthusiastic nod too. "Sure thing." He replied, as chipper as always. Tim smiled a bit.

"Good, good." He shifted where he sat. "So...how about you guys tell me about yourselves?" He gave them both a half smile. The three of them knew each other, but not well. A couple conversations while the three of them were trying to heal up, but Tim had been discharged from the medbay fairly quickly. Amazingly, he hadn't been injured badly. How he managed to fight off The Operator and win with only minor injuries was a mystery. Tim was a tank, and it was both admirable and scary. 

Doby glanced to his left, realising Toby was probably waiting for him to go first. Introductions were probably one of Toby's least favorite things. He couldn't blame him. Doby wasn't a huge fan either.

"Well uh- my name's Doby. I'm nineteen, I love- third base- baseball and horror movies and uhh...I dunno...just- hanging out, I guess?" He said, tapping his wrists together a few times. Tim nodded and looked at Toby.

"And you?"

Toby cleared his throat. "Uh- well uhm-" he clicked his tongue a couple times. "I'm Toby. I'm- nineteen too I uh- I like...I dunno…" he shrugged. 

"You like birds." Doby suggested. Toby looked confused for a moment like he wasn't sure if he liked birds or not.

"Uh- yeah! I do and um- just- animals in general-" he paused to whistle. "I also like uh...watching TV and er- oh! I uh- I do wood carving. It's not great but- it's fun." He fiddled with his hands and forced a small smile. Tim nodded and gave Toby a supportive smile.

"Nice, nice." He replied. "Well- I'm Tim. I'm thirty two, I uhh- well I play guitar, or at least I used to, heh, uh- I like animals too! They seem to just...gravitate to me, dunno why and uh- yeah." He shrugged and gave them a slight smile. He shifted in his seat. ‘’So...I should probably explain why it’s me talking to you two, right?’’ he asked. The two of them nodded. ‘’Well...Slender thought you two would need someone to talk to about- well, everything, and he already knows you two are scared of him so...he asked me to do it instead.’’ Tim shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck, glancing aside for a second. ‘’I’m not gonna force you guys to talk about the operator right away if you don’t wanna. I know it’s probably a lot, and I don’t want you guys to feel like you gotta relive all of that stuff just for me.’’ 

It was silent for a long few moments, the two of them unsure of how to respond. Surprisingly, it was Toby who broke the silence. "It made me kill my dad." He said. 

"Jeez kid I'm- I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," Toby picked at his fingers, pulling off loose skin around his nails. "He was an abusive asshole anyways…" he added with a click of his tongue.

"I see." Tim shifted in his seat. "So...living with the operator, how was that compared to home…?" 

"...I got hit less." Toby shrugged. "But I...still got picked on a lot...it liked to-" he paused, his neck abruptly snapping to the side. "Liked to torment me- little shit- because I was the weakest."

Doby frowned, reaching over and grabbing his friend's hand. "You weren't the weakest." He said gently. "You stood up for yourself. I'd say you were probably the strongest out of all of us for doing that."

"Mmm…" 

‘’Toby,’’ Tim said. ‘’You were able to fight back against that thing. That’s more than a lot of people were able to do.’’ he looked Toby dead in the eyes ‘’My friend Alex? He was way older than you when that thing went after him and he wasn’t able to fight back. It drove him insane. He had a stable childhood, he was way older than you, but he still couldn’t fight it off.’’ Toby stared at him. ‘’You’re strong as hell, kid. Don’t even say you’re not.’’ 

Toby blinked, staring at Tim in surprise. "...really?"

Tim nodded. "Really." He said. "And brave as hell too." He added. Toby smiled a bit and leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Doby, who looked over at Tim. "What about you?"

"It made me- well, no it-" Doby frowned for a second, trying to think of how to explain his story. It was something he'd never really known how to explain. To Toby it was easy, Toby knew him and had been through that too, but to Tim, or his friend Jay? Not so much. He tapped his wrists together about five times before talking. "...it all started with my older brother. His name was John, he lived with my mom- my parents divorced- balk- after I came out as trans," he looked at Tim to make sure he was following. "John killed himself, and I- I was so mad, it was mom's- fucker- fault that he did it. She never cared about him enough."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Tim murmured. Toby patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

"It's fine." Doby replied. "After he died...I started having weird dreams, with John, and eventually I found...it." Doby chewed his lip for a second. "I thought it was gonna bring me back to him...I just- needed to kill her first." His voice was soft, feeble. "...I don't feel bad about it."

Tim nodded. "It has a habit of making false promises." He murmured. ‘’And stuff you do while it’s pushing you? It- makes it hard to feel guilty.’‘ Tim shifted, like he was avoiding saying something.

"What'd it do to you?" Toby asked. Tim looked at them both for a long moment. He sighed gently.

"...that's a long story, kids."

#not my best work but whatever i wanna post this #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #marble hornets #tim wright #tim mh #mh tim #ticci toby #toby rogers #doby doggers #third base #third base creepypasta #writing #lore

[iphoenixrising]

you know, I really love how badass and capable Tim is but I’m weak for the trope where a character gets in a bad sitch (maybe held captive) and their love interests go nuts trying to get them back and they’re furious seeing he’s hurt and restrained (baddie tied + gagged them too tight?)when they do rescue him maybe Jay and Dick are so tender and caring oof what are your thoughts?

