#Tim knew this after going through records after his parents died | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

makingimages · 4 months

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Leo was from a long time ago, the first one I ever saw nude. In the spring before the Hellmans filled their pool, we’d go down there in the deep end, with baby oil, and like that. I met him the first month away at boarding school. He had a halo from the campus light behind him. I flipped.

Roger was fast. In his illegal car, we drove to the reservoir, the radio blaring, talking fast, fast, fast. He was always going for my zipper. He got kicked out sophomore year.

By the time the band got around to playing “Wild Horses,” I had tasted Bruce’s tongue. We were clicking in the shadows on the other side of the amplifier, out of Mrs. Donovan’s line of vision. It tasted like salt, with my neck bent back, because we had been dancing so hard before.

Tim’s line: “I’d like to see you in a bathing suit.” I knew it was his line when he said the exact same thing to Annie Hines.

You’d go on walks to get off campus. It was raining like hell, my sweater as sopped as a wet sheep. Tim pinned me to a tree, the woods light brown and dark brown, a white house half hidden with the lights already on. The water was as loud as a crowd hissing. He made certain comments about my forehead, about my cheeks.

We started off sitting at one end of the couch and then our feet were squished against the armrest and then he went over to turn off the TV and came back after he had taken off his shirt and then we slid onto the floor and he got up again to close the door, then came back to me, a body waiting on the rug.

You’d try to wipe off the table or to do the dishes and Willie would untuck your shirt and get his hands up under in front, standing behind you, making puffy noises in your ear.

He likes it when I wash my hair. He covers his face with it and if I start to say something, he goes, “Shush.”

For a long time, I had Philip on the brain. The less they noticed you, the more you got them on the brain.

My parents had no idea. Parents never really know what’s going on, especially when you’re away at school most of the time. If she met them, my mother might say, “Oliver seems nice” or “I like that one” without much of an opinion. If she didn’t like them, “He’s a funny fellow, isn’t he?” or “Johnny’s perfectly nice but a drink of water.” My father was too shy to talk to them at all unless they played sports and he’d ask them about that.

The sand was almost cold underneath because the sun was long gone. Eben piled a mound over my feet, patting around my ankles, the ghostly surf rumbling behind him in the dark. He was the first person I ever knew who died, later that summer, in a car crash.

I thought about it for a long time.

“Come here,” he says on the porch.

I go over to the hammock and he takes my wrist with two fingers. “What?”

He kisses my palm then directs my hand to his fly.

Songs went with whichever boy it was. “Sugar Magnolia” was Tim, with the line, “Rolling in the rushes/down by the riverside.” With “Darkness Darkness,” I’d picture Philip with his long hair. Hearing “Under My Thumb” there’d be the smell of Jamie’s suede jacket.

We hid in the listening rooms during study hall. With a record cover over the door’s window, the teacher on duty couldn’t look in. I came out flushed and heady and back at the dorm was surprised how red my lips were in the mirror.

One weekend at Simon’s brother’s, we stayed inside all day with the shades down, in bed, then went out to Store 24 to get some ice cream. He stood at the magazine rack and read through MAD while I got butterscotch sauce, craving something sweet.

I could do some things well. Some things I was good at, like math or painting or even sports, but the second a boy put his arm around me, I forgot about wanting to do anything else, which felt like a relief at first until it became like sinking into a muck.

It was different for a girl.

When we were little, the brothers next door tied up our ankles. They held the door of the goat house and wouldn’t let us out till we showed them our underpants. Then they’d forget about being after us and when we played whiffle ball, I’d be just as good as they were.

Then it got to be different. Just because you have on a short skirt, they yell from the cars, slowing down for a while, and if you don’t look, they screech off and call you a bitch.

“What’s the matter with me?” they say, point-blank.

Or else, “Why won’t you go out with me? I’m not asking you to get married,” about to

get mad.

Or it’d be, trying to be reasonable, in a regular voice, “Listen, I just want to have a

good time.”

So I’d go because I couldn’t think of something to say back that wouldn’t be obvious,

and if you go out with them, you sort of have to do something.

I sat between Mac and Eddie in the front seat of the pickup. They were having a fight about something. I’ve a feeling about me.

Certain nights you’d feel a certain surrender, maybe if you’d had wine. The surrender would be forgetting yourself and you’d put your nose to his neck and feel like a squirrel, safe, at rest, in a restful dream. But then you’d start to slip from that and the dark would come in and there’d be a cave. You make out the dim shape of the windows and feel yourself become a cave, filled absolutely with air, or with a sadness that wouldn’t stop.

Teenage years. You know just what you’re doing and don’t see the things that start to get in the way.

Lots of boys, but never two at the same time. One was plenty to keep you in a state. You’d start to see a boy and something would rush over you like a fast storm cloud and you couldn’t possibly think of anyone else. Boys took it differently. Their eyes perked up at any little number that walked by. You’d act like you weren’t noticing.

The joke was that the school doctor gave out the pill like aspirin. He didn’t ask you anything. I was fifteen. We had a picture of him in assembly, holding up an IUD shaped like a T. Most girls were on the pill, if anything, because they couldn’t handle a diaphragm. I kept the dial in my top drawer like my mother and thought of her each time I tipped out the yellow tablets in the morning before chapel.

If they were too shy, I’d be more so. Andrew was nervous. We stayed up with his family album, sharing a pack of Old Golds. Before it got light, we turned on the TV. A man was explaining how to plant seedlings. His mouth jerked to the side in a tic. Andrew thought it was a riot and kept imitating him. I laughed to be polite. When we finally dozed off, he dared to put his arm around me, but that was it.

You wait till they come to you. With half fright, half swagger, they stand one step down. They dare to touch the button on your coat then lose their nerve and quickly drop their hand so you—you’d do anything for them. You touch their cheek.

The girls sit around in the common room and talk about boys, smoking their heads off. “What are you complaining about?” says Jill to me when we talk about problems. “Yeah,” says Giddy. “You always have a boyfriend.”

I look at them and think, As if.

I thought the worst thing anyone could call you was a cock-teaser. So, if you flirted, you had to be prepared to go through with it. Sleeping with someone was perfectly normal once you had done it. You didn’t really worry about it. But there were other problems. The problems had to do with something else entirely.

Mack was during the hottest summer ever recorded. We were renting a house on an island with all sorts of other people. No one slept during the heat wave, walking around the house with nothing on which we were used to because of the nude beach. In the living room, Eddie lay on top of a coffee table to cool off. Mack and I, with the bedroom door open for air, sweated and sweated all night.

“I can’t take this,” he said at 3 A.M. “I’m going for a swim.” He and some guys down the hall went to the beach. The heat put me on edge. I sat on a cracked chest by the open window and smoked and smoked till I felt even worse, waiting for something—I guess for him to get back.

One was on a camping trip in Colorado. We zipped our sleeping bags together, the coyotes’ hysterical chatter far away. Other couples murmured in other tents. Paul was up before sunrise, starting a fire for breakfast. He wasn’t much of a talker in the daytime. At night, his hand leafed about in the hair at my neck.

There’d be times when you overdid it. You’d get carried away. All the next day, you’d be in a total fog, delirious, absent-minded, crossing the street and nearly getting run over.

The more girls a boy has, the better. He has a bright look, having reaped fruits, blooming. He stalks around, sure-shouldered, and you have the feeling he’s got more in him, a fatter heart, more stories to tell. For a girl, with each boy it’s as though a petal gets plucked each time.

Then you start to get tired. You begin to feel diluted, like watered-down stew.

Oliver came skiing with us. We lolled by the fire after everyone had gone to bed. Each creak you’d think was someone coming downstairs. The silver loop bracelet he gave me had been a present from his girlfriend before.

On vacations, we went skiing, or you’d go south if someone invited you. Some people had apartments in New York that their families hardly ever used. Or summer houses, or older sisters. We always managed to find someplace to go.

We made the plan at coffee hour. Simon snuck out and met me at Main Gate after lights out. We crept to the chapel and spent the night in the balcony. He tasted like onions from a submarine sandwich.

The boys are one of two ways: either they can’t sit still or they don’t move. In front of the TV, they won’t budge. On weekends they play touch football while we sit on the sidelines, picking blades of grass to chew on and watch. We’re always watching them run around. We shiver in the stands, knocking our boots together to keep our toes warm, and they whizz across the ice, chopping their sticks around the puck. When they’re in the rink, they refuse to look at you, only eyeing each other beneath low helmets. You cheer for them but they don’t look up, even if it’s a face-off when nothing’s happening, even if they’re doing drills before any game has started at all.

Dancing under the pink tent, he bent down and whispered in my ear. We slipped away to the lawn on the other side of the hedge. Much later, as he was leaving the buffet with two plates of eggs and sausage, I saw the grass stains on the knees of his white pants.

Tim’s was shaped like a banana, with a graceful curve to it. They’re all different. Willie’s like a bunch of walnuts when nothing was happening, another’s as thin as a thin hot dog. But it’s like faces; you’re never really surprised.

Still, you’re not sure what to expect.

I look into his face and he looks back. I look into his eyes and they look back at mine. Then they look down at my mouth so I look up at his mouth, then back to his eyes then, backing up, at his whole face. I think, Who? Who are you? His head tilts to one side.

I say, “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

I look at his eyes again, deeper. Can’t tell who he is, what he thinks. “What?” he says. I look at his mouth.

“I’m just wondering,” I say and go wandering across his face. Study the chin line. It’s shaped like a persimmon.

“Who are you? What are you thinking?”

He says, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Then they get mad after, when you say enough is enough. After, when it’s easier to explain you don’t want to. You wouldn’t dream of saying that maybe you weren’t really ready to in the first place.

Gentle Eddie. We waded into the sea, the waves round and plowing in, buffalo-headed, slapping our thighs. I put my arms around his freckled shoulders and he held me up, buoyed by the water, and rocked me like a sea shell.

I had no idea whose party it was, the apartment jam-packed, stepping over people in the hallway. The room with the music was practically empty, the bare floor, me in red shoes. This fellow slides one knee and takes me around the waist and we rock to jazzy tunes, with my toes pointing heavenward, and waltz and spin and drip to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” or “I’ll Love You Just For Now.” He puts his head to my chest, runs a sweeping hand down my inside thigh and we go loose-limbed and sultry and smooth as silk and I stamp my red heels and he takes me in a swoon. I never saw him again after that but I thought, I could have loved that one.

You wonder how long you can keep it up. You begin to feel as if you’re showing through, like a bathroom window that only lets in grey light, the kind you can’t see out of.

They keep coming around. Johnny drives up at Easter vacation from Baltimore and I let him in the kitchen with everyone sound asleep. He has friends waiting in the car.

“What are you, crazy? It’s pouring out there,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “They understand.”

So he gets some long kisses from me, against the refrigerator, before he goes home

because I hate those girls who push away a boy’s face as if she were made out of Ivory soap, as if she’s that much greater than he is.

The note on my cubby told me to see the headmaster. I had no idea for what. He had received complaints about my amorous displays on the town green. It was Willie that spring. The headmaster told me he didn’t care what I did but that Casey Academy had a reputation to uphold in the town. He lowered his glasses on his nose. “We’ve got twenty acres of wood on this campus,” he said. “If you want to smooch with your boyfriend, there are twenty acres for you to do it out of the public eye. You read me?”

Everybody’d get weekend permissions for different places, then we’d all go to someone’s house whose parents were away. Usually there’d be more boys than girls. We raided the liquor closet and smoked pot at the kitchen table and you’d never know who would end up where, or with whom. There were always disasters. Ceci got bombed and cracked her head open on the banister and needed stitches. Then there was the time when Wendel Blair walked through the picture window at the Lowes’ and got slashed to ribbons.

He scared me. In bed, I didn’t dare look at him. I lay back with my eyes closed, luxuriating because he knew all sorts of expert angles, his hands never fumbling, going over my whole body, pressing the hair up and off the back of my head, giving an extra hip shove, as if to say There. I parted my eyes slightly, keeping the screen of my lashes low because it was too much to look at him, his mouth loose and pink and parted, his eyes looking through my forehead, or kneeling up, looking through my throat. I was ashamed but couldn’t look him in the eye.

You wonder about things feeling a little off-kilter. You begin to feel like a piece of pounded veal.

At boarding school, everyone gets depressed. We go in and see the housemother, Mrs. Gunther. She got married when she was eighteen. Mr. Gunther was her high school sweetheart, the only boyfriend she ever had.

“And you knew you wanted to marry him right off?” we ask her.

She smiles and says, “Yes.”

“They always want something from you,” says Jill, complaining about her boyfriend. “Yeah,” says Giddy. “You always feel like you have to deliver something.”

“You do,” says Mrs. Gunther. “Babies.”

After sex, you curl up like a shrimp, something deep inside you ruined, slammed in a place that sickens at slamming, and slowly you fill up with an overwhelming sadness, an elusive gaping worry. You don’t try to explain it, filled with the knowledge that it’s nothing after all, everything filling up finally and absolutely with death. After the briskness of loving, loving stops. And you roll over with death stretched out alongside you like a feather boa, or a snake, light as air, and you... you don’t even ask for anything or try to say something to him because it’s obviously your own damn fault. You haven’t been able to—to what? To open your heart. You open your legs but can’t, or don’t dare anymore, to open your heart.

It starts this way:

You stare into their eyes. They flash like all the stars are out. They look at you

seriously, their eyes at a low burn and their hands no matter what starting off shy and with such a gentle touch that the only thing you can do is take that tenderness and let yourself be swept away. When, with one attentive finger they tuck the hair behind your ear, you—

You do everything they want.

Then comes after. After when they don’t look at you. They scratch their balls, stare at the ceiling. Or if they do turn, their gaze is altogether changed. They are surprised. They turn casually to look at you, distracted, and get a mild distracted surprise. You’re gone. Their blank look tells you that the girl they were fucking is not there anymore. You seem to have disappeared.

#susan #minot #lust

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theblindgoddess · 2 years

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So today I started thinking of a new Batfam au, just because. And then I got a hilarious story idea for this au and I want to talk about it.

So this au is very similar to cannon, the main difference is that Tim and Dick swap ages, so Tim is the oldest and Dick is child number three, technically.

Another big difference is that Jason tried to steal the bat-mobile tires earlier, but actually got away with it. (Tim, [who goes by the superhero name Batkid because while Tim and Bruce are very intelligent in many, many areas, creativity is not one of those areas. Everything is named ‘bat’ something not because it was a nine-year-old who named everything that because it was funny, but because these two idiots are terrible at naming things but both felt it was weird to not have special names for everything.] thought it was absolutely hilarious to come back to the bat-mobile and find it sitting on cillander blocks and his amusement only increased when they looked at the camera feeds and saw that it was a ten-year-old who took them and not some two-bit crook trying to get back at the Bat.) Jason later gets caught stealing something else by a cop who sent him straight to juvie, whether because they were a somewhat decent cop who knew the foster system in Gotham was a roulette of bad luck or because they didn’t want to deal with the paper work associated with putting a child back into the system Jason will never know. Jason is grateful for this however, because while juvie is juvie, its still better then the streets or trying his luck at the foster system. He’s got food, clothes, a place to sleep, subpar schooling, and he will eventually be let back out into the real world where he can get a job and save up money to get proper schooling. Sure he’ll have a record, but it’s Gotham, having a small criminal record is just extra qualifications to most employers.

For the story idea I had, Tim is 16 and a senior in high school, Jason is 11, Dick is 8, and Barbra is around 20 and in collage.

So Dick’s backstory is pretty much the same, raised in the circus, parents killed when he’s 8, sent to the Gotham foster system, they send him to juvie because they can’t find room for him elsewhere or something. Bruce is working to be able to foster Dick, and he doesn’t have to do to much work because he kind of went through this process with Tim, but it was easier for him to get custody of Tim because he was a family friend and Dick’s currant social worker doesn’t want to do to much work.

Jason has been in juvie for a few months now and he has adjusted fairly well. It’s not too different from the streets, and while he is one of the youngest there, one of the older kids recognizes him as the kid who stole the tires off the Batmobile because Jason had sold then to the kids dad. That definitely boosted his rep, and the kids who needed extra persuasion to leave the 11-year-old runt alone soon found out that the kid was an excellent fighter, and when a kid half your size can fight you to a stand still, you leave him alone. So Jason is generally left alone. Then one day news comes to the center that a world famous circus came to town and that two of the star performers died on stage, leaving behind a child who was being put into that juvie center. And then the kid shows up and he is perhaps the youngest kid to ever be admitted to that center in the history of it’s existence. The kid is tiny, barely speaks B- level English, and he is absolutely terrified, alone, and has no clue why he is there. Jason, the big bleeding heart that he is deep down inside, takes one look at the kid, gives many middle fingers to the government, and decides that this tiny baby is his new little brother. He was the same age as the kid when he lost is mom, he knows how lost you feel after that, and he is going to give the kid the guidance and love that he needed but never got after he lost his mom.

Dick’s first few days at the center are rough, he is surrounded by kids who are much bigger and meaner then him, and they don’t hesitate to remind him of that every day. Then Jason comes along, pulls some favours to become Dick’s roommate, and let’s everyone know on no uncertain terms that the new kid is under his protection. After that life in juvie for Dick improves. While it’s not perfect, because it’s juvie, it’s manageable, and to Dick Jason is the coolest person in the world. He gives Dick his deserts, helps him with his school work, listens to him talk for however long he wants, and even helps him with his English.

After about a month and a half, Bruce finally, finally, is aloud to foster Dick, and Dick is moved out of juvie. He knows that he will miss Jason, probably as much as he misses his circus family, but he will always cherish the short time he had with Jason and be greatful for him. Jason, on the other hand, is not going to take this lying down. He swore he would protect this child and he is going to do it. He doesn’t care that Bruce Wayne is fully capable of taking care of all of Dick’s needs and wants, Bruce Wayne is a stupid rich dude who gets sloppy drunk at parties, and what would he ever want with some poor circus immigrant? Nothing good in Jason’s opinion, at best it’s a publicity stunt and Dick will not receive the attention that he deserves. Jason will only trust Bruce Wayne to look out for the kid if he can see for himself that he is capable of doing so properly. So Jason breaks out of juvie and heads straight to Wayne Manor.

Jason is able to make it past most of the security features around the house and actually gets inside before Tim finds the intruder, subdues him, and is confused and concerned about the age and size of said intruder. If Tim finds out that bad guys are using kids for their evil plots again he is going to be breaking many bones. He is also confused by the fact that the kid looks familiar.

Bruce comes in to see what all the commotion was about, and little Dick comes in after him. The moment Dick see’s Jason he gives out an excited yell and tackles Jason in a hug.

After Dick and Jason explain everything to Bruce and Tim, Tim realizes why the new kid looks familiar, it’s because he’s the tire kid. Tim immediately turns to Bruce and tells him that they are keeping Jason. After a bit of back and forth between them in a different language because it is a private conversation, Bruce relents saying he will see what he can do, and Tim excitedly begins to give his new little brother the house tour and informs Alfred that they will be having another person for dinner that night. Tim is over the moon because he had always wanted a little brother, and now he has two for the price of one!

Bruce and Barbra are able to get all the legal business worked out, (in this au Barbra starts to get more tech savy earlier on because Tim would accidentally brag about being the better computer partner and Barbra took that as a direct challenge) and Jason finds himself as the third child to be placed in Bruce Wayne’s care. He is not super stocked about that. While he finds Bruce to be ok and absolutely adores Alfred, he finds Tim annoying. Tim isn’t trying to be annoying, and doesn’t even realize that Jason thinks he is, Jason has just decided that Tim is a snobby rich kid who brags about his intelligence all the time and thinks he is better then everyone.

Jason and Dick are both behind in their schooling, and are being given the first semester to try and catch up to their piers before hopefully joining regular school after winter break. Tim, wanting to be a good older brother, offers to help them with their work if they need it. This annoys Jason very much. But then one day Dick asks Tim for help with a reading assignment, one of the questions is asking about the characters motivations and other stuff like that, and Jason watches as Tim can’t figure it out. Tim looks like he is about to try and burn something down he is so frustrated, and Jason decides to use this to his advantage and show the stuck up boy that Jason is not stupid. Jason walks over and works out the problem like it is one of the easiest things in the world, because to him it is, and smiles smugly at Tim for being better then him at something.

The next day while doing school work Tim comes over to Jason with another reading assignment like the one he did yesterday, just for a high school level book. Jason thinks that Tim is just testing him, trying to stump him on something, well jokes on him because Jason read this book last year! So he answers the questions with ease and moves on with his day.

And Tim keeps coming to Jason with the English questions, and Jason keeps answering them. After a month are two, Jason is, begrudgingly, having fun. He and Tim will read the works together and then answer the questions, although it’s mainly Jason answering the questions. Tim even starts to bring what look like tests to their little meetings.

Then one day while they are working together, Bruce walks in startling them and demands “Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne! Are you having your younger brother do your homework for you?!”

For three seconds Tim has the most dear in the headlights look Jason has ever seen before he regains control of his face and responds by informing Bruce that he is just utilizing an out of school tutor to assist him and really, “would you rather I hack the schools computer systems and just give myself an A without doing any work for this class?”

Jason then watches as Tim and Bruce have and epic back and forth about about the fact that, apparently, Tim wasn’t testing Jason’s intelligence and trying to get him to mess up so that he could gloat like Jason had thought, but was instead using Jason as a sort of cheat sheet because Tim stinks at English, and “I will be graduating with a 4.0 GPA and full honors no matter what it takes!”

So that kinda got away from me for a bit. I hope you guys like it!

#BatFam #batfam au #Tim Drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #au #age swap #long post #batman #dc #big bro Tim au

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soulmate-game · 3 years

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Part 2: The same prompt, but Siblings this time

Tim paused the video on his computer, the red figure on it in mid-leap off of a building. Be rewound the video, played it, paused again at the same time stamp.

No, his eyes were not deceiving him. The video was not doctored.

So what the hell was going on?

“Hey Timmie, find anything on that Paris situation Bruce asked you to look into?” Dick’s voice made Tim startle, nearly spilling his coffee all over the keyboard and possibly deleting his hard-earned research. Rescuing his lifeblood from certain doom, he hugged his mug to his chest and glared at his older brother for a second. Dick was not in the least bothered, used to this sort of reaction from the younger detective. Dick just grinned, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair and looking up at the images on the large computer screen above them. He whistled lowly, impressed. “You’ve made a lot of progress, nice! Anything you wanna share with me before the debrief tonight?”

Tim clenched and unclenched his jaw, weighing his options. Dick waited patiently, knowing that sometimes Tim needed a minute to sort through his rapid-forming thoughts. Finally Tim sighed, setting down his mug grimly.

“Actually, yes,” he admitted. Tim’s tense tone immediately made Dick stiffen, straightening up. His eyebrows pulled down, and he returned his gaze to the computer.

“Okay, that’s your serious voice. What is it?”

“I… need your confirmation with something,” Tim turned around and looked straight at Dick. And he hesitated again, because certain… past interactions with his eldest brother once again flashed through his head. The entire Bruce-is-alive and being threatened with Arkham interaction, to be specific. But Tim needed to know the truth, it was his fatal flaw he supposed. He couldn’t back away in fear of how Dick might react.

“Ohhhhkay?” Dick just grew more and more concerned the longer that Tim took to actually speak.

“So, just to recap. There are only four people in history who have been able to do a quadruple somersault, right?” Tim asked, knowing full well the answer. Dick, predictably, shifted and grew even more on alert at the inquiry. He knew that couldn’t mean anything good. His jaw clenched, and his hands formed tight fists. But Dick also remembered the Bruce incident with Tim all that time ago, and he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes. So he forced himself to take a deep breath, and shake himself away from jumping to conclusions.

“Yeah,” Dick nodded. “Me, my parents, and my sister,” he confirmed rigidly. Tim nodded, and then rewound the video on the screen again, nodding to show that Dick should focus on it.

“Okay. But watch this,” Tim suggested, starting the video again. Dick watched as the red and black-spotted heroine of Paris, Ladybug, zipped through the air and around buildings with her yo-yo. He watched as she let go, at a height that even a normal person could manage, and executed four perfect somersaults in mid-air before landing nimbly on the ground. Tim paused the video again, his eyes never leaving Dick’s tense face.

“It isn’t doctored,” Tim said, filling the silence and preemptively answering the questions he knew he would get. “I checked. Magic is involved, but Constantine and Zatanna both confirmed it would have no hold over basic physical abilities like flexibility or… gymnastics. Only specifically combat styles used by past Ladybugs can be transferred magically to the next Ladybug, not this.”

“Tim,” Dick’s voice was terrifyingly blank. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing yet,” Tim was quick to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m still doing research. It’s possible, though extremely unlikely, that she managed to teach herself how to do that. You tell me, Dick, how likely is it?”

Dick swallowed, not wanting to say it but knowing he had to look at the facts. “... At her age? Next to impossible,” he admitted. “She could learn it, theoretically, as young as seven or eight, but only if someone who knew what they were doing taught her since she was about three.”

Tim nodded again. He knew those numbers, he knew where they came from.

“Then— and this is only a theory right now— we have what I think is the more plausible scenario,” Tim swallowed. This was the hard part. “Your sister was kidnapped after your parent’s death, but the body that was found wasn’t actually her’s. It wasn’t in a state to be physically identified, so—“

“I know what state it was in, Tim!” Dick snapped, forcing himself to take a few steps back and just breath. Even now, the image of a tiny body burned beyond recognition was burned into the inside of his eyelids, there to taunt him whenever he blinked or slept and let his mind wander in just the wrong direction. She would be… what, Jason’s age, now? She was seven… only seven, when their parents died and she ran off into the Gotham streets in despair. When she was kidnapped, as is what happens in Gotham.

When Dick was presented with a body he could not say WASN’T her’s a week later.

“The DNA…” Dick tried. “They said…”

“I know,” Tim’s voice was carefully soft. “But the records on your family’s DNA were all kept by the circus back then. The Talons had access to those files. It’s very possible they were tampered with. Switched. It wouldn’t be hard for them to burn your sister’s actual medical files and replace them with forged copies that had someone else’s DNA on them. The data of the girl who actually died.”

Dick closed his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t want to hope, it would hurt too much if Tim was wrong.

Tim had been right about more unlikely things than this, a voice in the back of his head whispered. And yeah, that was true. But Dick was still too scared to hope.

“Finish your research, Tim,” Dick’s voice was strained with suppressed emotion. He couldn’t even look at the younger vigilante as he left the Cave. “Find out who Ladybug’s civilian persona is, and then we’ll talk.”

Tim could only sigh in relief when Dick was gone. That could have gone much worse.

—*—*—*—*—*

A week later, the entire family was gathered. This was the full debrief on the Paris case, rather than the progress update that they had had to do before. Research took longer than Tim had expected, he had years of data to go through after all. But he had come away with exactly what he had been looking for.

After running through the overall situation and where the fight against HawkMoth was at in the present day, Tim licked his lips and took a deep breath. This was it, the Who-Is-Ladybug part.

“I was able to get security footage of her detransformation, just one lucky shot from ten years ago, when this whole thing began,” he prefaced. “She was thirteen years old, and untrained as far as heroism goes, so it stands to reason she didn’t know yet how to be properly careful about transforming. This is that security picture,” he carefully put the enlarged picture up on the Batcomputer, as well as sliding a physical copy onto the table for everyone to pass around.

Dick didn’t even try to grab it, his eyes glued to the computer, expression unreadable. The picture was a little grainy, but most of the girl’s face could be made out. Pigtails, dark black hair that shimmered blue in direct light, blue eyes.

But it was the next picture that Tim pulled up that pushed everything over the edge.

“These are the official pictures of her that I was able to get from Paris records. This first picture is of her at the same age at the security footage, thirteen. The second picture is her now, age twenty-three,” Tim said, before the side-by-side came up on the screen. Tim’s eyes slid over to Dick, who was frozen in his seat, just staring at the images silently. He wasn’t even breathing.

“Dick?” Bruce asked, immediately noticing the behavior. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Dick’s next breath came in with a shudder, and he clenched his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears that came out. He choked out a broken chuckle, shaking his head and giving out a lopsided, watery grin.

“Heh. Another point for Timmy being right,” Dick jokes weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“What do you mean? Tim?” Bruce turned to the younger of the two insistently. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

“Currently, according to Parisian records, she is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim told them. “More specifically, her full name is Marinette Gray Dupain-Cheng. Which I believe is what she chose to change her name to after she was kidnapped sixteen years ago from right outside Haley’s Circus, and illegally transported to France,” Tim clicked another button to bring up a third picture in the side-by-side. It was of someone who was clearly a younger Marinette, but in the very familiar costume of the Flying Graysons, standing right next to a twelve-year old version of Dick. “Because her birth name is Marie Natalia Grayson. Dick’s younger sister, who until now was presumed dead. But I was able to confirm that the medical records back then for Marie were forged, and the information on them could not actually belong to her. The body that was presented as Marie’s… was a red herring to hide that Marie was no longer in America at all.”

Dick’s sob-laugh drew everyone’s attention back to the first Robin, who was now silently, openly, crying. Nobody really knew how to deal with that, and the room descended into awkward silence as Dick tried to regain his composure a little.

“Marinette… Gray,” he whispered, chuckling again and shaking his head as he wiped at his cheeks. “That idiot… her ability with subtlety hasn’t gotten any better, that’s for sure,” he was smiling now, still staring at the pictures of Marinette on the screen. Of his beautiful little sister, all grown up and not buried six feet under like he had thought for far too long.

Because this was different from Hope. This was certainty. The face, the far too on-the-nose name, the somersaults, Dick had even noticed it in the way she swung on her yo-yo. The body memory from years of Trapeze, those little quirks he recognized as belonging to his sister that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. But now, all together, he could admit to himself that it was her. It was really her.

Could it be a clone? Maybe. Maybe. But that was why Dick snuck out to France the very next day, informing absolutely nobody.

Because he had a test that only the real Marie would be able to pass.

—*—*—*—*—*

"How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that,” the deep, unfamiliar male voice made Marinette squeak in shock, nearly dropping the phone in her hands. She leaned so far to her right that she almost fell over, but her nearly perfect balance (that only failed her when she was nervous or self conscious) kept her upright.

Her eyes darted down to her phone screen, where an app that Max had helped her create was opened. It utilized at least five hundred little fly-shaped drones that Markov managed and kept track of to scan the city for corrupted butterflies and recognize the level of stress or other negative emotions that civilians were experiencing. It cut down severely on patrol time that the crew had to do, making it easier for them to balance their hero and civilian lives and also allowed for them to arrive at the scene of Akuma attacks twice as fast as before— along with helping with the original purpose of catching evidence to use against Hawkmoth, of course.

Marinette straightened her back, smiling sheepishly and closing out the app. She had just been making a routine check, it had only been open for a minute. How had he managed to sneak up on her in that time? Only chat could do that anymore.

That is, until Marinette turned around the rest of the way and got a good look at the man. Her eyes widened— what was Nightwing, a vigilante from Gotham, doing there?

“I don’t see what plausible deniability has to do with anything,” she replied in easy, unaccented English. She might not speak it often, but she did stay in practice. Even now a lot of her fashion notes and thoughts were in either English or Romani. “It’s just a game app that my friend created,” the practiced lie flew easily past her lips, and she was able to even smile confidently and begin to happily ramble about Max’s (public) achievements like she would in any normal situation. “It is still in the test phase of course, but it uses virtual reality and mapping technology to create a treasure hunt sort of adventure game that people can do as they walk around. Like Pokémon go, but with real-time footage of the city— with people not included besides the game characters of course— and it rewards caution as well as keeping active,” she explained their cover story for the app happily. But Nightwing only smiled easily at her with his arms crossed, clearly not believing a single word.

“Ah— but that probably isn’t interesting,” Marinette purposely stuttered, turning her face into one of (surprisingly genuine) confusion as she looked at the vigilante. “What are you here for anyway, Monsieur? This doesn’t seem like—“

“I have a riddle that a friend of mine told me to ask you,” he interrupted, instantly putting Marinette on guard. She took a step back, eyebrows pulling down at the odd request. But still, she chuckled nervously and shrugged. She had to maintain appearances after all.

“Uh, sure..? Riddles are fun, in the right circumstances I guess.”

Nightwing beamed happily, nearly blinding the poor girl. “Awesome!” His next words came out in fluent Romani though: “If a Hummingbird ever gets lost, what kind of animal will track it down?”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her shoulders dropping. Her mouth opened and closed, the shock of the question leaving her unable to even pretend she didn’t understand exactly what was said. Nightwing’s gaze grew more intense, yet his smile got impossibly soft.

Marinette swallowed thickly, and she took a deep breath before responding in Romani: “You shouldn’t— only one person—“

“That doesn’t answer the riddle, ma’am.”

Marinette’s confusion turned into a harsh glare. “He would never tell someone else to ask me that. What are you trying to play at, Nightwing?” She hissed harshly, still in her native language.

“Listen, Marinette,” Nightwing held up both hands to try to calm her down. It did the opposite, making her take another step back. “Batman and the rest of our team has been looking into the Hawkmoth security—“ Marinette cursed, clearly seeing where this was going. “— We believe he found out who Ladybug is. But, we also found signs that your real name is—“

“Shut up!” She yelled in English, fists clenched tightly. Luckily she had gone into an alleyway to check her phone, or else they would be attracting attention by then. Her eyes sparked with anger. “You don’t get to use that name. And if you’re so smart,” Marinette tucked her phone into her purse and scaled the wall next to her nimbly, perching on the roof as Nightwing cursed and began to follow her. “Then try to predict my moves, birdy.”

It only took a few minutes and crossed rooftops for Marinette to call on her transformation and pick up speed. She knew by then that Nightwing, and probably the other Bats too, already found her out. Not ideal, but manageable. Now she wanted to show him why he shouldn’t come into her territory and dig into her past and think he could get away with it.

Somewhere during the chase, more Bats appeared one by one. Judging by what Ladybug was able to overhear, they had come as soon as they realized where Nightwing had snuck off to.

That made Marinette pause from where she hid behind a sloped roof, in the middle of a call to her own teammates. Nightwing hadn’t come on his team’s orders?

Why the hell had he come, then?

She shook thought thoughts away, focusing on her plan. Paris was her city, and she would make sure the Bats learned their lesson when it came to sticking their nose in Parisian business.

“Bug?” The soft, concerned call came from her yo-yo and pulled her from her contemplating. Max, in full Pegasus attire, was frowning at her in worry on the small screen. She just shook her head at him.

“I’m fine, Peg. Just don’t like how this feels like Gotham ruining my life again,” she remarked sourly. “But I’m fine. Start plan We’re Not Kids.”

Max nodded, but rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like; “even though we made this plan when we actually were kids…”

A portal opened in the air a few seconds later, releasing Honeybee in all her gold and black glory. The winged hero zipped through the air, immediately putting team Miraculous at an advantage since team Bat didn’t want to actually harm them.

It took a glorious five seconds for Honeybee to paralyze them all before Tortoise dropped out from another portal and surrounded the temporarily paralyzed vigilantes in a dome shield that kept them in just as easily as it kept everything else out.

One by one, Marinette’s teammates dropped out of more portals until Pegasus himself joined them. Ladybug took that as her que to come out, leaping over her hiding place to land in front of her friends, who had formed a half-circle in front of the trapped dome.

“Vixen,” she called to the fox-themed hero, whose ears twitched before she straightened to attention. “Create an illusion to hide us. The last thing we need are any pictures or anyone asking questions.”

“Got it!” Vixen agreed easily, raising her flute to her lips. A short melody later, and their surroundings warped. To those inside the illusion, it seemed as if the world merely ended off of the rooftop they were on, into only blankness. Outside, that very rooftop appeared empty.

It was then that Chat Noir stepped up to take Ladybug’s side, his acidic green eyes scanning over the Gotham vigilantes trapped inside Tortoise’s protective barrier.

“You can release the paralysis, Honeybee,” his order was noticeably softer than Ladybug’s clear commands. It was obvious that he was the deputy in this situation, the flexibility to Ladybug’s iron leadership. That was when the red clad hero crossed her arm, resuming control of the situation wordlessly. The Gotham heroes briefly glowed gold as Honeybee let their paralysis begin to gradually wear off.

“Paris is my city,” Ladybug’s voice was at a normal volume, but came out with such auditory steel that it was clear she expected to be listened to, or she’d know why. “If I needed or wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Now, if you had come here normally to offer aid, then we might be having a different discussion right now,” her eyes narrowed further. “But you dug into my past. You violated my privacy. And Nightwing, you crossed a line,” she would have continued if the blue and black clad hero didn’t use his sudden ability to move to rip off his mask.

Marinette’s voice died in her throat, and for a while she thought she might be hallucinating. Those eyes, that face— she knew them. She knew them, because she saw them whenever she dared close her eyes. Because the dreams she had, the dreams that made her never want to drag herself out of bed because she wanted to believe those dreams were real so badly, always contained those eyes. And that face, though it had been much younger in her memories.

She stumbled, and only Chat’s presence at her side kept her from toppling right over.

“Bugaboo?” He asked frantically, distraught. She just shook her head dazedly, pushing herself back to her feet and away from her partner.

“I’m fine, Chat. Just…,” she assured her partner, but her eyes never left Nightwing. She licked her lips nervously, before continuing; “... Bluebird,” she whispered, making Nightwing’s eyes widen. Her brother’s eyes. “That’s the answer to the riddle, right?”

Slowly, a wide smile split his face before he began to laugh happily, despite Robin slapping Nightwing’s mask back on his face with a furious grumble.

“Ladybug?” Tortoise asked, stepping up to her other side cautiously. Seeing as they were all adults now, none of them had to worry about time or power limits anymore. “Are you..?”

“Release the shield,” she ordered instead of answering, her eyes clearly damp behind her mask. “I need to strangle my idiotic older brother for scaring the hell out of me.”

That made the rest of her team make their various exclamations of shock, but Chat and Tortoise stayed silent. Chat just put a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder in support, while Tortoise zipped his wide gaze back to Nightwing before sighing and releasing his ability.

“Only you, Bug,” the green clad hero groused playfully. “Only you.”

If Marinette Dupain-Cheng suddenly introduced her long-lost brother to her closest friends and family that same night, nobody voiced the coincidence out loud.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1: Romance

Part 3: Bio!Parent

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dickinette #platonic dickinette #3-from-1 challenge

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robinsdearest · 3 years

Text

Ketchup Packets

Tim Drake x Reader

Peanut Butter and Oreos (Part 1) They’ll be okay (Part 2) Bobby pin (Part 3) Ketchup Packets (Part 4)

Tim threw another piece of notebook paper into the trash. It hit the other balls of wadded up notes and bounced away. How long has he been hunched over his desk? Tim glanced up to look at the clock. A couple days, maybe. A couple hours since the last cup of coffee, definitely. He groaned and slid a hand across his face. Stubble scratched his fingertips.

Jason’s voice almost scared him. Almost. “Timmy, my dude, you have to stop working.” He kept scribbling as Jason walked over to lean against the wall adjacent to the crumbling despair that was Tim. Jason poked his face. “I didn’t even know you could grow facial hair.” Tim slapped his brother’s hand away and continued to write his notes down.

It had been three months since your plane went down. Three months since your parents had died. Three months since you slipped through Tim’s fingers. He dove into work to try and figure out what happened the morning of your plane crash. He hasn’t stopped working to find you in three whole months.

Parts of your plane sat scattered around the BatCave. Background checks for everyone at the airport that day, the days before and after laid loosely on the ground by Jason’s feet. Everything and everyone was clean. The owner of the plane your group borrowed publicly stated there was a fuse shortage in the engine causing it to explode, and subsequently, sent your plane barreling down into the ocean. News reporters claimed everyone from that flight deceased- the five supposed survivors not even missing anymore, all reported to be lost at sea. But Tim knew better- he knew you were alive. He knew it, had this gut feeling. Bruce always told him to trust his gut. Or did Superman say that? No, it was definitely the main bat. Or was it Diana…

Jason whacked the back of Tim’s head. Tim finally looked up at the Red Hood, scowling. Jason had to bite back a laugh: he knew how much pain Tim was still experiencing. Hell, he was dead for a while and no one bothered to search for him like Tim was doing for Y/N. “Come on man, let’s go get some grub. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“Only a day.” Tim corrected. Another whack to the back of the head.

With the drive from the mansion into Gotham City and eventually to some burger joint, Tim couldn’t believe he was wasting time when he should be out searching for you. Even after three whole months of investigating, Tim was still coming up short. Every lead finished with a dead end. Every tangent lead to a backwash story that was publicized to explain the crash. Tim stared down at his tray of fries as Jason flirted with the cashier. Tim sorted through the files of his brain as he continued to work each angle of the investigation. Everything fit together but nothing made sense. Jason flung packets onto the table stirring Tim out of his trance. Jason was flaunting how he got a phone number from the cashier and waved around the receipt where it was written. Tim stared down at the packets on the table. Ten- what an odd number to grab. Tim counted five mustard packets and five ketchup packets. Tim reached for a ketchup packet, grimacing when he picked up the one that was busted open leaking on to the table. Of course he would grab the one that…

Tim immediately shot up and grabbed Jason by the collar. Jason choked on his bite of food as he dropped the rest of his burger. “Oi, dunce face, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason fumbled into the passenger seat of the car as Tim shoved him forward, sprinted around to the driver side, and then started the car. Tim started rambling. Jason had a hard time keeping up.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” “Think of what? How you ruined my burger?” “Of course I wouldn’t have looked into the victims.” “Me. I’m a victim, you burger murderer.” “All of those doctors, all seemingly connected in one way or another.” “Doctors?” “Doctors, Jason! God, I’m an idiot. The one that wasn’t connect has got to be the leak. The leak that doesn’t fit but allows everything to make sense.” “Alright, I’m calling Alfred. Timmy, we need to get you checked out.”

Tim slammed on the breaks at the red light. The two brothers stared at each other, neither one moving. The light turned green, but Tim didn’t accelerate.

“Jason I’m talking about Y/N.” Jason’s face turned into a serious frown, and Tim continued. “I never looked into the doctors that were supposed to go on the mission trip. How could they be considered suspects when we see them as victims?” Tim held up the leaking ketchup packet. “One of them is the leak, the cause of the problem.” Jason’s lips turned into a snarky grin. He nodded his head towards the direction of the mansion, and Tim turned his eyes back to the road.

He finally figured it out. He was going to find you. His brain went into overdrive back at the cave. Jason called Damien and Dick down to help sort things out as Tim furiously worked into the rest of the night. The other boys made calls and printed papers as Tim searched through all ten people on your flight.

Tim had to narrow down who he couldn’t verify. Nine doctors and one medical school student. Seven doctors, excluding both your parents. Five, excluding the other doctors he knew personally. Four, excluding the doctor Bruce dated a while back- the Russian one, he thinks as he scans over her name. Three left. Damien drops a stack of files next to Tim. The youngest brother briefly puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder before quickly withdrawing and returning to Dick’s side. A quick scan of the discarded stack reveals two of the last three doctors had confirmed deaths, dental records verifying their respective bodies at the site of the plane crash. One left.

Tim stopped typing. Bruce walked down the stairs and stood next to the oversized computer; the main bat was dressed in the suit, cowl pulled off, ready to go on patrol. He glanced around the room to his birdies, and lastly his eyes fell on Tim. Red Robin stared at the screen as the last doctor stared back at him. Tim found his ketchup packet.

Shawn Ramirez. A plastic surgeon from Metropolis- invited to the mission by Mr. Y/L/N. Ramirez was born in Washington and had only lived in the big city for four years: most recent addresses put him in Texas, and before that California. Before California, he moved internationally to practice medicine in Africa. More specifically, Ethiopia. Where the mission was planned to go. Where Y/N was supposed to be.

Ramirez had worked for the Ethiopian military; a surgeon who traveled the continent looking to heal. At some point in time, Ramirez had visited Europe with the military. No less than a week later, Ramirez was back in the states working as a plastic surgeon. What happened in Europe?

Dick handed Bruce a stack of files. Looking through them, Bruce’s frown turned ever so slightly down. Bruce then handed the files to Tim, who spared a quick glance at Batman before turning his attention down to the file. Flipping through the papers, Tim froze at the known associate. Part of the League of Assassins known to the world only as Abadi- an elitist who weaseled through militaries and governments for fame and fortune in the name of Ra’s al Ghul. Abadi was a known villain amongst the bat and birds as Bruce is the one that nearly took the man’s eye out, leaving a gashing scar from eyebrow to chin, forcing the villain to wear an eye-patch. Abadi’s last known location was a small island off of Cape Verde, just a couple hundred miles from the plane’s crash landing.

Tim turned the chair around to see the rest of the family dressed in their suits: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Cass, Damien, and even Alfred. Alfred held out Tim’s Red Robin costume. “Master Tim.” Alfred was the first one to speak in hours since Tim and Jason returned home from the burger shop. “Please bring them home.” Tim reached for the suit, but was met by Alfred’s hand. The butler squeezed his fingers, and Tim simply nodded in understanding. The group hustled to the Bat Plane; inside, Batman ordered the birds for flight paths, site takeover analysis, and rescue plan. Tim sat at the back of the plane while the others worked. Tim was going to go save you, he was finally going to be able to tell you. And then, like a light switch, everything turned bright.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake #red robin fanfic #dc fanfic #robinsdearest #this one is long

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years

Text

Dying in their arms...(Angst Preferences)

Requested by an Anon who wants to see me cry: Could you do a hc of how the batboys react to their s/o dying in their arms and maybe the aftermath? You don't have to do it right away I just needed to put this in case I don't remember it

Warning: This is Angst, like harcore Angst. Death and substance-abuse and suicidal thoughts (or rather implications), the whole nine yards. Read with caution. And for the most part I’ll make the reader die without resurrection (excpet for in one case)

Dick remembers. You laying there in his arms, your body almost cold already, limb and your last breath long gone - it just flashes the pictures of his parents again. He has lost so many people since, again and again, inclusing himself. But a tiny voice whispers in his head that no, no you won’t be back. That this might actually be final. That that last breath of yours was your final one. That he’d never hear your heartbeat again or could listen to your voice or feel the warmth of your skin under his touch. It’s another person on the long list of people who died, people he had loved or cared for. And he will be shattered for days, will lock himself up in his room and just cry until he’s numb. Dick likes being numb, it takes away the reality of life. The reality that is way too hard for him to grasp. It seems unlike Dick, but he might decide to take care of being numb with drugs. As soon as he starts feeling again he longs for the numbness, longs for the feeling of not feeling anything. He wants to forget that you’re gone and forget how much he misses you. So, as a cop, he has the necessery contacts to find someone who can give him what he needs to feel numb again. Dick knows that this isn’t what you want for him, what you would have wanted if you haven’t... So he’ll stop soon enough. He’ll stop once he breaks even when he should be numb. Then he might get help, get someone who helps him work through that, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be okay again. He won’t get over you, but he can live on, he can use the time he has left until he’ll meet you again to help others not feel the way he did. Until one day he will see you again, be in your arms again...

Jason hates. He hates everything. He hates the universe for always taking everything from him, for kicking him when he was already laying on the floor, for ending your life so prematurely. He hates whoever did this to you and he’ll make damn sure that the person or thing will suffer, will wish he was never even an idea, will make him feel the way he felt and the way you must have felt. Bruce’s no-killing rule we be long forgotten by then and to be quite honest, I don’t think he’ll come back from that. His own death was hard enough on him, he started despising the world and he turned to the dark side, but he turned back with the help of Bruce and the others. And with the help of you. Even if he was already on the good side again by the time he meets you, you pull his soul out of that dark place it was in ever since he died. You become his anchor, his reason. And then there he is, on his knees in some dirty warehouse, a place not even close to worth you taking your last breath in, and he holds you in his arms. Your fragile, broken body. And he looks at you and he no longer sees a reason to life, he sees a reason to kill. Deep, deep inside he knows it’s not what you wanted, that if you could talk to him you would tell him that this shouldn’t define him, but he can’t find it in himself to care. What’s the idea if you’re not there anymore. If there is something like a heaven (and with that something like hell) he never believed that he would end up in the good place, but he knew damn well that you would. So, when he wakes up from his raged-out rampage, killing every- and anyone who was in some way responsible for what happened to you, his last hope that he may could have been forgiven and could have ended up with you wherever you might now be is gone. And not only that, Jason is the living example that death isn’t always the end, but he can’t bring himself to try to get the live back into you, because if you would be back, you’d see what he became and he couldn’t stand that. So, if there’s no hope of ever seeing you again, when he knows that last moment in the warehouse was actually the very last for you two, he changes. For the worse, and not like when he was killed and revived. He will get back into the mindset that being good didn’t help anyone and that the only way to effectively stop criminals was to either kill them or kill enough of them that others wouldn’t dare. And, even though Bruce isn’t the one he blames this time, his family stopped to matter the moment he turned and he will not hesitate with them either, because in his eyes, there’s always more criminals if there are heroes too...

Tim dies. Not on the outside. No, but on the inside. The moment your eyes become dazed and the life has left you, his life leaves him too. He will be heavily in deny at first, won’t accept the fact that you’re not there anymore. He will beg and try to make deals, goes to everyone he can think off who might have the power to bring you back, but to no avail. You’re gone too long, or died in a way too unreversable, but it’s not possible to bring you back. It will take days, maybe weeks or moths, until he accepts it. Until he finally understands that you’re gone and that that’s final. That he won’t hear your voice or feel your touch. In general he is the one who has the “healthiest” coping off them all. He goes to the phases rather quickly after he came out of the long phase of denial. But just because he accepts it, doesn’t mean it’s any easier. He’ll spend nights upon nights looking at pictures, videos and text messages from you. He might even go as far as to hack into any sort of recording that has you, anything to hear your voice another time. But that’s in privat. In public he’ll put on a facade, especially in front of his family, he’ll act like everything is okay and he’ll drown himself in as much work as he can, anything to distract himself from reality. His family will be worried, obviously, but if people ask him if he’s okay, he’ll say it is, he’ll put on a face. It’s almost uncanny how normal he is able to act in front of them. When he does it long enough, Tim believes, he might be able to believe it himself. Might be able to get through that and maybe, one day in the future, he’ll actually be okay. He knows he won’t forget you, knows that there won’t be anything or anyone that could replace you, but he can live on. In your name. He can live the life you never would be able to for the both of you...

Damian doubts. Just for a second. He has doubts about the life he left and the person he became. He was told that it was the right thing to do the right things, that he should be good, and he believed it. But how can it be that even when he was a good person, you were taken from him. And not only that, in Damian’s mind it was debetable about how good he actually was, but you, in Damian’s eyes your the personification of everything that ever was light in this world, so how could it be that you were gone so early. It wasn’t fair. So what was the idea? How could being good be right when it took you away from him? But he’s torn. On one side he knows you would have never been hurt if he had never become good, you’d never been part of this life, but on the other side he wouldn’t have met you and that couldn’t be right either. He loved you. Loved you more than he ever thought was possible. So maybe him becoming good wasn’t the only problem, maybe it was the fact that you were good in a world that wasn’t. A world that didn’t appriciate you or was worth your existence. A world that couldn’t protect you. Damian will sit there for a while, you in his arms, unmoving, stiff and already cold. He won’t contact his father or his siblings, he’ll just think. Until he’s sure, he will not live without you and if being good doesn’t guarantee that, than maybe being good isn’t the right thing for him. He’ll pick you up and he’ll carry you out, he’ll possibly hotwire a car and lay you down on the backseat, as if you were just sleeping, and then he’ll contact his mother or his grandfather. If having you back means joining the league again and becoming their pawn then that was what Damian had to do. He’ll be there with you when you wake up again, he’ll take some time off and just be with you. He knows you’ll be changed, maybe even a completely different person, but he doesn’t mind. Not as long as he had you with him. That was all that mattered to him...He just needed you by his side, the rest was unimportant

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analviel · 3 years

Text

Tim's origin but with a little more SPICE:

It's been weeks since Tim started following Batman. When he began, it was with a determination to help right a wrong, to help his heroes in some way during this trying times.

Who'd have thought that seeing your city's hero repeatedly beat up petty criminals to pulps was a traumatizing experience for a thirteen year old. What courage he'd gained to do something, had been steadily chipped away and Tim is now in an impasse.

Taking pictures. Documenting the man's decent. And, if he was honest with himself.... well, it's looking more and more like evidence.

Evidence against Batman.

Oh my god.

Tim is both a stalker and a clean-up crew simultaneously, he feels like. But rather feeling good at being helpful to heroes, this feels more akin to helping cover up. Even though he isn't.

If anything, calling ambulances to report Batman's victims is the opposite. Tim feels acutely aware of how Batman's ledger is filling up. Records being taken and, therefore, evidence piling up.

It's all evidence, everything is, if you use it the right way. That's what Tim has learned following Batman's cases -not that it's ever under his name seeing as he is a vigilante and finding which ones have his style is detective work in itself.

This time though, it's different.

Oh god it's different, Tim feels himself panicking, wondering what was different that was making him even more vicious than he usually already is.

Not his parent's death anniversary. Or their anniversary. Not Harvey's turning either.

Way too soon to be Jason's death anniversary. Not his birthday either.

Tim wracked his mind trying to figure out what made this petty car jacker special. Different. Worse.

Tim press his back on the filthy rooftop, hands over his mouth, blinking tears from his eyes, listening to a stranger beg mercy from a.... hero? A criminal disguised as a hero? A villain disguised as a hero?

A grieving man.

Later, Tim will wonder what he could've done better; many things.

If he'd just moved immediately after Batman left, if his legs would've stopped shaking sooner, if he swallowed his bile, if he. Just. Moved.

If he hadn't waited seconds and then minutes after hearing the silence, then maybe...

The man is dead.

Or, he's dying.

Tim had called the ambulance, stumbled his way down the fire exit, and discovered the man fading.

Tim was too shocked to have the mind to exit the premises before the medics arrived.

He shouldn't have been.

He KNEW Batman was getting worse and worse. He didn't stop earlier, hadn't given up the mantle when his son died, he's not going to do it now. There was only one way to go now from there. Down.

Worse and worse until it's the worst.

They got the man back again.

Tim curls up in his seat in the ambulance. Watching.

Tim curls up in his seat in the hospital, barred from the operating room. Listening.

The man flatlined two more times -three all in all-, that's what he'd gathered from hushed whispers he can barely hear in the natural bustle of a hospital. 'Three times the charm' they say. Tim wonders in what way, in this case. Someone gives him a hot cocoa together with the blanket he'd been wrapped in by the first responders.

Someone's going to ask him questions, they say. They're just late a bit, they say.

Typical.

Tim would be gone before anyone arrives. If nothing else, his parents finding out about any of this, is enough to knock some sense into him. He doesn't know them that well, but at the very least, anyone even remotely sane would be Displeased with a capital D.

So he knows he shouldn't have, but he needed to go home. And he needed to see him before or he's not getting any sleep.

Tim sneaks into the room, sees the man attached to tubes and a heart monitor. He's alive. Barely. But he is.

Tim goes home and can't sleep.

The next day, he visits.

He doesn't even attempt the front desk and just walks in as if he'd just gone out for some air five minutes ago. He's sweating cold sweat the whole time.

He's not lying, he tells himself. He can't lie if no one's asking. It's fine. Everything's fine.

Except everything, you know.

Tim is shocked to find the man conscious. He almost runs back out but the man calls out a faint 'hey'.

He can't talk much, too damaged to do so. He doesn't ask Tim's name or what the hell he's doing there. Just asked him to pray for him.

Tim has never prayed a day in his life. He looks it up on Waynet.

Anxiously glancing at the door as he reads and recites as instructed.

Then the man talks about a sick brother. An overworked sister. If he can check up on them, please.

Tim has no idea why he'd ask a kid that, a stranger to boot, but he figures thirteen year olds from Crime Alley were just a different breed. It was nice watching and admiring from afar, but Tim can't imagine doing any of the death defying stunts Jason did on the regular.

Tim can't help repeating his name in his head though. His and his sister and brother.

He checks on them and returns to tell the man that they were alive and Tim also just signed them up for weekly groceries and medicine from his not inconsiderable allowance. No matter what walk of life you are, Tim at least knows that unsolicited help are usually unsolicited for a reason so he's not going to push. Much.

He was already there, you can't expect him not to do anything.

The man died.

They're trying to revive him again.

Tim can't bring himself to stay.

(To wait until the name Derek is written beside a time and date in one of those medical bracelets he'd never thought to ask the name of.)

But he makes a silent promise.

He's going to stop this.

Tim is going to do something.

Naturally, as any law-abiding thirteen year old, by 'doing something' his first thoughts are calling the authorities to sic them on Wayne manor with all the photos, and now evidence, he'd collected through the years.

Yeah, Tim chickened out.

Because reviewing all the photos, Batman is crying.

Crying while he beat up young men who are older brothers, but crying. Batman is broken.

In the past, if someone or something in Gotham is broken, you know Batman and Robin will be on it.

Robin has been shattered and Batman is broken. Who will be 'on it' this time? When the heroes need heroes, who will be there to catch them?

So. Yeah.

Plan B, is to give Batman time to recover. Preferably without Batman. Batman is justice and vengeance and the violence the police can't deal out. Violence for the greater good, but violence. That can easily go overboard, as he'd repeatedly witnessed.

There used to be less violence and more talking. When Batman had a Robin to be mindful of.

Tim needed Bruce to quit Batman.

Somehow without inadvertently burning down Gotham with supervillains let loose. Maybe a vacation. Tim can... convince him to go on a hiatus. There are times when the dark night go one JL missions and the Bats seems to have a system to prevent spikes in crime activities.

Mostly involving Batgirl, Robin, and -to a much lesser extent- Nightwing.

Batgirl is out of commission in what he suspects might be related to Barbara Gordon's injury, though he hasn't had time to confirm it.

Robin is... well.

Nightwing is MIA.

..... Tim will deal with it when the time comes.

The time doesn't come because... well, simply put, no one answered the door. Probably thinking it's more paparazzi -he'd seen the hordes and then regular pesters- so yeah, Tim understands. It's fine.

It's fine.

..... really, it is.

Tim does NOT visit the hospital.

He deactivates the program he'd spent the better part of the day before researching and copy pasting codes that would've sent a timer of five minutes from when activated that, if he didn't regularly enter the code, would automatically send all his pictures to every major news outlet in the entire country.

Clearly, Tim can't do this on his own. In fact, he's been getting a feeling that he shouldn't do this on his own.

Okay.

So if he was Dick Grayson, where would he retreat to grieve his little brother's sudden death.

......... how much is the bus fair again. Would a hundred be enough?

He'll bike it.

For the road trip pack, he's thinking a bag of lays. He'll stab it to get the air out and to be able to fit more in the bag.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tim close the door behind him, relaxing in the car seat with a sigh. Working in a company was exactly how he'd thought it'd be as a kid.

Something he'd rather not be doing. When was the last time he'd held a camera? Even just his phone camera? That doesn't involve recording evidence in the mask.

"Where to, Mr. Drake-Wayne?"

"Ermmgrgfdbcfb..."

"The penthouse then, after a short driveway. Red Robin or Burger King?"

"Yum."

"Yes sir."

Tim gathers just enough energy to lift his head to look at car mirror, "Thanks Derek. You're the only one who ever understands me."

"I'm sure Mr. Grayson would disagree."

"Disagree all he wants. He gave me the wrong donut once."

#dc #dc comics #batfam #batman #robin #tim drake #red robin #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #origin story

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prorevenge · 3 years

Text

Cousin tries to steal my mother's inheritance

The whole story was a few years ago and is very convoluted. In order not to write a novel here, I try to keep things clear and as short as possible. If some things are incomprehensible, I am happy to submit updates upon request.

Yes, we were too trustworthy and in retrospect we should have done more earlier.

The story begins in the early 90s when my parents got divorced. My mother had been given custody of me and my older sister by the court. We moved into my maternal grandmother's house. The house was built by my grandfather in the 50's and had never been renovated. There were 2 apartments in the house. One apartment on the ground floor and one on the 1st floor. My grandma lived in the lower apartment. But even though it was actually too small for a woman with 2 teenage children in the upper apartment, my mother initially wanted us to see the house as 2 separate households. It took my grandma some time to convince my mother to consider the house as a whole as not my grandmothers, but ours.

My mother and grandma decided not only to renovate the house, but also to refurbish it. But before that could happen, something important had to be clarified.

Because my grandfather had built the house and he died without writing his last will, the house was not legally owned by my grandmother at the time, but belonged in part to my mother and her sister (let's call her Estelle)

My grandma bought Estelles share.

The 40-year-old stove heating was replaced by a floor heating that was modern at the time, windows were renewed, old pipes and cables were replaced and much more. My mother put all of the money my father gave her after the divorce into the house. Among other things, she paid off an old loan that was still on the house.

In order not to repeat my grandfather's mistake, the three made a will. The share in the house that belongs to my grandmother should go to my mother after her death, as she lived in the house and contributed significantly to its value through her investment. Estelle should get a large amount of money and everything else my grandma owns should be divided equally between the two.

Fast forward to 2015. My mother had retired and took care 24/7 of her mother, who is suffering from dementia. The alternative of putting my grandma in a nursing home was out of the question for us. As long as it was somehow possible, my mother wanted my grandma to stay in the house that she built with her husband and that she called home. I haven't lived in the house for a long time, but I still visited whenever I could to relieve my mother of work. But these opportunities are few and far between, as I live and work around 2 hours away by car. So I was all the more pleased that my mother got help with housework for a few hours a week. This domestic help (let's call her Nadine) is the girlfriend of Estelles son Tim.

When Tim was a Teenager he had fallen out with his father and most of our family had very few contacts with him. He showed up once a year, called on our grandmas’ birthday and on Christmas. For over 20 years, he was, besides these 3 occasions, basically nonexistent.

Nadine works full time in a nursing home. After having been in the hospital for a few days, my grandma was supposed to be in that very nursing home for a while. The insurance companies offer this option so that caregiving relatives should be able to recover for a few days themselves and my mother really needed the break.

But my mother was not granted this break. On the second day, in her demented confusion, she crawled under her room neighbor's bed and did not let the nursing staff lure her out from under it. Nadine then called Tim, who came by. While playing hide and seek, my grandma was slightly injured and was taken back to the hospital. After that, she refused to go back to the nursing home, and my mother gave in and took her home.

In the next few months, it was 2016 then, Tim appeared once a week to, as he said, “take care of grandma”. This “taking care” consisted of going to Grandma, who was sitting in her TV chair, holding her hand, asking if everything was okay and driving off 15 minutes later.

At this point I would like to emphasize again that my mother has basically sacrificed herself since 2011 to look after her mother in need of care. She never moved more than 50 meters from my grandma without someone to take her place. Both my grandmother's doctor and the official auditors in charge of the nursing service had certified my mother that my grandmother was doing great under her supervision.

Estelle's birthday was in March. My mother told me later that Estelle had advised her in a conversation that she should put some money aside for the time when Grandma is no longer there.

Nadine celebrated his birthday in July. Since my grandmother was again spending a few days in short-term care at that time so that my mother could recover a little, Tim offered to pick up grandma for the party.

And in August the mood changed.

Estelle expressed concern that my grandma's confusion was really dementia and instead suggested that grandma was in her condition because of poor care from my mother. Tim was increasingly aggressive towards my mother. In a conversation I insisted on participate, he accused my mother of embezzling my grandmother's money and evading taxes. And although I am a peace-loving person, I lost my composure a little and I was only a blink away from beating him.

After we calmed down again, I suggested that instead of just coming by for 15 minutes a week and spreading accusations, he should really take care of Grandma and look after her for a week at a time.

He agreed.

Two weeks later, Tim and Tim's brother appeared with his family and picked up Grandma for a visit to a fair.

When they came back they told my mother that they had ordered a new TV chair for Grandma and that my mother should pay for it with her money. The reason was that my mother “lived rent-free in Grandma's house” and practically doesn’t do anything. Since my grandmother was so “gracious to take in a mother and her two children” she was entitled to the money, my mother supposedly saved on rent.

A few weeks later my mother had an appointment and asked Estelle to take care of Grandma during that time. When she came back there was also a note on the table. Estelle had taken grandma with her to look after her. First a week to try out.

The joy that my mother had about the free time she gained quickly vanished when it turned out two days later that Estelle took the opportunity to go to her bank with my grandmother to revoke my mother the right to access my grandmother's account. We only found out about it by accident.

A few days later Estelle appeared accompanied by Tim, his two siblings and their families and got clothes, jewelry and everything valuable that my grandmother owned. They said that my grandma wanted to stay with Estelle now because she couldn't stand my mother anymore.

The mood between my mother and grandma had deteriorated noticeably in the months since the first stay at the nursing home. At first, we assumed that the dementia was getting worse.

A few days later, 9 people came to my mother's home. Including my grandmother, Estelle, Tim, Ts. siblings and their family. When my mother was about to let 2 visitors out of the door, one of the group stormed through the open front door, pushing my mother and sister aside and demanding that they leave the (lower) apartment immediately. They supposedly had no right to be there and are only allowed to stay in the upper apartment.

A neighbor saw the incident and called the police. The group convinced the police that my mother actually lived in the apartment upstairs and had no right to be downstairs. To this day I still don't understand why the policeman accepted it that way. In any case, he asked my mother to leave the lower apartment until the matter was legally clarified. The police then disappeared. The group then took the opportunity to exchange the lock and searched the apartment for incriminating material that they could use against my mother. Unsurprisingly, they didn't find anything. My mother hadn't done anything wrong.

The day after, my mother went to see a lawyer to give her access to the home again. After a week back and forth, my relatives agreed to let my mother back into the apartment.

They cleared the furniture out of the apartment beforehand, because they thought it belonged to my grandmother, and switched back to the old locks.

Since they were 9 again and my mother had a nervous breakdown from the whole affair anyway and was on the verge of the 2nd, I wanted to receive the key in her place. However, they insisted that my mother personally collect the key.

Since I could already imagine why my relatives insisted of being in a group of 9 to give the key to a 70 year old woman personally, I had an idea. I picked up my smartphone in a clearly visible position and activated the recording function.

As I expected, most of them noticed my cell phone and remained silent. All except my grandma. Although she could hardly see anything, she recognized me and wanted to talk to me. She accused me and my mother of plotting against her. That she always supported me and she couldn't understand how we could do that to her. It broke my heart to hear what monsters my mother and I had become in her mind. But I knew that this was the dementia talking. I listened patiently and tried to explain what she had misunderstood, but I also knew that she had sunk too far in her illness to convince her of the truth.

One of the allegations in that conversation was that my mother and I wanted her out of the house. As already written that was not the case. But I have to be grateful today that my grandma said that. Estelle was sitting next to her at the time and reflexively replied "It wasn't him, the others."

At the time, I was too fixated on my grandma that I hadn't even noticed. Fortunately, I had my phone in my hand the whole time. When I listened to the conversation a while later, it finally clicked and I could slap myself today for not noticing it earlier:

Since the incident at the nursing home, the mood between my mother and grandma had deteriorated noticeably. We had blamed it on dementia, but now it was clear to us that in her condition between dementia and the strong painkillers she was taking, my relatives had talked her into believing some conspiracy against her.

My mother then applied for guardianship for my grandma. In Germany it is regulated in such a way that it is first checked whether the care is necessary. That was a relatively straightforward matter.

Then a judge has to check whether there is a possibility that a relative will take over the guardianship. This test was an on-site appointment at Estelle

As I could deduct from the court papers, the judge was of the opinion relatively quickly that family-internal guardianship was not possible. The decisive factor was apparently, among other things, the aggressive behavior of my relatives towards my mother, whereby the judge was almost injured with a burning cigarette.

Mrs. G. was declared to be my grandmother's guardian. A few weeks after Mrs. G. took over her job, she paid my mother a visit.

Ms. G. said that she was amazed when she met my mother for the first time. After all, she wasn't the hell spawn my relatives described her. We learned that Estelle's family had apparently spread wild rumors about my mother in town. We also learned that apparently my grandmother's set up a new will.

Since my mother lives in a small town, it didn't take long to find out that Tim was named the sole heir in the new will. Nadine had said the same to a friend and if you know someone who knows someone…. Small town.

My grandma died in July 2017. Shortly afterwards, I drove to the court to deposit my grandma's will there so that it could take effect. The lady there said there would already be another recent will. I still insisted on depositing the old one.

The will was opened a few weeks later. We saw for the first time what we are dealing with.

The new will was drawn up by a notary which is normally better than a handwritten will from over 20 years ago. In the will, Tim is established as the sole heir with Estelle in the 2nd position (in the event that Tim would have died before my grandmother). Not a word about the fact that part of my mother's house already belonged to her, instead she was only given a right to live in the upper apartment. But the real shock came when we saw the date. The will was written in July 2016. On the day when Tim and Estelle had so generously agreed to pick up Grandma from the nursing home. When they were still trying to pretend everything was fine and their “only concern was Grandma's well-being”.

I made an appointment with an inheritance lawyer. The lawyer first wanted to convince my mother to only sue for her legal inheritance claim and to otherwise accept the will. Challenging a notarial will is one of the most difficult cases you can try in German courts and it takes a lot of evidence to do that.

My time to shine. It took me almost an hour to convince the lawyer that my grandma had dementia and that the new will is therefore invalid. Doctor's reports that certify dementia back in 2011. The report for the guardianship. Every minute I presented her with new documents and in the end she is ready to go into battle with us.

So the matter goes to court, which means that the lawyers write letters back and forth. In one of the letters, Tim's lawyer mentions that there is an assessment from a doctor A. that clearly confirms that my grandma did not have dementia. That would contradict the evidence I submitted to my lawyer. So the court commissioned a new, independent expert assessment.

Although I had a lot of evidence and the behavior of my grandmother was always a clear sign of dementia for me, we waited a little nervously for the assessment.

We receive the assessment and what can I say, I haven't read anything so beautiful and sad at the same time for a long time. It is sad because the expert quotes from many reports that describe what my grandma was going through after she was brought to Estelles house. Nice because the appraiser completely dismantled the other side's argument. For every argument that the other side has come up with by then, the appraiser has evidence to invalidate it. Most impressive is the fact that the alleged report by Doctor A. is completely worthless to the other side. On the contrary, the doctor was so incompetent that he accidentally not only failed to refute my grandmother's dementia, he even confirmed it.

So there is a court date. The appraiser, Doctor A. and the notary who wrote the will are present.

A. is given the opportunity to defend his "report" before the judge. And he only makes it worse. It is going too far to explain that now. In any case, A. made it clear to the judge that he had no idea how to carry out the test.

Then it's the notary's turn. When he testified, it turns out that there were 2 appointments with him and my grandma. And in their attempt to look particularly good in front of the judge, Estelle and Tim admit that they were both present at both appointments. Not only that, apparently the conversation and further coordination between the notary and my grandmother went completely through Estelle’s hands.

The trial ends and my mother's lawyer is overjoyed. She explains to me that if there were any doubts that the new will does not reflect the will of my grandma, these are finally resolved by the statement of the notary.

A few days later, the judge gives the verdict and it's even better than expected.

The house was awarded to my mother.

Tim is no longer entitled to even one cent from my grandma's inheritance.

All claims that Estelle could still make against my mother, i.e. both the stated sum of money from the old will and possible claims under the law, are offset against what was in his possession at the time of my grandma's death. So she has some old furniture, clothes, some jewelry, etc. And what it looks like so far, that means that's all she can hope for.

tl;dr My cousin tried to cheat my mother out of her inheritance. Didn't work out for him in the end.

(source) story by (/u/Sam_Ronin)

#prorevenge #by /u/Sam_Ronin #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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51kas81 · 3 years

Text

Twelve Dreams of Dr Sardonicus by Spirit

My parents were desperate for me to like classical music, but I just couldn’t buy into the length of the pieces. Then they played me Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber and it was so beautiful, I cried. My school music teacher, Mr Vassal, asked for our favourite composers; I said Samuel Barber and he laughed at me. But eventually everyone caught up.

There was a Beatles versus Stones vibe at school. I was on the Beatles side. The first single I bought was Wild Thing by the Troggs and the first album was Bookends by Simon and Garfunkel. I loved Father and Son by Cat Stevens, because it made me think of me and my dad. My tastes weren’t shocking; they just needed to open up. Then, when I was 17, I went to hospital to have my tonsils out and my brother bought me some records and this mobile turntable in a suitcase.

Twelve Dreams of Dr Sardonicus by Spirit had the most amazing way of manipulating stereo. I was just blown away. I have to thank my brother; he turned me on to Joni Mitchell, Andy Pratt and Little Feat and opened up my boundaries.

Little Brother, Little Sister

My mother, Helen Shingler, was famous during my teens for playing Madame Maigret in a BBC series based on the Georges Simenon stories. My father, Seafield Head, was a producer and director at Verity Films, the documentary film company. Every year, a family friend’s mum would hire this huge barn and put on a play. I had a bit part in The Jackdaw of Rheims. The next year, I got to be the Emperor in The Emperor’s New Clothes. As I walked through the audience, all heads turned towards me and I remember thinking: “This is what I want to do for a living.”

I applied to the National Youth Theatre and the Central School of Speech and Drama, but I didn’t get in, so my father hired me as a runner and assistant editor. Working in the cutting rooms was fascinating. Then I enrolled at The Young Stagers at the Thorndike theatre in Leatherhead, run by this lovely woman called Joan MacAlpine. She directed me in an extraordinary piece called Little Brother, Little Sister, which got me into the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. My teacher said: “If anybody can make me cry, I’ll take them to the theatre.” I did my piece again and made her cry.

The Rocky Horror Show

I remember being taken to The Rocky Horror Show on Kings Road when I was at drama school in my late teens. Tim Curry was playing Dr Frank-N-Furter – the role that he repeated in the film. Watching The Rocky Horror Show ignited something in my core. I knew I had acting in my blood because of my mother. Now I couldn’t wait to finish drama school and try to make it in the real world.

I finally got to play Dr Frank-N-Furter when The Rocky Horror Show came to the Piccadilly theatre in 1990. The exciting thing about acting is that you shouldn’t know what’s coming out of the actor’s mouth next – and I didn’t hold back. I just let whatever was going on inside of me come out in the character. That was life-changing for me as an actor. It made me realise that there’s nowhere that you can’t go.

Friends would come to see me perform and later say that they hardly recognised me, I was so out of character. As an actor, that’s a huge compliment.

Judi Dench

Judi Dench and Maurice Denham in 1966’s Talking to a Stranger. Photograph: Everett Collection/Alamy

One of Judi Dench’s early roles was this show on BBC Two called Talking to a Stranger, with Michael Bryant, Maurice Denham and Margery Mason. It’s about this family who are at odds with each other. Each of the four parts focuses on one family member’s view of what is going on around them. I thought it was beautiful, amazing and absolutely genius and I just fell in love with Judi. I thought that she was the most amazing actress – and still do. Judi taught me that acting can be at its best when it is very subtly underplayed. The core of believing an actor is buying into the fact that they’re not acting.

I got to play the rather unpleasant suitor of one of her on-screen daughters in Love in a Cold Climate on the BBC in the early 00s. I’m sure I must have said to Judi: ‘I think you’re so wonderful.’ Actors need appreciation and recognition. I suppose for me that will always be for Buffy, because Buffy was so different and so pivotal for its time. The episode called The Body, where Buffy’s mum dies, is the most extraordinary piece of writing and misdirection. I’m very grateful to have done so many evocative things that so many people have latched on to.

Paul Newman

Robert Redford and Paul Newman in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Photograph: Photos 12/Alamy

I love Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Each act is so brilliantly put together; it’s a stunning piece of writing. Both Robert Redford and Paul Newman are phenomenal, but Newman especially I’ve always loved, because he’s so believable that he instantly transports you into the story. I also loved Henry Fonda in Once Upon a Time in the West, in which he plays the baddie, which is unusual.

I often get cast as baddies. I don’t know why. I play Rupert Mannion on [the Apple TV+ sitcom] Ted Lasso. He’s a particularly unpleasant character and a complete narcissist, but you know where he’s coming from. To make somebody believable, you have to see their point of view. You don’t need to like them, but you have to be on board with what’s driving them.

I’m also in an episode of the new series of Back with David Mitchell and Robert Webb. I get to play a totally self-absorbed character called Charismatic Mike, who was great fun to play. It’s always been my theory that actors are hugely insecure, which is why we love dressing up and being someone else, because we don’t have to be in our own heads and bodies. Then we can express things that we may feel deep down and blame it on the character.

Lord of the Flies

At drama school, I really liked the people on the stage-managing course who were studying things like costume, lighting and prop-making. People used to say: you have to behave like a star to be thought of as a star. So, traditionally, a lot of actors take stage managers for granted.

I get very cross with actors who just throw their clothes on the floor. I said to one actor recently: “Costume are here before you, setting up your clothes, and they’re here after you’ve gone. Pick up your clothes, put them on a hanger in your cupboard. It’s not a big deal.” Teamwork is important.

At school, one of the books that blew me away was Lord of the Flies. It’s also about teamwork and not necessarily someone standing in front becoming the leader. In your teens, the world is yours to do what you want with. As you grow up, you realise you’re just part of something much bigger. Now more than ever, life should be about teamwork and for the cause of the greater good.

School’s Out Forever is available on digital from 15 February and DVD and Blu-ray from 12 April

#anthony stewart head #anthony head #headnews21 #interview #school’s out forever

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chronicbatfictioner · 3 years

Text

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 16

Just as Tim predicted, a week later, Bruce Wayne requested to meet him at work. While the request itself - sent through proper channels that is Tim's secretary - it specifically requested Tim by name. It had made a little stir with the other members of the company's Board of Directors, as they all thought that 'little Timmy' shouldn't be meeting the 'big and scary' Bruce Wayne by himself. "What if he manipulated Tim into a merger??" some had asked. It wasn't until Tim assured them that he would not make any corporate decisions without prior consulting - and stating that he 'doesn't like Bruce Wayne at all. He's a doof,' - that the rest of the BOD relented.

Bruce came in accompanied by Alfred Pennyworth, the family's butler. Bane, Tim knew, was accompanying Dr. Thomas and Mrs on a trip overseas. For some reason, the Waynes did not promptly send Bane away, even after he literally and physically got tossed out of the Wayne Manor's living room's bay windows - courtesy of Jason - when he tried to attack Damian.

"If this is a business meeting, Bruce, I would appreciate it if you wait for the rest of my BOD members to come up here," Tim hinted.

"No, no, no it's not..." Bruce seemed a little thinner than when Tim last saw him in person, a little disheveled and worse for wear, which would be odd given the fact that Alfred was right by his side. No self-respecting butler would have allowed their masters to leave the house looking like Bruce then - Tim knew, his dad had one since Tim was very young. Tim might not opt to keep the butler when his parents passed, but he knew the tenets fairly well.

Yet, Alfred just looked mildly disapproving but had walked into the office in the same eager speed as Bruce did.

Tim briefly wondered to whom Alfred's loyalty lies.

"I need... I need to know that there are no recording devices in here," Bruce stated.

Tim took a few blinks to choose an answer, "I'm not of the habit of having recording devices in my office. You, however, came with a tracking device," Tim pointed out.

"What?? I've left my cellphone in the car! Is it... can it listen? Record?" The shock on Bruce's face was more prevalent than when Damian came out of nowhere and called him 'father.'

Tim checked his monitoring system, courtesy of Harper Row, which can detect the type and model and broadcast type of any gadget and displayed it on Tim's cellphone. "No, it just tracks your location and is GPS-based. Why...?"

"Oh thank god..." Bruce slumped in his seat. "Alfred, can you make sure that no one would come here until I'm... until we're done?"

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred bowed lightly and walked out the door.

"Wow, okay... whatever this is has got to be... better be important. I mean, you sent your butler out the door..." Tim commented.

"It is. It's about..." Bruce still hesitated. "Look, I don't usually do this. I don't know why. But you, your work-- your company and its line of business would make you-- would get you in touch with your end-clients, right? The common people who used social security benefits to get their meds, Doc Leslie Thompkins' patients and all that..."

He paused, so Tim shrugged. "I do try to personally meet my end-client to figure out what kind of medications they would need more; and Dr. Thompkins is one of my clients, too, whose assessment I can quite trust. You're not planning to get into the generic meds business also, are you?"

"No, no, no... This has nothing to do with WE. I mean... it should be, in the long run. But in the short run... Look, this would sound odd. But when you talk to your clients, have you ever hear of the Birds of Prey?" Bruce asked. Tim studied the man before him for a good long while. Before he could answer, Bruce continued, "my cousin Kate... she has just gotten kicked out of the military academy. She said she thought of donning a costume and joined the Birds of Prey to fight crime, so she could feel useful again, you know? I told her they're criminals, vigilantes. She said I should go down to meet the common people of Gotham and ask them what they think of the Birds of Prey. And then I thought of you."

"Yeeea... I'm not following..." Tim feigned - but only partially. He could already tell where the direction of Bruce's conversation was trying to take.

"Do you think they're criminals or heroes? I mean, does anybody ever mention them doing like, extortion, murder, stuff like that...?" Bruce insisted.

"Are you like, worried for your cousin Kate or... is there anything of significance that I should know about?" Tim finally decided to just bite the bullet and ask right out. There is no recording device in his office, all right. But his tiepin doubles as a camera that would send to Barbara as soon as Tim turned it on. And he had turned it on the instant Bruce walked in.

"As far as I've heard, the Birds of Prey -- ooh, I hate the pun, but it's right there-- preyed on criminals. Those who take advantage of the weak and all that jazz. I've experienced their... service if you will; when my delivery trucks were hijacked by some supposedly-metahuman group. They stopped the hijacking and arrested the group. They even found out that the group had an inside man right here." he elaborated.

The case was widely publicized, after all, when three trucks in succession that contained generic medications to be delivered to Gotham General and several free clinics were hijacked. The short version was the Birds of Prey stopped the hijacking as it was happening, then the glorious GCPD arrested those men, and they also discovered the inside man within Drake Industries - one of the Directors who had planned to jump ship while sinking DI along with it.

In reality, it had been Tim's work. The Birds - Dinah and Helena - helped with physically stopping the hijacking; while Tim dug out the paperwork and discovered the traitor. Barbara had then sent the evidence to the police, along with video footage of the man talking to a competitor of the company.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of the case. So you don't think they're bad people?"

Tim slow-shrug, just for the sake of dramatization. "I won't say they're totally good people - I mean, them hijackers looked like they've gone 12 rounds with Ted Grant the boxer. And they supposedly have like, superpowers or something. But I'm not gonna say they're bad people - they knew exactly where those shipments were going and who'd be using them, and they worked hard to stop the hijacking, you know. Financially speaking, DI might be able to weather like, a dozen hijacking. But for those people who needed the meds..." he let the sentence trailed for Bruce to fill in the blanks. He knew that the man has the same metaphorical bleeding heart as Martha Wayne, his mother.

"Okay..." Bruce actually looked a little more alive after the explanation. "Do you know how to contact them? I need to ask them for help."

"Oh, wow... Heh. It's not like I have them on my speed-dial... I think they maybe have an inside man in GCPD? They showed up right after I made the report of the third hijacking." Tim hedged, internally cursing himself for not finishing his project of the Birdcall app. The cellphone app would have made it easier for anyone to call the Birds or to alert the Birds of crimes. Alas, the whole issue with Jason and Damian's appearance has delayed its development. Tim made a mental note to assign Harper on it.

Bruce looked disappointed. "I see... then I will need you to relay this to the GCPD for me, Tim, can I trust you? I mean, it's... crucial," he said.

"What is this about, the kid and his guards?" Tim tested, just for kicks.

"Oh, no. The kid... Damian and his guards were actually a kind of reprieve in the household. They made sure that everything would be... proper and in order." Bruce smiled thinly. "It's about Bane. I have evidence that he has murdered a lot of people."

"Oh my," Tim gasped earnestly, really. Jason and Dick, and even Damian, have reported that aside from Bane's obvious animosity against them, he had tried nothing - yet. They were also the ones who told Tim that Bane has placed nanotech trackers on all three Waynes' clothing. Unfortunately, they were not able to actually snoop around - as there would always be one of the Waynes in the house.

Bruce handed him a small USB drive. "It's all here. Please, Tim. I mean, before this, I couldn't care less if that brute would leech all of the family's fortune. But now I have a son to think of... Talia might have made sure he's physically well-guarded. But Bane is a long-con kind of person and is really patient. He came to Gotham specifically for us after so many years. He..." he paused. "I believed my father when he told me that he had not betrayed my mother. But without a shred of physical evidence, there is nothing either of us can do. And how are you going to ask for a DNA sample from someone like Bane?"

"Spoon? Toothbrush? Hairbrush?"

"He's bald," Bruce replied dryly. "I'm not even sure he'd showered. Alfred said his bathroom has always remained tidy."

"Ew. No. Okay. Uh... I can't promise you that any bird would come your way, but I'll figure out a way to let this fall to the right hands, yeah?" Tim replied, putting the USB drive into his suit jacket - where Barbara could remotely access it through the circuitry in said pocket.

"Okay," Bruce looked relieved. "And now, since Bane is tracking me and I'm sure he knows what this building is, how about we come up with a stupid cover story?"

A proposal landed in Tim's sight just as Bruce finished talking. He grinned mischievously. "How about we collaborate to expand Leslie Thompkins' Free Clinic? Everybody's happy, and neither of us won't lose sleep over it."

"You'd have made a great corporate spy, do you know that?" Bruce grinned back, looking a thousand times happier than when he walked in.

"Oh yeah, but I already have my own ways to get secrets," Tim winked as he handed the proposal over. "Have a look at this, and let me know what you think. I think we can spend the discussion over lunch. Would Alfred mind if we ask him to acquire our lunches?"

"I'm sure he would be delighted if he hasn't already..." Bruce replied, getting up and opened the door. Alfred stood there with several paper bags in his hands. "He has already, it seemed," Bruce reported.

"Indeed, sirs. It is most rude to visit an associate without bringing anything. I daresay a quick lunch is sufficient for you, Master Timothy?" Alfred replied as he entered and set up the contents of the bags - several types of sandwiches and salad mixes.

"Oooh, more than sufficient, thank you, Alfred!"

"Not a problem, Sir. Please indulge, gentlemen." Alfred smiled. "Might I remind you, Master Bruce, that the Doctor and Mrs. Wayne shall return in two hours? It would be prudent to conclude your discussion by then." he hinted.

"Definitely, Alfred. We're just talking about what needs to be done to expand a hospital." Bruce grinned triumphantly at him, showing him the proposal. "Mother would be delighted at this."

#Batless!AU #Tim Drake #Stray!Tim #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Birds Of Prey #JayTim #Jason Todd #RedGhost!Jason #Talon!Dick #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #referenced homophobia cw #internalized aphobia cw #panic attacks cw #please click that link and listen to the song #it'll make that bit so much better

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melchron · 4 years

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Nightmare Time Episode 3 Thoughts

I usually save this for the end of my thoughts but I have to say this now. OMG MATT DAHAN!!! I WILL NEVER NOT BE IMPRESSED BY HIM! Usually with the episodes I catch 1 or 2 motifs but I swear I caught everyone this time. And they all fit so well. My attention was evenly split between the music and the story this time. It was so freaking good. Matt deserves all the awards like omg.

I think this is the least laggy the theme has been. Good job going all out for the last one!

I said to my mom "Did Shashona record this video?" and she did!! Great cinematography Shashona!!

I also pointed out the Tim's daddy mask. I said "Aww he's wearing a mask for his son!". I guess my mom got confused and forgot Tim's name because she thought I was talking about Dylan's (nonexistent) son.

THE DRILL PRESSES!!

LEX AND ETHAN

I kind of already knew this but I love that Ethan knows cars. I just likes that he has a hobby.

Lex cares about Tom so much I love it.

WHY DID JANE TRY TO KILL ETHAN?!?!?!? TOM DOESN'T WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO HIM!!!! DID SHE HAVE SOME PERSONAL REASONS LIKE WHY!?!??!

That Lexthan interaction was so cute. I love how he saw she was super sorry and scared and he just stopped being mad and comforted her. They are so cute I can't handle it!!

KENDALL!!! Ok so through out this whole thing I know everyone was excited for their favorite character to come back but I really just wanted to see Kendall again. I guess after BF I assumed we would never see her again because I couldn't see them working with children becoming a normal thing. But when the original cast announcement came out I got so happy to see her name. So I was super excited to see her.

Her covering her hair with a beanie looks better than the wig

UNCLE PAUL I'M SOFT I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!!!!

Cineplex Teen is like Larry from tawog. I guess we should start calling him Obnoxious Teen then. Until we get a name.

I love that Tim immediately likes Becky. Wish I could say the same for my stepparents.

Santa Claus Is Going To High School bb. Also I want to hear the rest of that song. Also also how many wigs does Lauren own?

TONY GREEN

Why must they make love to this movie everytime? Can't we simply just watch it and make fun of like normal people? That way Tim can enjoy it too.

Good for Jane for making sure her son doesn't have to eat disgusting school lunch. She gets good mom points.

Aww Becky reassuring him he's not a Dummy

Becky is like really horny this episode. Honestly Tom's into so go ahead girl

JAIME IS JANE

OK OK OK SO Jane said they were driving home from her parents house. Which means they were still alive when Jane died. That was only a year and a half ago so the Perkins parents might have died more recently than we thought. It's like Spring of 2019 right? So Jane died around Fall 2017. I don't remember if this was said in the show (it probably was and I'm saying nothing new) but I think Black Friday takes place about a year after her death. Tgwdlm took place October 2018. They have to have died only a few months before then. How long had Emma been in Hatchetfield before tgwdlm? Maybe there is a possibility we can see a flashback of an interaction with her parents depending on how long it's been. Also that means Emma lost her whole family in the span of a few months omg. And Tim lost his mom and his grandparents in that time. I want to see how they grieved with all of that. Also I know I'm crossing universes here but Emma also almost died the same day Jane did. Some strange force must really have it out for the Perkins family. Good on Emma for surviving like a champ.

Ok so I thought they went scouting for girls because Jane didn't want the man she loved to have to devote the rest of his life to a car. I thought she was trying to help him move on. She was getting good lover points but those have since been redacted.

Jane is definitely bi and I love that for her. I don't care if she tried to kill her new crush. It was new enough for it to mean nothing.

GREENPEACE GIRL

Tom does look like a creep ngl

Jane reminds us she's a car a lot. Like girl we get it.

No. No. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NOPE! We're not talking about it. I don't want to. I stared at James the whole and honestly same dude. I saw Nick in my peripheral vision and loved/hated that he was laughing. RIP to me watching this with my mom. RIP to Kendall. Actually rip to everyone who had to sit through that. RIP to Jaime and Dylan for having to perform that. RIP to the cursed rehearsals. Matt and Nick seriously took the time to sit down and write that. What the heck you two?!? This made me more uncomfy than the entirety of mamd and Ted's character combined. I wish I was exaggerating. Maybe this was just me but it felt longer than it needed to. The relief and worry I felt when Tim walked in is a feeling I can not explain. Glad he was clueless.

Tim sweetie I love you but SHUT UP

Jane is crazy and Jaime is doing such an amazing job at portraying that.

Yes Tom. Because grave digging is way crazier than possessed cars.

I asked my mom why the didn't just go grave digging for Jane's body but my mom said the body is probably all rotted and gross so that explains that.

Why didn't Becky just go inside? If she went far enough I doubt Jane would have been able to hit her even if she managed to break into the house. Also let's assume Becky's house had an upstairs. There, perfect safety.

Did Becky seriously die in the same woods as Stanley?

Ok so I thought the tree thing was a reference to little Irish girl Becky from the Black Friday sk10 stream. But now it seems like something more serious and bad happened so I'm curious.

DID JANE GET TOM ARRESTED?!?!? It seemed like she could drive herself at that point. Why not let him get out and get Becky yourself? Is this that self confidence thing Tom talked about?

Is she really about to have her son be obsessed with Ms. Becky for the rest of their lives or is she gonna tell him?

This next episode made me physically jump twice. I say literally a lot but I promise you I'm using it correctly when I say I literally jumped.

KENDALL'S SINGING

I saw the thing about the ukelele being a bday gift from the cast so this was super sweet

Ok personal time. My grandmother's name is Pamela and my mom decided to permanently cut ties with her a few months ago due to her abusive behavior. Me and my sibling are still allowed to talk to her whenever we please but we haven't seen her as much as we used to. I got kind of scared watching this with my mom because I was scared this would trigger something. She didn't say anything and I didn't want to bother her about if she was fine so I didn't say anything. Anyway this just kind of hit different for me.

JAIME'S RANGE OMG

"I want to be alone with my man." Ms what are you about to do to your Tv?

DON'T GIVE HER BEER

Duke seems chill. I like him.

LEX AND ETHAN GOT ARRESTED!?!?!? FOR SELLING HER PILLS!?!??! THAT SHE TOLD THEM TO SELL!?!?!? I HATE HER!!!

Does Ms. Foster have a type or is being male good enough?

Hannah's 14? I thought she was the same age as Tim. I could have sworn in the BF commentary track they said she was 9 or 10. Did my brain make that up?

How does Kim change her hair so quickly? She did this in episode 2 too? I could never. I am very impressed.

Curt and Kim talking over the phone while standing shoulder to shoulder was funnier than it should have been

Ms. Holloway is cool. YAY MOSTLY GOOD WITCHES

How does Ms. Holloway know? I need a backstory please!!

Ok so I saw Jon in his cape and thought he might be the with. But then I saw James in his cape I y'know stopped thinking that. Anyway I'm obsessed with Jon and James in capes. Kind of wish Corey had one too.

OH I JUST THOUGHT THIS AS I'M TYPING NOW ok so that tree she was talking to at the beginning was one of the tree people. I'm embarrassed it took me this long to realise it.

Hannah is way too calm about these talking trees and sometimes spider ladies. I respect that.

There was a lot of black and white theming in this episode. More than normal. It makes me more curious about what exactly Hannah's connection to it is.

Hannah almost died in her own mind. I was kinda hating Ms. Holloway in this moment because she forced Hannah to go into her mind. But I know she had to so I'm cool with her again.

THE STARLIGHT THEATER

Did she really say just don't be scared next time? Like miss some actual advice would help.

CAN MS. HOLLOWAY'S MIND LEAVE HANNAH ALONE?? Like I know you didn't get the reaction you wanted out of her but you're seriously gonna give up and go for a little girl instead. Pathetic.

"What's shakin', Banana?" That was the first time I jumped.

WIGGLY

What exactly is that 6-legged girl? I wish we had a visual. Also how couldn't Ms. Holloway help her? What was her issue? Npmd you got anything for me?

Wiley. Just seeing him come up. That was the second time I jumped.

Also everyone already said this but props to Joey for his commitment. Shaving in between episodes like omg sir you didn't have to go all out for this. But you did and I appreciate you for it. Also HE KEPT THE JACKET?? WHAT!??! Just fully committed to this character go off Joey!!

Usually I would laugh at stuff phasing through the green screen but this just made it creepier.

HOLLOWAY AND WILEY/WILBUR BACKSTORY PLEASE

But also I love how the script had him listed at Wilbur above his lines. I remember Nick called him Wilbur once in the commentary track (possibly by accident) but it's nice to have it in cannon. I don't remember I any of the characters called him Wilbur because I'm so used to seeing Wilbur and Wiley used interchangeably but this was just nice to have canonized.

DUKE PAY ATTENTION!! FREAKING USELESS RIGHT NOW!!!

Dang Wiley she was already being choked in the physical world you didn't have to choke her in her mind too calm down

YAY MORE DOLLS

NICK I WAS KIDDING ABOUT AN APOTHEOSIS DOLL

Is the mouth one (I see we've named him Nibbly. Good because his full name is too long to type out) gonna be the npmd villain? The pick color theme seems cool.

ANGELA'S TRANSITION THOUGH!!! Omg she switched roles seamlessly. And her voice too!! Go off Angela.

MARIAH IS WEBBY

This is random and unrelated but I never noticed how big Mariah's eyes were before.

So Webby and the Doll Gang are all siblings? I find it interesting that the were described to all where black. And Webby's color theme is white. Like how the good and bad ukeleles were white and black. This might sound really dumb see as we don't have a 100% accurate visual of the black and white but I wonder if Webby ever left would it be 100% black? Like if Wiggly went through the portal would it become a little less black? Does this make sense? Also I'm starting to see the black and white as less of a bad place. Its starting to see more ominously neutral.

Hannah's favorite show is He-Man no I do accept criticism.

Ms. Holloway is a nerd. She saw Hannah make the reference and was like "Huh. I f she likes He-Man maybe making this hat a reference will make her like me." She would only know if she watched the show. But then again she seems to be stuck in the 80s so maybe she just thinks that's what's popular with the kids.

MS. HOLLOWAY PLEASE GET LEX AND ETHAN BACK

AND ANOTHER GREAT SONG TO END IT OFF

This episode was......a lot. So much happened. Loved all of it. I am scared of Nick and Matt's minds but also incredibly grateful for them. As usual everyone's acting was top notch.

I love this episode.

Also I'm just gonna say it. Jon ruined Nick's season one reveal.

#starkid #nightmare time #nightmare time spoilers #jane's a car #the witch in the web #Hatchetfield #mel thinks thoughts #melchron the good book

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

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Reunions are... interesting if you’re a Todd.

Alright, this is based on @bannananorie‘s Tell Me More where Jason Todd is Marinette’s big brother with one exception---Marinette didn’t know where Jason was after she was adopted until after he died when she was ten. They were apart for three years here, as GCPD got her at 7. unedited mess.

Nino, Kim, Alix and the mean girl Chloe knew about ‘the dead brother’ since they were there when at ten Marinette broke before them all. The anxious, bubbly girl with a too wide grin that had a bit of trouble with her French, babbled often and would talk about Gotham with not-quite haunted eyes but with a longing none of them could comprehend, they saw her shut down with the knowledge that GCPS lied.

They knew where her brother was. He died running away from the Waynes. Killed publicly by Joker.

The class only knew her brother was purposely kept from her, her parents lied to about them not knowing where he was, and that now he was dead. His adoptive father was some rich guy that let him die.

Chloe stopped bullying the girl once she changed. Suddenly Gotham was all but illegal to say anywhere Marinette was. Chloe made certain that anyone close to violating it dealt with the Paris police going through their records with a fine tooth comb.

Alix distracted her with history, art, anything she could think of. Broke into Marinette’s house during her catatonic weeks.

Kim kept challenging her, to anything to keep her from thinking about it. He may have inadvertently become a second sibling to Marinette. He knew he was no replacement, but he refused to let her be on her own for long. She needed someone and Kim did always want a younger sibling, so. Two birds, one stone.

Nino took to music mixes, random stories, anything he could think of to get Marinette to smile for a bit. He knew her smile, the one that lit up the room and made everything feel right. The sad eyes were wrong on her, a crime against the universe in his opinion.

The four made a pact after finding out—no one mentions Gotham or her biological family’s history or even asks about her having siblings. They would block all of these questions how they could, as it was just… wrong to see her look like that.

Kim and Nino were the best at keeping up with the pact. They always ended up in her class and had the easiest time distracting her. Kim would issue a challenge, and need a banner. Nino had his headphones and a new playlist at he ready in need of critiquing.

Alix would sometimes find herself working with Marinette on an art project, and if Marinette began to get a blank face anytime she saw gargoyles, well, Alix already liked street art. Why not spray paint the gargoyles into something else?

Chloe was needed the least. Only if a teacher tried to do a heritage project. Chloe would come down with her father and the entire idea would be taken out of the school’s curriculum to “pick a culture your family is from” and no one really questioned it.

Then Liar Rossi appeared in Bustier’s class.

Nino threw Marinette looks as yes, his crush was gone but she never went after someone like she did Lila. The girl was the first to welcome newcomers like Alya, and he knew she didn’t hate anyone more than ‘cons, swindlers and drug dealers’.

He still remembered how his ex-crush took down one of the dealer three streets over trying to sell to a pregnant woman. Marinette didn’t report it—that was a mortified Nino calling Chloe and Sabrina since they’d know what to do when their tiny classmate threw a man to the ground, locked his arm behind him and told Kim to stay with the woman as she called her sober sponsor, shaking and crying the whole time.

Kim didn’t forget the time Marinette took him down when he grabbed her shoulder, throwing him over her shoulder with a wild look in her eyes not long after they first met. He didn’t forget how she kept giving him and the class a number of double takes when they all met her the first time in elementary school. How it took him asking to spar with her and for help with his clothes to get her to trust him as “now you can’t turn your back as easy” and felt his heart go out to her then.

Or that she hardened her eyes when one kid said he knew Batman so she should like him and along with him.

And that she told the kid in perfect French while shaking with rage and a glare that threw everyone off as she was wary but so kind and gently smiled most of the time. “Do not talk to me about Batman or Gotham ever again.”

Gotham was still never mentioned around her—Kim or Nino or Alix would cut off any attempts to bring it up. Or Batman. Somehow it extended into the Justice League. But looking back, he realized that saying things like that where Marinette grew up meant death.

Kim and Nino had a feeling Marinette saw a con, and they both knew the girl was smarter at looking for things like that than them. She was primed for it, and maybe seeing things but maybe… Neither wanted to entertain the thought of being manipulated by a friend.

Alix hadn’t forgotten how Marinette shook the day someone told her Jason Todd was just a stupid street kid that was better off dead. Alix threw the punch before Marinette did, took the detention and had Kim take her to the gym to destroy a few punching bags.

Marinette had that same shake when Lila said she was Ladybug’s best friend. She didn’t know what to make of it.

Chloe saw the liar as such on sight, and told Sabrina the girl was full of it. They both knew the mangy-cat was Ladybug’s best friend.

Alya was enthusiastic about the liar, and it made sense. Alya didn’t know about where Marinette grew up or that she spotted cons and liars and the worst of the worst in ten words or less or about the times she acted to stop their kind.

Everyone knew she was adopted, and that you don’t ever ask about where she was from before unless you wanted Chloe, Alix, Kim or Nino to attack with a vengeance.

Alya knew Marinette was adopted, that she cut her old life out and refused to touch anything from before her adoption. She was curious but the way Marinette shut down the one time she asked and how her boyfriend whispered that that place all but broke Marinette—she didn’t ask.

She did think her girl was jealous over Lila being close to the heroes—especially with her former crush on a certain cat… which made sense with her not seeing Ladybug and Chat Noir as a couple.

It was the heritage project presentation that ended that.

Alya hadn’t know what to do with the Marinette that finally opened up about where she grew up before she was adopted. The words that fell out of her mouth made the girl sick.

Marinette was the sole survivor of her family, watched them die, and Lila made the girl relive that. And Alya saw the girl’s smirk and their teacher trying to get Marinette acting as a role model

Marinette broke down crying when she got away. Lila and Bustier forced her to talk about her Before—the part of her life she threw away because Gotham never gave a damn about her or Jason. The part she buried when she found out he was gone.

This part of Paris always reminded her of him, Jason, her dead brother. The one that GCPS kept her from finding after they caught her for the fifth time. The one that her new parents tried to find from France. The one who died as a ward of none other than Gotham Playboy Billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

Never as a son, always a ward.

Who he then replaced with Tim Drake if the bits of Gotham news that made it through the filters was anything to go by.

She didn’t see the black butterfly that went for her. She just knew it didn’t make it.

Alix took the hit. Became an akuma that she couldn’t remember the name of because this akuma refused to touch a crying Marinette.

She did remember Kim and Chloe of all people finding her. Kim carried her to school while Chloe murmured soothing things that made her distantly wonder if Chloe was getting ready to hurt her. Pity was always a tool to make someone indebted to you, the parts of her she tried to rebury whispered.

The akuma held Lila and Bustier hostage while demanding Marinette be present for the pair’s end.

Chat Noir was fighting on his own.

Marinette tried to get out of Kim’s grip but couldn’t.

She didn’t remember much about the akuma, just that this one brushed away her tears and told her “These are only the first that will pay for his death.”

She remembered absently grabbing what must be the akumatized object, breaking it and wanting this all to end.

That week she went into grief counseling.

Alya and the class practically smothered her, refusing to leave her side. She never told them her old last name, or what her brother’s was.

She hated the class treating her like shattered glass.

She did note that Alya was doing an in-depth deep-dive investigation on the school after purging Lila and posting a number of redactions.

Alya’s hard work and persecution of Bustier and Damocles resulted in international attention on the class.

Apparently they were all involved in some way. Marinette’s extensive notes on what Bustier asked of her (rules to work within, she did best with lists and knowing the rules. Knowing what rules you were playing by kept you alive in Gotham.

Apparently the case of a class suing a teacher and principal for gross incompetence, negligence, and abuse to current and former students landed them a trip to Metropolis. Not Gotham---god she knew her classmates would die there—but Metropolis. To the Daily Planet, so the class could get a better look at investigative journalism.

Somehow before going Chloe found out her old name was Mary instead of Marinette, testing it out. Marinette didn’t know how much she missed hearing it.

The class must have picked up on it. They all refused to call her anything but variants of Mary on the plane. Marinette couldn’t stop laughing when one of the boys asked if they should call her “Bloody Mary” if she took down another asshole—clearly referencing the dealer she may or may not have pinned once in front of Kim and Nino.

The girls took to calling her Mary-gold since they decided they loved the sound of it.

Kim proposed Mare-bear given her well known cuddly teddy bear habit when she fell asleep on him during the flight. This was quickly agreed to by all as Kim’s exclusive nickname for her.

Adrien was the one to ask if he could call her Mae-Bae while they were waiting for their luggage.

Most of the girls squealed over it. They all knew she still had feelings for him and yes, more than a few were hoping for him and Kagami to end their relationship already. Chloe was of the opinion Kagami was too pushy for Adrien, which Sabrina agreed with. The rest of those wishing for the break up was for adrienette to finally happen.

Marinette was bright red and wanted it all to stop because she needed stability and Adrien always threw her around when he did things like that. She liked the nickname but not from him—not while he’s not with her like that and they both know he likes someone else and is probably dating Kagami seriously at this point and just… She can’t go there.

Kim decided to stand in between them on the way to the hotel. Why?

“He had his chance, and for godsake, he’s dating Kagami.”

Adrien was confused by Kim being well, acting like he was her older brother. And he didn’t see what was wrong with the personal nickname since Kim had one too.

It was a bittersweet for Marinette. She missed this from Jason. Jason was dead though and couldn’t. So Kim did what she he couldn’t.

Jason Todd kicked himself when he saw a photo of the class that got caught up in one of Luthor’s plans in Metropolis. Why?

Because he’d recognize his Pixie Pop anywhere. He may be Red Hood, he may not be worthy of talking to her, but he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. And Lex Luthor’s hair brained schemes? That was something he could punch and shoot.

He was there not long after Batman—apparently this battle needed all the help it could get. They didn’t try to stop him when he went to get the hostages out.

He froze when he saw a boy calling his little sister “Mare-Bear” while rubbing her back as she was curled up in a ball, shaking and so, so tiny in the room with a hoodie that was way too big for her on her shoulders.

Before he could say anything he was attacked by the group, his sister’s shaking gone and the boy and her quick to tackle him to the ground and restrain him with—ribbons? Ribbons.

They were speaking French. God, his sister probably wouldn’t shouldn’t recognize him anyway but he thought he could at least talk to her and wait. He knew that look.

She was assessing a threat. He—he was the threat? A goon!

“Are you sure he’s not with them?”

“He not in classic goon wear, and no one goes for easily recognizable when they’re playing goon,” Marinette did her best not to slip completely back into English. It was more for home or her stress rambles and right now she needed to be understood by less-than-fluent French kids.

“Hey!” the man in the helmet turned to her, “kid, Red Hood.”

The group looked at her, Max and Chloe.

“I have no files on them.”

“No idea.”

“His name is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.”

“Gotham, ring a bell?”

The class froze. Marinette knew they were expecting her to break. She didn’t, she wouldn’t again like that. She was working through her grief in a healthy way this time. With heroics and vigilantism too.

“Can’t say I have, stopped keeping up with it after the second Robin disappeared,” Marinette was shaking slightly. But she was the leader right now, she was in charge of getting her class out and maybe freeing other hostages.

“Lets take out the others, get out of here and sort out whatever this,” Marinette gestured to Red Hood, “is later.”

Lila ended up with a gun to her head, by one of the obvious goons, demanding to know who organized their escape.

The class froze.

She was the closest. But also more dangerous as the ‘smart hostage’. They’d isolate her form the others, but unlike the others, she knew how to handle these things.

“Well, who is it!”

Everyone glanced at her, waited for her word.

“I did.” Marinette stepped up, moving to one of the other goons.

She didn’t know Red Hood was watching this from his hiding place with his heart in his throat.

“And who are you?”

“Pixie,” he hissed. He heard his comms crackled to life but he tuned out what was being said. he forgot he was on the old Bat channel.

“Marinette,” she took Lila’s place as hostage with a gun to their head.

The goon took her away from the group.

Red Hood couldn’t follow. He did the next best thing and took them out. His sister’s classmates helped.

Marinette managed to escape the hold with her head intact, and turned his gun onto him. She took out his kneecaps and made it out.

She wasn’t expecting for the class to be out already.

She was shaking for real.

Kim and Nino stayed at her side while she translated their statements to the police, never once looking at the police. She still didn’t trust them—Gotham thing.

Then the icing on the ‘what the hell’ cake made an appearance.

“How are you kids holding up?” Bruce Wayne approached the group.

Marinette stopped shaking. Fear? That vanished as rage decided to take over. All that ran through her mind was ‘he let my brother die.’

Kim knew her tell. “Would you mind leaving us alone sir?”

That caught everyone outside of their class off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“Marinette doesn’t do anything involving her old city after the grade A BS it put her through,” Alix gave him a plastered smile radiating danger.

“And you’re pretty important there,” Alya added, rubbing Marinette’s back. “So as much as I would love to talk with you, Mary-gold’s not going into another grief mess is more important.”

Bruce left at that, but did talk to Clark Kent.

They both missed Red Hood walking over to the group while they looked up the class and who “Mary” was.

“Hey, kid!” the class moved to surround Marinette when he approached. They let him get close enough to be eye level when he kneeled. “Don’t volunteer to be isolated in situations like that. I’m pretty sure your family would hate losing a spitfire like you.”

Marinette fisted her hoodie, slipping into English in her current state. “The first one’s already gone. I’d just be joining my brother.”

“Don’t,” he grabbed her arm, “don’t joke about that shit Pixie!”

Marinette froze. Only one person ever called her that.

Red realized his mistake when he saw her eyes get wide and tear up. “They said you were dead.”

He flinched under his helmet. “I was.”

The officers around them were doing double takes. The place was silent enough then for Bruce to see Red Hood—no, Jason, Jason kneeling before a brunette in pigtails around the age of Mary To—oh. Oh. OH.

He grabbed his phone, calling Tim. “What was Mary Todd’s new name?”

“Gimme a sec B… Marinette Dupain-Cheng, why?”

He hung up.

Red Hood knew it would get bad if he stayed. That he shouldn’t have talked to her. Stupid idea. He was so stupid. She was better off without him.

He ran.

Alfred found him in passing months later, outside of ‘work’.

“Master Jason, I believe she’s looking for you.”

“She’s better off without me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just you were when you went looking for her?”

He didn’t say anything—what could he say?

He knew she wasn’t better off without him as the person he was before the Pits. But after? After she was so much better off.

He ran again.

Like a coward.

When he made it to his hideout he froze when he realized none of his teammates were there, but he could hear movement in the kitchen.

“Tikki, this is completely necessary!”

“Marinette, I still don’t see how any of this will help with Hawkmoth.”

“I, he’s my brother, and I can’t, I can’t keep doing this without help.”

He froze. His sister needed help? With what?

“You have me and Chat, I don’t see how bringing in someone else would do any good.”

His sister has a team. And who the hell is this French cat she’s working with?

“Everyone else was outted during the last battle. And Master is…” he heard the movement stop.

Her team was severely screwed over then. He could see from the glass she dropped a spoon. Stirring something. She was cooking? Baking? And oh god, that didn’t look right, her hunching over.

A red dot moved to her shoulder, speaking some language he didn’t know He did catch. “Marinette” and “Ladybug”. And that, that sounded suspiciously familiar. He’d look into it later…

“I, I know but I can’t keep looking on my own and we both know Chat’s civilian life makes it almost impossible for him to get away unless there’s an attack, and I can’t takedown Hawkmoth on my own.”

He was done waiting.

“Pixie.”

“Jason!” She spun around, her eyes were—god she’d been crying. She was wringing her hands then. “I, surprise?”

He got close enough to see what she was making. It looked like their old version of ‘sink sundaes’ on a cookie.

He had a million questions to ask but the first one that he asked was “When the hell did you get glasses?”

Great job, you completely avoided the real question, he berated himself.

“Oh, this,” Marinette touched them. “I, uh, needed to find you and uh, maybe we can sit down and I can explain?”

One long winded explanation later and he saw his sister tuck her hair behind her ear, her nervous tell.

“So, um, I know you’re busy taking down dealers and monsters here and Gotham needs all the help it can get, but… do you think you could take a break to help me take down a magic terrorist?”

“And leave you alone to take on being a magic zookeeper---”

“HEY!”

“--And play detective when we both know you suck as every who-dun-it game?”

Marinette gave a sheepish smile.

“Of fucking course I’m going. Shit, I’ll have to message B and…”

Not even an hour later Jason had Marinette on a video call while eating sink Sundays on skillet cookies.

“Hey B, what the hell does the League have on Hawkmoth and Miraculous?”

Batman stared at Jason and Mary Todd. Eating icecream and cookies. on his batcomputer.

“…who?”

“You failed me B, really.”

Marinette decided a small victory dance was in order, as she knew it “Told you, the order was almost extinct for two centuries. No way Batman or the League would know about them.”

That was a challenge. But also…

“Mary, why are you on this call?”

Marinette straightened up then. “uh, Ladybug for this. One of two active Heroes of Paris, currently the only Guardian of the Miraculous living and able to remember them, and stealing my brother for ‘ending a reign of terror’ purposes.”

Batman twitched. He hadn’t even incorporated her into either of his identity’s lives and she was more involved than any of his kids had been at her age.

“Pay up peasants.”

Batman turned to see his other two sons swearing while handing Damian a large amount of cash. “I told you if Todd did have a sister, she would already be involved as Todd was before Father took him in.”

BONUS for daminette shippers

Mary pointed on the screen. “That’s the one you call demon spawn, right?”

Damian looked at the bat computer then, and stood up a bit straighter and—oh no. Bruce knew that look in his eyes from his own face enough times. Even if Damian’s was scowling.

“Todd, must you?”

“I must. Now, I’m going to going back with my sister, staying with her parents, and wont’ be available as we will be knee deep in magic and investigations.”

“And baking,” Marinette piped up, “Maman and Papa will drag you into learning some part of the family business, and no one interrupts a bread rise without severe consequences.”

“Noted.” Bruce really hated this.

“What kind of threat is this Hawkmoth?” Damian asked.

“He basically brainwashes you with magic into transforming into something with whatever made you really, really upset. I can undo the damage and you don’t remember being brainwashed and all but…”

“And you’re taking Todd?” Damian scoffed. “Father, I will join them to ensure that if he falls to this brainwashing.”

Bruce did not like this.

Jason narrowed his eyes at Damian.

“I can go as a civilian and be covert if you’d prefer.”

“I, sure. I could use someone to cover during my classes when I have to leave since they’ve been hovering a lot more lately.”

“Excellent. We can discuss cover stories at a later point in time. For now, I have other business to attend to.”

Bruce would later learn said business was arguing with Jon over if it was ethical to propose faking a relationship to maintain a cover as civilians, or if him ‘reconnecting’ with a shared relative was better. And debating his outfits for Paris.

Apparently it didn’t have to be either covers as by the time the paperwork for Damian’s transfer was through, Jason and Damian had returned to Marinette’s suspect, Gabriel Agreste.

Jason’s camera caught a corrupted butterfly escaping the home. Then another. And another.

Damian was… sulking? Bruce didn’t even know.

Later Bruce would watch Hal be torn a new one not by Wonder Woman but Red Hood and Robin while Ladybug was… fangirling? Fangirling, over Diana’s mother and her accomplishments as a Ladybug.

And if Chat Noir was a little sullen until his teammate mentioned a former cat on Themyscira and was then alert and curious and oh god he could not, under any circumstances, allow him to meet Catwoman.

It turned out they were both terrified of the woman on the principle of magic jewelry and jewel thief. He’d take small mercies.

He decided there were no mercies, only trade offs in his misery.

Damian held Marinette’s hand and pecked her cheek. In front of Jason.

He groaned when Jason began to chase Damian, who used Dick as a willing shield and spilled Tim’s coffee, adding him to the chase.

Alfred gave Marinette a cookie. “I see Master Damian decided to announce your relationship.”

They heard gun shots.

She was a bit red. “I thought we’d be telling him once we were away from easy access weapons.”

“It seems Master Damian grew impatient.”

Well that’s it. I had to make a happy ending and then i decided it needed to have something fluffy at the end, so flagship of maribat it was.

needed a break from my au for a day so i worked (mostly) in someone else’s.

#maribat #my writing #it was angsty then i fixed it #some lila exposed #consequences exist

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captainshazamerica · 3 years

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If this Bruce doesn't adopt Tim I will! But I'm kinda scared for Tim I mean he's either gonna end up with Buce or the titans at some point, im afraid that something terrible is gonna happen his family and then titans/bruce takes him in? That boy loves batman and robin so much like even his family seeing the news knew how much it would upset him although I will say that for the brain that kid has he makes some pretty stupid decisions, hes driving around GOTHAM plastered in the bat-symbol that's not a good idea! the amount of lunatics that roam free in Gotham (and possibly have escaped from arkham) and hate the bat and hes driving around with the bat symbol on him KID be careful!

Some kind of Anti-fear toxin does seem more accurate cuz he's clearly taking something to not be afraid. Maybe it's something he found in Gotham and decided to try it and got addicted so he's using that lab place to try recreate it? and maybe he can't recreate it perfectly cuz in the crowbarring scene he seemed kinda anxious about his surroundings and he'd just taken that inhaler thing to overcome fear so I dunno?? Or maybe he went to arkham to see Crane for some reason and Crane has orchestrated the whole thing and told him about the drug but then wouldn't Crane have to know everyone's identity then? Dude I dunno I need more episodes even tho the low quality glitchyness is painful lol

There's probably an abundance of rooms to choose from at Wayne manor yet Jason takes Dicks old room and keeps the flying graysons posters up! I like to think that he does view dick as an older brother and just took his room to kind of have a connection to him and that he admires him hence the graysons posters being left up, yooo dick calling him his brother! I really want a nice family reunion with dick jason and bruce 💕

Babs was too mean to bruce when she went off like I get where she's coming from but yo lady his son just died dial it down like a notch yikes but also babs being like 'i wonder how long it'll take for bruce to replace jason and dick is all 'what no the last thing bruce is gonna do is rope another kid into this mess'. Cut to scene of Bruces potential robin folder 😅 but I also like that dick was trying to be considerate and compose himself for bruce but once he found out that bruce is idiot enough to pull another kid into this, that that's when he got mad and bruce so brokenly begging dick to come back and be robin 😢😢😢

I know the show is constantly trying to push bruce out/sideline him cuz it's a titans show not a bruce wayne show and I know they're going for a different portrayal of bruce which I'm not complaining about I do like this version of bruce (more than I thought actually) and this universe but I feel like they could have gave more cracks you know, I like that they showed him trying to avoid the reality of jasons death and just not stopping not even for a second and just immediately jump into another case and that breakdown verge where he's begging dick to be robin and then when he finally I guess let's the weight of jasons loss sit on him to the point where he whacks in jokers head with a crowbar just like he killed jason (he could have killed joker so many other ways like a less violent bullet to the head but oh no brucey crowbars him to death!!)

There's a lot of character stuff that i do like but that scene where he's in the cave on his knees scrubbing his sons blood out of the suit he died in, the suit that he only ever wore because of batman. 😢 I feel like they could have had him crack there and let out a gut wrenching scream and then just continue on doing what he was doing as if nothing happened and dick walking in on that should have had more of a reaction!? like he could have stopped in his tracks at the sight of his brothers blood all over his father and bruce screaming, dick could have like took a step back almost like he's gonna run but forces himself to stay there, because who wouldn't want to run from that and no matter how much horrible things you've dealt with before sometimes your brain does just take over against your will and makes you react, the rest of the scene just could have played out the way it did. Literally one ounce more emotion is all I wanted.

No one really emotionally cracked at jasons death. I get that it just happened and that people put walls up and denial can be such a prominent thing when a loved one dies but it couldn't have been that difficult to put in little mannerisms now and again to show that everyone is deeply hurt but holding it in. Honestly gar seemed more hurt to me than dick did. But I do like that dick reacted in detective mode and started trying to figure things out from jasons side so at least there's that.

This redhood is defo not an anti hero he has well and truly landslided into villian territory and I dunno how that's gonna be reconciled? they better not kill him off! and they better not just straight up keep redhood/jason as a full on villian! but if they do get through to jason and bring him back a little how the heck is that little man gonna deal with what he did to Hank?? I feel like they had a bond you know and for all Hanks talk about putting Jason down I really don't think that Hank would actually have killed him even if it came down to Hanks life vs Jasons I think Hank would rather die than kill Jason (but that's heavily biased cuz in my mind jason is my son and I freaking love hank sooo) but Hank to me puts on a hard front like 'yeah I'll get in your face I'll come at you b*tch' but internally he's like 'yeah I'll come at you to help you' 😅 like internally he defo has a lot of soft spots though that's not to say he'd be like this for someone like the joker or scarecrow or whatever guys like that he'd be like no screw you you die or go to arkham like byeee

Nevermind how jason is gonna come back from this though HOW IN THE ACTUAL SH*T is dawn gonna come back from this!!?!!

Random side note here but imagine Jasons first time in the batcave he would be so excited and trying to mess with everything and being like ohh what's that do and pressing random buttons and bruce having a hernia trying to get jason to stop before he accidentally blows the cave up 😅 also he has probably been caught several times trying to 'borrow' the batmobile, I can just picture him trying to sneak down the halls of the manor without the floor creaking and making it all the way into the cave and doing a victory dance cuz he didn't get caught and he hops on into the batmobile in his pj's and let's out a scream cuz alfred is sitting in the freakin passenger seat waiting for him and then they just hang out in the batmobile alfred had the good foresight to bring a flask of tea books and a blanket for jason

Speaking of Alfred I think it would have been more angsty and hurtful if Alfred died shortly after Jason and after a few days Jason claws his way out his grave and the first thing he sees is Alfreds headstone and that's how he finds out Alfred died : (((

This is so long girl I'm sorry I know it doesn't seem like it but I did restrain myself 😅 one more thing before I go maybe this Dick is the absolute worst mf and the reason babs feels betrayed by him and is so upset with him could be that he left her (or cheated on her) with Dawn cuz of that weird flashback thingy in the other season where dick dawn was a thing I dunno I hope not though that would be ughhh

Oh crap, you right about probably something bad will happen to Tim for Bruce or Titans to take him in, I was gonna say he could just demand to be in their lives to save Bruce/Dick like in the comics but he also has kinda shitty parents normally and these people seem cool so really it could go either direction, but like it’s Titans so it doesn’t look good lol. Also, I wonder if it’s gonna be Dick who is basically gonna adopt him this time since we already had a huge track record in just 2 seasons lmao. But I know right, true I like how his parents knew immediately how much the news would effect him 😭 I hope he goes down the making himself robin and forcing himself in Dick and Bruce’s life xD I love that route. Lmao, the kid is all book smart, very little street smart when it doesn’t have to do with outsmarting someone XD

I was also rewatching and that gas he takes def has to be some anti fear toxin cause he mentions fear so many times and flash backed to his near death fall, which he felt was probably holding him and back and thus had to prove himself and adds to whatever is influencing him. But ohhh he did seem pretty dang anxious at the carnival grounds, that’s a really interesting theory but recreating something he found hmm, I can see that.

Apparently according to a YouTube who got to see the first 5 episodes, we find out what his deal is a lot more in episode 5, so one more week hopefully

Brooo trueee, I couldn’t believe jason took dick’s room and like didn’t even change anything. Like Jason looks or at least use to look up to Dick SO much, like in his first episode in the first season, he went on quite a lot about how much he had always wanted to meet him and how much he looked up to him, which is probably also fueling his red hood rage, being hurt by your idol and brother like he did in S2 must have really just killed the boy. But yes omg, there freaking better be a dang family reunion scene like, after so much angst we deserve that 😭

And yesss, I loved seeing how mature Dick is getting and just how much he is growing as a character, the fact he was so calm and considerate with Bruce at first really shows that compared to s1 Dick, only breaking when Bruce tried to get more kids involved. That scene by Brenton was sooo well acted omg, the way he yelled that he doesn’t want to robin again, heartbreaking man. And Bruce begging like that omg

Yeah, this version of Bruce is def so different than any Bruce we have seen on screen before, like def the most emotionally constipated, and that’s saying something xD But I like how they are taking a risk, it also helps Dick’s character more and give him more of an arc, as he seems to be taking on Bruce’s normal role with Jason and red hood. Bro, you are so right omg, like the fact Bruce could have killed the joker in any way and he does it with the dang crowbar. It really shows how broken he really was and why the man shouldn’t depressing any and every damn feeling and emotion lol.

Omg, I love how you have the exact details of what you wanted to happen in that one Bruce and Dick scene 😂👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 bro if you dont already you should totally write fanfics cause that was so detailed, I love it

Yeah, I do wish someone cracked (other than Bruce lmao) a bit more, but I do think each character reacted in character though, like it is very Dick(at least this version of Dick, other versions may break down tbh) to put everything into solving the case and figuring out what was up, that’s more this version’s way of caring than just breaking down, like he rarely ever has broken down completely. I think dawn could have been a little more emotional about the death (tho she has enough coming for her lmao). Connor didn’t know Jason that well so it makes sense he would just be sad. Gar seemed pretty sad and in character about it, maybe could have had a bit more, same with Kori, tho she showed it by being almost angry and fiercely protective of everyone else, so I think that makes sense for her. It would have been interesting to see how Rachel and Rose would have reacted though (where did rose go btw?! She would so have a reaction to Jason’s death). But yeah, i wish there was more resolution and break downs for Jason, but also it may have just not felt real since they weren’t there? But I agree

You think? Idk, I think they could def still make him an anti hero towards the end, especially if it’s crane behind the whole thing. Cause if they don’t they are gonna have to go down the gosh awful overused villain gets redeemed while he dies/only to die right freaking after , and I will be so freaking livid if they do that omg. Like they better freaking not. But true, he would be broken by what he did to Hank, oh yikes. But I can see him then that leading to the anti hero path, like he would never go back to be on the titans cause he would feel too guilty, thus giving more of a reason for the anti hero life. But I know, I loved Jason and Hank’s love hate relationship 😭😭😭😭 You know Hank secretly loved the kid and probably saw himself in him.

Yikes poor dawn, you right. Like I have no idea how she is gonna be now like wow.

OMG GIRL, You are on a hc angst train today!!!! That scenario of Alfred dying right after jason and Jason climbing out to see Alfred’s?! Heartbreaking!

But I can’t believe they killed Alfred off so casually tho😭

Omg I swear if they freaking show Dick having cheated on Babs I will be so freaking pissed omg, he better have not! Im hoping they had a more high school romance thing/grew up together then got together type of thing

And omg don’t apologize I LOVED IT and reading your asks!!! I feel ya too!

#batanon #titans #titans spoilers #Titans S3 #titans season 3 #Titans speculation #speculation #ask #Meredith gets an ask #Jason Todd #dick Grayson #Meredith thoughts

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

TMA jonmartin fics

Organising these, mostly so I can keep track to be honest. All some flavour of jonmartin, predominantly fluff or angst. cws in original tags.

Updated as of June 2020

If you'd like to send any prompts, feel free! All of these are also bundled together on A03.

Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias, post-160

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn’t my Archive magnificent?

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

Martin feels the pull of the Lonely. Jon draws a bath.

“Come on,” Jon says, enfolding their hands together. His voice is kind, and that’s never died, no matter how the world bricked it up and starved it of sunlight. Jon’s kind to his bones, and it wells up from the deep down of him.

Jon pulls the way, and Martin follows behind.

Even after Jon stops being the Archivist, they aren’t safe. (parent!AU)

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I’ll at least listen.”

Martin's nightmares never quite leave him

Martin feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I…. I mean, do you want to…?’

The question isn’t fully born before he’s heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he’s pillowed on. Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

Things were always going to catch up with them eventually

He’s a light sleeper, and they knew he would be. Didn’t want him to wake too soon, to be denied a proper welcome. Jon shifts and stretches and burrows as he slips dazedly into consciousness, nestling tighter against the body next to him still fast-asleep before the thick weight of sleep is dropped and he jolt up, a punched out breath of shock escaping them.

And finally they are witnessed. They watch his expressions free-fall from understanding to despair.

Local Man cheats at card games, Local Avatar is smitten

Martin likes playing, not necessarily competitively, but where he does excel is in cheating. Jon catches him swapping out a three for a queen out of the corner of his eye – well, Martin wants him to catch him – and his smile is wide and shocked and gleeful in his own way –you cheat! How could you?!

soulmate-identifying marks, or: fuck yeah tattoos

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly. Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

Something is wrong. Martin just can't put his finger on it.

“Sorry,” Jon says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin’s neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon’s hands in his own.

Martin has certain standards

Jon feels a wide smile begin on his face (still so rare, still hard-won, but Martin teases them out of him with the smallest things these days).

“You hipster!” he says with delight, secretly pleased he’s found something he can tease Martin about. “Have you thrown out my teabags just to make a point?”

Jon wakes up and finds Martin gone

– Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

Jon strikes a bargain to save Martin

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that’s impartially mocking. “You aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.”

Martin showing normal, genuine human anger, feat. Blackwood Snr.

“Right,” comes the short response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin’s voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

MLM solidarity front, or: Tim and Martin go drinking

“I mean – I – I’d like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he’s trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood.”

Back-and-forth early morning teasing

“It’s a bit late to tell me you’re a dog person,” Jon chides instead. “I’m afraid I might have to call this whole thing off, if that’s the case.”

Martin looks up at him with his face squashed into his ‘you are not, and have never been funny, Jonathan’ face.

Martin hides an injury. Jon is freaking out in his own way.

He can taste grit and dirt in his mouth and there’s a stinging dampness on his upper lip. He blinks, coming to terms slowly, and it’s then that he realises, just from a brief glance, that Jon is absolutely fuming.

Jon is getting better at expressing what he wants

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

How to proposal to your boyfriend during an apocalypse, and definitely how not to.

Jon tries to write vows.

Domesticity and going on holiday, post Watcher's Crown

“Jon!” Martin is shouting with his head shoved in the under-stairs closet. “You got your raincoat?”

“I won’t need it,” comes the low response from the kitchen.

“The weather said it might rain.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jon replies, only half listening really, with a willfully misplaced confidence in the weather.

“I’ll pack it anyway,” Martin calls back, kicking something else with his foot that sounds like the hoover. “In case.”

Jon does not react well to ending the world. Martin puts together the pieces.

Under the watch of that terrible sky, Jon crumples like something demolished.

Martin catches him. He always will, he remembers thinking.

In the Lonely, Jon hugs Martin (set mid-159)

Jon’s arms go around him, and there is nothing tentative, soft-shoed, there is no awkward displacement holding him slightly at a distance. Jon’s arms go around him, and he – his body unfolds against Martin’s. There is much too much of him, a surge of all-at-once motion and Martin feels like splintering.

Martin's not the only one susceptible to the Lonely

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that’s what Jon is, in the end.

The day-to-day ramifications of being a record of ceaseless terror

In the dark, under the covers, the sound is the shift of grave soil, of pressing earth, but it is also Martin, ensconced in warm empty dreams, Jon trying to breath through his nose and not wake him up, and it can be all of these things at once.

Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

'I'll stay right here, ok?”

“The ambulance will be here s – ” Martin starts, trying to be gentle, but Jon tightens his grip ever so kindly, shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be waiting around for that,” he says, and it’s almost light-hearted in the face of what they both know is now inevitable.

Patron swap, Lonely!Jon, Beholding!Martin

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

In the days after the end of the world, Jon finds Martin a gift

“Woss, what’s wrong?” Martin starts, but Jon’s pressing something into his hands firmly, so self-satisfied, joyous and smug with a mysterious success, and he feels his own grin start to blossom in kind, wanting to take part in the same delight. “What is it?”

sleep doesn't look pleasant, spoilers for 161

Martin won’t wake up. Eyes clenched closed, breathing laboured, and for a long while, Jon’s world gets quieter as his own immediate louder fear rises like gall in his throat. He tries compelling him even.

Jon doesn’t know that this will happen every time Martin dreams.

Jon is admitted to hospital. Martin frets.

Jon nearly died today, his brain keeps reminding him. You nearly lost him, you nearly weren’t fast enough.

Trans!Jon, Trans!Martin, intimate rituals

Jon’s hair is getting long.

Morning rituals, Jon admiring the view.

But he much prefers this slow and lazy unwinding of a day because he gets to study Martin. He puts his elbows on the wooden table off to the side of their pokey kitchen, and enjoys watching an artless, intimate one-man performance just for him, as he acclimatises to the day.

Scottish honeymoon, soft get-together

Martin wonders why Jon didn’t go upstairs. Take the bed. The cottage is an old crofter’s place, two small and utilitarian bedrooms where they discarded their meagre belongings on arrival.

Martin looks at the tea. Feels the scarf under his head, the heavy coats weighing him down.

Thinks he might know why.

Monster!Jon, AU S5

“What the fuck are you?” she says. She does not lower her weapon. The guard to her left has raised her own.

All of its eyes blink out of rhythm as its unseen mouth moves with that croaking, piteous whisper. “He’s, he’s human, he’s hurt and he needs – he’ll die, please.” The man it is carrying looks human. Painted with dirt and filth, the slick of insects broken over his skin. His breathing is starting to rattle.

Tim is mildly cursed, S1 shenanigans

Whoever is closest, but usually Sasha, will give a sarcastic cheer. To which Tim – cradling his injury, glowering with a fire-starter expression at whatever file or paper or fragment dealt the blow – will reply: “Piss off, right, it’s not funny, I’m cursed. This is a curse.”

OG Archive crew sad hours

There could have been a day, when they’d all just talked.

Martin struggles to readjust to the world, post 159

Some days though, when the tempest around has dropped from squalling, Martin feels brave enough to look over at Jon.

Jon and Martin’s post-s5 wish list

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“After all this, after we’ve – what do you want to do? If we manage to – ”

“When we manage to.”

“Fine, when all this goes back to the way it was, what do you want to do?”

Safehouse drabble

Jon doesn’t sleep but this rest is as close to peace as this world allows him.

AU S3, Breekon and Hope take Martin, not Jon.

Tim always thought Martin was reliable. Unshakeable.

That he was always going to be there.

Martin’s daemon is a spider. People have mixed feelings about this.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we’ve settled, haven’t we?”

Aron can’t nod. His form can’t allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won’t look at Martin, and that’s answer enough.

Aspec Martin Week - Daemon!AU

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

Aspec Martin Week - Martin’s first Pride

Restored from their dramatic hangovers, Monday comes. Martin arrives huffing and delayed from the Tube to see Tim’s stuck his flag so it stands battered and proud over the lid of his laptop. Sasha’s made her small desk teddy bear hold hers. And it’s the memory of the day, the sun and the heat and the wild dizzying lack of expectations of it all, that gives him the courage to bring the flags he carefully preserved in on Tuesday, to put them jutting out of the mug on his desk that holds his stationery.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect anyone to comment on them. It’s not like anyone else comes down to their offices anyway.

Aspec Martin Week - Martin comes out (with help)

You surge against his lips again so he can’t see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe… not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You’d lie on your back, or you’d cover him with your shape, and you’d try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn’t notice you not sharing the same. “’m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

Martin is a massive fan of Jon’s multitude of eyes

“I just want to see,” Martin mimics petulance and Jon huffs a smirk.

“They are my eyeballs,” he responds primly, putting down a dry mug and picking up a plate to towel off.

“What’s the point of having horror-bestowed physical improvements if you don’t show them off?”

Martin worries about being a father

That’s not – ” Martin says, stops. Pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes puffy.

He takes Jon’s hand, still perched on his knee, laces their fingers together. Over the baby monitor, Jon can hear the soft untroubled in-and-out of their son breathing.

“I sounded like my dad,” Martin confesses finally. Fat tears well up and stagger down his tear-prickled cheeks. “I sounded exactly like him.”

Martin and Jon get wine drunk

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don’t want to.”

There’s nothing sexier than open and honest communication (post-166)

“I fucking hate the Buried,” Jon says into Martin’s shoulder.

“It sucks,” Martin agrees. “You er – you have any more poetry this time?”

Martin feels Jon’s ‘no’ like an earth tremor over his breastbone.

“Worms,” comes the reply muffled shapeless into his coat.

“Like…normal worms?”

“People worms.”

“Rrright. Less fun then.”

Martin has some thoughts about the Web

Martin does not think about spiders.

(Except he does.)

Did you feel, Jon had proposed delicately, like she was influencing your mind at all?

Jon’s world has no certainties. No maps, boundaries, no promises that can remain unquestioned.

Martin has the edges of his world now. He has to be able to trust in them.

Jon gets hurt and doesn’t tell Martin

Jon burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won’t wake, not for Martin’s calls and shakes, not for anything. When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Martin still struggles with his mental health

It was easier, Martin thinks sometimes, when he could blame it on the Lonely.

Episode 170 could have gone so many different ways

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

#tma #long post #jonmartin #the magnus archives #fic #prompt fills #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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