WELL BABE. I mean with characters like Tim Drake and Tony Stark, overprotective (boy)friends tearing through bad guy installations with feral intent to get Tim/Tony back just waters my crops and clears my skin. It’s fucking beautiful.

I mean, let’s just say

Once and a while, every vigilante has a bad fucking night.

It just happen to be Red Robin’s turn.

The residual owfuck isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. That is, once he gets himself out of this before terrible bad guys with an apparent fetish for brass knuckles and knives come back to finish the job. After a lucky shot took his zip line out mid-leap, the night had gone from generally shitty to progressively worse. Catching a hard fire escape knocked him mostly out on the way down. He’d initially come to when the fist to his solar plexus is just about agonizing.

Whatever hits he’d taken on the way down to the street damaged the suit’s security, which is the only reason it didn’t shock the shit out of anyone when they grabbed him by the arms, held him there for the first round of blows.

It’s an occasional thing, for one of them to get balls deep in imminent fucking peril. There’s nights when sleep dep and stress, the day job and night job colliding, too many bads and not enough goods, nights when a one wrong step, one bad contingency, one hesitation, is enough for them to get the drop.

Which leads them to this disgustingly dingy, blood-splattered warehouse down on the East Side, where Red is dangling from a chain in the ceiling like a side of raw beef for the slaughter.

And while blood is sluggishly running down the side of his face and his jaw feels like it’s on fire, while his gauntlets are useless and the manacles are on fucking point, when his chest fucking hurts and the fire in his side makes his eyes water because really, just a concussion can’t be enough.

(R – Robert, heh.)

When he’s giving himself a few minutes to just breathe it out, take a second to let the pain settle, half in meditation to try getting mentally past this for an epic kind of escape he’s about to pull off.

Any minute now.

But really, he just had a rough night, and the fact these ass hats left the damn door open is really just a testament on how easy this is going to be once he feels up to taking down a few thugs or twenty.

(And just why did he have to walk into an impromptu gun fight between two rival gangs that decided to work together instead – against him. What’s taken the groups out of the room is arguments on who was going to get the glory and what bosses to call and inform. He’s pretty sure he’s got about at least ten minutes or so before everyone comes back for another few rounds of kick the shit out of the vigilante.)

So, he’s good. Totally got this.

It’s in the bag.

Ten minutes.

His forearms get tight, wrists immobile when he starts pulling his weight up to get some slack on the connecting chain, going to need to have room to pick the locks–

when the abrupt tremble and loud sounds of shit just breaking comes through the open door, jarring him too much for his warped brain pan to handle, and he drops back down a few inches, grunting with the jerking motions on his upper body.

Gunfire explodes and people are absolutely screaming. Things get a little more real because at this juncture, it could be anything from more fighting between themselves or another rival group walking in on an obvious base of operations.

It’s apparent he’s out of time when several come running back in, guns out, panicked and talking over one another.

Dammit. His brain hurts.

But even if his fingers are numb still in his glove, he’s slowly working the lock pick set out of his useless gauntlets, looking forward to getting free fast enough to take out the room before even thinking of taking on the fuckery happening behind that door.

What he expects is to get more roughed up before the night is over. What he doesn’t expect is for a body to slam into the room, blood arching in the same angle as the nice landing right at Red Robin’s bound feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The second body immediately following fell close enough for Red’s whiteouts to narrow down at the face beaten to hamburger, a thoughtful noise muffled through the gag shoved in his mouth.

He has a moment to register, that looks familiar, before the impressive silhouettes fill the door, and the calvary has apparently arrived.

To say he is literally boned is probably an understatement because he can see the tension all over them. Tight fists and forearms, shoulders squared, thighs tense, and game faces right the hell on.

It’s the terrifying vigilantes Nightwing and the Red Hood, towers of kicking ass and taking names –

and the thugs in the room gape at the picture those two make, blood sprays all over their suits, smoking barrels and sparking escrima sticks, lips curled up off N’s teeth to snarl, Hood to lower his chin enough that those whiteouts are fixed.

He catches a breath through his mouth since he’s pretty sure his nose is broken or dislocated, beaten body tensing for one of the thugs to get smart, turn, and fire at him.

But, it doesn’t happen because the Red Hood and Nightwing strike like an avenging wave of brutally beautiful justice. They move together like water, the fight never stopping until the bodies are piled high, a job well done. And as much as Red Robin would like to say he feels something crazily like relief, the all together different noise he makes through the gag is telling on what else watching them fight (for him) does to him.

“Aww, Big Wing, lookit what those fuckers did,” is slightly distorted through the synths, and he must have blinked a little too long because suddenly both of his vigilante boyfriends are right there, bracketing him in, being absurdly careful when they run gloved hands over him to find injuries. Hood goes for the gag tied so harshly, N hurriedly helping from behind him.

“Hey Baby, you with us?” is soft and gentle, the contrast to the savage beat-down N just had a hand in a few minutes ago.

Once the cloth is out of his dry mouth, gloved fingers rub the indents, and the helmet is tilted up at him.

“H-how did–”

“Shh, shh. Gonna getcha down, yeah? S’good, Sweets, we gotchu.” Already stretching up on his toes to work the manacles fast while N sweeps up his bound legs from behind, holding him up to take the weight off his wrists.

“There we go,” and a nuzzle against his face, sweet relief when his wrist and hands pop free, and he tries to work the feeling back in his fingers, laying against Nightwing’s chest for just a moment to be dizzy and relieved.

“Thanks for the save,” Red Robin woozily banters, “bad guys can be such ass hats.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hood gives a solid kick to one of the bodies twitching on the floor before coming around to gently fit a gloved hand on Red’s bruised jaw, thumb the mask so the whiteouts slide up and they can see how dazed his eyes are. He n’ N exchange a worried glance while Red pats the hand on his jaw and maneuvers himself out of the octopus hold, a little wobbly but still on point.

“All right, I’m on clean-up since I was the metaphorical damsel this time–” is cut off with a whoosh of breath when he leans over enough to brace a hand on the wall when owfuck gets a little more serious than he expects.

“Nothin’ doin’.” Is Hood nipping that little sitch in the bud, already a towering presence at his side, a heavy arm sliding around his back, “me n’ N done already gave the coppers a heads-up, you feel me, Sweets?”

“We’ve already tied up most the rivals in the building,” Nightwing soothes the one to step up into his space and tilt his face up this time, “and you are going right back to the Manor to be patched up. You’ve got a concussion and who knows what else.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really–” because missing a spleen anyone? He’s been through worse, worked through worse, and still brought out his inner bad ass. These two? Need to take a pill.

“Nu-uh. Ya try ta ged outta it, then we’re callin’ in the big guns. You feel me here?”

And oh no. No, no, no.

“Too late,” is growled somewhere in the vicinity of shadows over their shoulders.

When Red Robin spins on his heel and almost falls, Hood and Nightwing move fast to catch him by the arms so he doesn’t fall in front of the very stern-looking Robin suddenly steps from the shadows, both hands out to steady him by the hips.

Looming over him like Hood and N, Robin’s forehead is wrinkled in that special way when he’s scowling behind the domino. Red Robin manages to gasp before all six-foot-two of concerned vigilante is all over his everything.

Everyone is well-aware Robin doesn’t take any of his shit and is extremely efficient. What few, select people only know–

–he can also be extraordinary gentle.

This time, when Red Robin is swept up against another chest, another symbol, he doesn’t fight it, not when the youngest leans down and says something softly against his ear.

“Let us care for you, Beloved.”

He sighs a little and lists closer, throwing an around around those shoulders and idly fiddles with the cape.

“Better,” Hood uses a gloved thumb to run over his busted nose.

“I want a hot shower and bed,” Red admits wearily, “I can be a stubborn ass about it some other time.”

N chuckles sadly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s a good choice, Timmy. We’re going to find a second to eat between that, okay?”

He hums a little, trying to lay his face down on his arm somewhere that wouldn’t hurt. “I guess. Hot shower first, please.”

The bang of grapples echo against the sirens screaming in the night, and the Bats take off, flying over the rooftops to transportation not far off. Hood and N take driver and shotty so Robin can continue to cradle their bird on the ride back.

He might bitch good-naturedly about Hood driving the Red Bird like a literal bat out of hell, but it gets all kinds of shut down when Robin tenderly presses his mouth to the bruises on Red’s jaw and rubs soothing circles on the back of his neck.

Nightwing is the one that hops out and takes him from Robin to carry up to the Perch, talking low against his ear about the pick-up from the GCPD so he honestly feels better about where the night has taken him.

But it’s Jason Todd that runs a bath instead of the shower and strips down, runs gentle hands over the bruises and contusions, soaps him up to wash away the night. The two of them wrapped in towels while Jay sets his nose fast enough that it’s really not as bad as it could have been.

Dick towels his hair dry while he sits at the kitchen table, shivering, and Dami kneels by him to check out each injury with the first-aid tackle box in easy reach. Coffee is off the menu (a crime against humanity!) but the hot chocolate has been left to cool enough not to sting his sore mouth.

The eventual clothes are a combination from the communal drawer so he’s swimming in Dami’s shirt and Jay’s cut-off sweats, several ice packs bandaged over them on the worst of the swelling.

Grilled paninis and soup are utter heaven because A) Jay and Dami can cook, B) everything is easy to eat with a bruised face and cuts on the inside of his mouth, but also C) cute boyfriends keep giving him gentle kisses and touches whenever they come within a literal foot of him.

And they’re so good about it, taking care of him without being too smothering (at least no one has threatened to call his team – yet) through getting patched up and fed.

No, no, they wait for it.

Once he’s wrangled into bed, the three of them surrounding him in warmth and comforting touches, he’s pretty much trapped until morning.

Honestly, it’s probably the best part of the night.

#winter answers #with hurt/comfort #dickjaytimdami #night sky #my writing #cute boyfriends #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne