#mother hen Dickie

[nightwingvixen23]

Dick : *pushing a shopping cart through Wal-Mart*

Tim : *browsing the electronics departmet*

Dick : what the hell Tim !? I've been looking for you for over half an hour !

Tim : over half an hour ?? in our local well-known shopping center ?? damn. . . you been awarded a medal yet for that type of investigative work, detective ?

Dick : whatever. just tell me where Dami's at

Tim : over in the produce section last I saw lecturing some timid elderly couple on the proper ways to wash their snap peas

Dick : the proper way ?? what even is the proper way ?? rinse with hot water and your done like there's literally NO other way

Tim : yeah. you would think. however you'd be wrong. you see we're all just a pack of gallivanting barbarians in that brat's mind. just stumbling our way through life. and all he wants is to "save" us

Dick : right . . .

Tim : *glazed eyes darting over the printed features of a laptop*

Dick : completely unrelated, but did you by any chance happen to catch up on any sleep these last couple nights Timmers--?

Tim : OH WOW !! a Samsung touchscreen 2 in 1 notebook ?? sign me RIGHT the fuck on up

Dick : I guess that's a no

Tim : you bet your ass that's a no; who the fuck needs sleep when you can have battery life for up to 14 hours ??

Dick : *tiredly checking the time on his phone*

Dick : I probably already know the answer to this but I'll ask anyway

Tim : go for it

Dick : did you see where the hell Jay ran off to earlier

Tim : Jason ?? yeah he went over to Subway to grab us all some lunch

Dick : he did ?? awwww ! that's so sweet of him to do without even asking 💖 ! you know he seems to really be turning over a new leaf these days 😌 I'm so proud of him

Tim : as long as he remembers to ask for lettuce on my spicy Italian sub then I'll be just as proud of him too

[ Meanwhile ]

Jason : how the fuck can the Subway inside of Wal-Mart be out of lettuce ?????

Jason : *dragging an employee up to eye level over the salad bar*

Jason : GO GET IT

#random batboy outings #mother hen Dickie #sleep deprived timmers #jay no #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #nightwing #red robin #robin #red hood #batfam #just Jay terrorizing the local Subway

[madamesmoke]

Tim Drake's Fake Uncle

But he deliberately hires Slade Wilson, figuring the guy would be fine with leaving him to his own devices. Only for Slade to mother hen the hell out of him and calling Dickie as reinforcements.

Maybe calling Alfred for good measure.

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #batman #robin #tim drake #alfred pennyworth

[perpetuallytiredandtired]

Reverse Batfam au but Damian still has a metal spine pt. 2

((ok I'm somewhat awake and now I'm ready to ramble))

continuation from this pt. 1

As much as Damian is very much different from his father, he also inherited the inability to admit his own injuries unless it's life-threatening

So he only takes the medicine and drinks water before going to his father's study, ignoring Alfred's (very judging) stare, where he has a very good ergonomic office chair with lumbar support (a very welcome gift from his mother) and a spare heating blanket he keeps in the event any of the children (or even the rare visit from Timothy) wishes to accompany him

From there he works, reading up any information that he missed from initial meetings (not that there are any, but one must never be too careful), and keeping up with the family group chat (with the occasional admonishment to those who are supposed to be in classes Jason, Richard, Duke)

(If he also replies to Jon's sappy messages with his own, it was no one's business but his (Stop hacking into his phone Timothy, Stephanie) )

Cass is the only one in this house he could trust (no Jon has not moved in and probably hopefully do so in the future)

Speaking of

He and Cass have to leave now, if they want to be there on time

So he gets up

At least he tries to, because, apperently, his legs has forgotten how to stand

and now he was on the floor, if he said ("Yelled to be more appropirate, Master Damian" Alfred said later) anything inapporpirate when it happened, he was glad no one could hear him

Any hopes of that were dashed when Cass running into the room

He tries to get up to assure her that he was alright

However Cass insitent that he lays down and adjust his position (any protest he has dies when he sees her glare one does not simply protest against Cassandra Wayne of all people)

He cannot see what she is doing but he knows she is definitely calling someone

oh god

she wouldn't

she did

she called Jon, the mother hen better than him on a good day, worse than him on a bad day

When Jon lifted him (despite his many many protests that he was fine "Dami, love, darlin', your back spasms are happening again, and you didn't say anything?")

When he tries to protest, but he was overruled when Cass lays down beside him and opening his Netflix, and Jon brings in some food to make him eat

If he falls asleep watching Agent Twilight is adopting Anya with Jon's warmth beside him, and Cass' soft breaths on the other, what else can he say? he was comfortable

When he wakes up, he sees his brood in various positions on the bed, with Richard next to him in Jon's previous spot, Jason spooning Cass, Duke texting on his phone on a chair next to his bed

His younger brother notices his wakefullness, he grinned and scowled playfully "Awake now old man?"

"I resent that Duke, I am merely an old man on the inside. Unlike you apparently."

Duke's teasing grin died when he sees his older brother wince trying to shift positions so that Dickie-bird and Cass can get more comfortable positions

((if i have enough energy later we're hitting drama avenue guys))

continuation pt.3

#age reversal #reverse au #robin reversal #batman au #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damijon #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #stephanie brown #jon kent #jondami #jon el #jonathan kent #jonathan samuel kent #alfred pennyworth #cassandra cain

[lancashire-poems]

Th' Courtin' Neet (Part 1)

It's getten time to leave mi wark, An' wesh and dress misel'; Becose to neet, at th' edge o' dark, Aw meet wi' Rosy Bell; Before aw left, last Sunday neet, Aw grasp'd her hont i' mine, An' promised her, iv o wur reet, Aw'd go,if it wur fine.

We're rare an' noicely matched, us two, It's plain enough to see, For nob'dy could mak' more ado Nor Rosy does o' me; We allis meet abeawt one place, At th' end o' th' garden wo; Hoo grins an' laughs all o'er her face, Aw grin an' laugh an o.

Her mother looked as shy as owt, Th' furst neet aw went i' th' heawse, Aw durs'nt speak, nor cough, nor nowt, But ceawer'd theer loike a meawse. At last aw towd 'em what aw meant, An' them aw coom away; An', bless yo're loife, th' next time aw went Hoo ax'd me to mi tay.

An' neaw awm just as welome theer As ony lad i' th' teawn; They allis reach me th' two-arm cheer. An' tell'n me t' sit me deawn. Th' owd chap's a horse worth twenty peawnd, Beside' a lot o' ceaws; An' a bit o' rare good pasture greawnd Comes frontin' up to th' heawse. He's six fine pigs he says he's bred Off Dicky Hampson's sue: Awm welly sure, when Rosy's wed, He'll give her one or two. Yo' needn't think awm after th' brass, For aw wouldn't thank for th' spot, Wi' th' pigs, an' th' ceaws, an' o he has, Unless aw'd her i' th' lot.

Aw've never bin so long to th' schoo', But still aw'm noan a flat, Aw think aw've what'll help me through- Up here, inside mi hat. Iv theyn a table, or a bed, They want to give away, When me an' Rosy's getten wed, Aw'll fetch 'em ony day.

A new-laid egg or two fro' th' hen, Aw shouldn't scorn, not I; Nor a good fat rabbit neaw an' then,- Aw loike a rabbit pie. But yonder sonds mi darlin' dear, Hoo's lookin' eawt o' th' dur; It's no use ceawrin' grabblin' here, Aw'll go an' talk to hur.

~ Lancashire Songs, Poems, Tales & Recitations by Samuel Laycock, 1886.

It's been a while! I moved into a flat and have been getting back on track of some things. This is a lovely poem, one half of two (coming soon!). I might start mixing up which books I reference, because otherwise at this rate this blog will just be a Samuel Laycock blog for the next few years!

#songs #Lancashire #poetry #History #Samuel Laycock

[ragingbookdragon]

Talk Shit, Get Hit

Warnings: Explicit Language, Usage of Racial Slur

Getting the call that his eldest child had gotten in trouble at school wasn’t surprising to Bruce. Not in the least. However, hearing that she was the one who instigated the fight was surprising because his daughter typically didn’t start fights with people, but she sure as hell finished them.

He smiled politely at the teachers and students lined in the hallway who were only sticking their heads out of the classrooms because they heard that Bruce Wayne had been called to come down to the academy—which had never happened before.

Entering the office, the secretary looked up and tipped her head to the door. “Headmaster McKinley is in the office with your daughter and the boy she got into the argument with, Mister Wayne. His mother will arrive soon.”

Bruce nodded and knocked on the door before opening it; his daughter rolled her eyes she saw him. “Good afternoon, Headmaster McKinley,” he greeted, shaking the headmaster’s hand.

“Good afternoon, Mister Wayne. I’m sorry you had to be called down here, but I’m afraid there was no other option after your daughter wouldn’t speak of the incident.” He glanced at the boy who was holding an icepack to a busted nose. “Mark has been kind enough to share his side of the story. We’re just waiting on her.”

Taking the seat beside her, he took a moment to look over her stance. She was leaning against the wall beside the desk, arms crossed over her chest, and he knew her lazy posture screamed, “I’m going to wipe the floor with all of you when I get my chance”—she was stalling because she had some ace up her sleeve.

Before he could say anything, a woman burst into the office, immediately running to the high schooler. “Mark!” she gasped at the busted nose then scowled at her. “Did you do this to my son! How dare you attack him!”

“Now Miss Vales, please calm down. There’s no reason to be hysterical,” the headmaster said, and she recoiled.

“Calm down?! She abused my son! I want this—this harlot expelled!”

“Nothing is going to be decided until she gives her side of the story, Miss Vales.” McKinley leveled her firmly. “Now would be a good time to explain that story, Miss Wayne.”

Her eyes momentarily found her father’s and they spoke wordlessly before she shrugged and admitted, “Yeah, I broke his nose.”

“AHA!” the woman shouted. “See! Expel h—”

“After he called me a rich bitch and then insulted my father’s decision to adopt my younger brother.” She smiled prettily and looked at Bruce. “Called Dick a racial slur too.”

Mark sat straight. “I did not!”

Her eyes darted to his and she pulled out a small device from her back pocket about the size of her palm. She clicked play and voices filled the room.

You know, I always wondered why someone like you dresses in poor-taste when your dad is a billionaire.

Well, it’s probably because my dad cut me off the credit cards and made me get a job to teach me humility and now, I buy my own things with my own money.

Your jewelry says otherwise.

My jewelry belonged to my grandmother. My dad gave it to me out of respect for her.

Oh yeah? And what about this?

Give me my wallet, Mark.

Wow, there’s like a grand in here just from hundred-dollar bills. I thought daddy didn’t give you money.

He doesn’t.

Then where’d you get this?

Oh, funny story. Every time I fuck your dad, he gives me a hundred, Mark. Better watch out before I make you my stepson.

You rich bitch!

Oh, what the hell, take the money. Maybe you’ll buy some better insults with it.

You and your family are just stupid rich assholes. You and your adopted gyp brother.

…What the fuck did you just say to me?

You heard me, bitch. I said—THWAP!

Call my brother some shit like that again and I’ll do more than break your fucking nose. I’ll stomp a mudhole in your—

She clicked stop and right about then, Mark’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out and his cheeks were aflame, as were his mother’s.

Her eyes darted to the headmaster’s and she set the recorder down. “You can give me detention for having a recorder in class but I’m not going to get punished for defending myself and my family against racial abuse.” She stood up from the wall and placed her hands on the desk, leaning forward until she was in his face.

“Go ahead though. Expel me if you want to. But the second that paperwork is filed I’ll march into the Daily Planet in Metropolis and have Clark Kent and Lois Lane ruin Gotham Academy by saying you allowed a student to use racial slurs and punished those who stood up against it.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Wayne Enterprises wouldn't want to be associated with that. And if we pull our funds because you decided to punish someone standing up to racism, every organization that funds this shit-school will follow right down the line. You’ll displace thousands of teens and teachers from school and jobs not to mention yourself.”

“So, what’s it going to be, Headmaster McKinley. Are you going to punish me? Or him?”

The man was sweating after her tirade and he adjusted the pens on his desk, murmuring, “Mister Wayne, you and your daughter are free to leave.”

Bruce rose from his seat, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Come sweetheart, let’s go.” She obeyed, shooting a dirty look at Mark as she passed by, but her father stopped in his tracks and pointed a finger at the boy’s mother.

“If you ever insult my daughter like that again, I’ll bankrupt your husband’s company and then I’ll go on a rant about how you and your useless spouse have raised a racist.”

The woman’s eyes went wide, cheeks turning a fierce scarlet, and she went silent. As they passed, his daughter shot the woman the finger and mouthed, “Go fuck yourself.”

***

They stood outside the doors and he smiled at her. “Wanna get pizza?”

“Fuck yeah, I wanna get pizza.”

His smile slipped into a frown. “Hey, watch your language. You’re allowed to use it when kicking a racists’ ass, but not outside of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nyeh, whatever.”

“What was that?” he asked, blinking at her and she smiled cheekily.

“I said, yes sir, dad sir. Won’t happen again.”

“That’s better.”

“God you’re about as mother-henning as Alfred is. Miss Wayne watch your language. It is deplorable for a lady to speak in such a way. You should speak with eloquence instead.” She smiled when he snorted, then grabbed his arm. “Hey, let’s go get Dickie out of class and take him with us.”

“But he’s in French right now?”

“Dad…no one likes French class. It’s boring and hard.”

“…That’s an excellent point.” He walked over to the secretary and gave her a million-watt smile. Excuse me, miss, I’d like to check my son out of school.”

“Ahem,” she coughed dramatically, and he shot her a glance.

“Oh, right, and my daughter.”

“Reason?”

He blinked. “Because I said so?”

“Oh my god, dad.” She waved. “Dick Grayson and I have appointments at Doctor Leslie’s office in the city.”

The secretary smiled. “That’s a good reason.” She tapped at the mic. “Richard Grayson, please collect your things and report to the office, you’re checking out.” Clicking the mic off, she added, “And good on you for breaking Mark’s nose. Little-snot had it coming.”

She grinned. “I live to serve by punching racists.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #batsis #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #dc comics #dc #dc imagines #dc imagine

[your-nanas-house]

Dick grayson and angst---

Worried

Pairing: Dick Grayson X Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff

Words:

Summary: Dick is worried when he knows that Y/n is in a hospital

Note: Sorry for the mistakes and English. It's not really angst, there is also a happy ending, I hope it's okay, if not just tell me and I'll rewrite it.

..................................................................

Dick was worried, he had gone for a short time back to Gotham to meet his adoptive father when he got the news thanks to a call that Y/n, his co-worker and detective partner was at that time in the hospital injured.

He was definitely worried when he heard this but couldn't go right away since it was night and Bruce refused to let him go telling him to go the next morning and so he did.

He packed all his things and left, ending up having to ask his adoptive father for a ride to get there earlier.

The trip between the two was very quiet and there was an anxious air, Dick's answers to the man's questions were dry and quick, preferring to keep his private life private and hidden from him.

Bruce could only find out that this Y/n was a colleague and friend of Dick's, there was only a friendly relationship between the two although Dick had slept with her a few times and had feelings for her.

They arrived at the hospital and Bruce didn't even have time to park before Dick opened the door and ran inside looking for the girl.

The man calmly walked out following him inside after parking, seeing him talking to a doctor and also noticing a girl with crutches and an amused and confused look on her face, he approached her assuming she was the Y/n.

"Good morning, you must be Y/n" she turned her face surprised shaking his hand as best she could "you Bruce Wayne, Dick told me about you" he smiled in surprise "only good things I hope" he chuckled at Y/n's grimace, turning towards the loud and fast footsteps coming from behind him, letting Dick pass who hugged Y/n almost making her fall "you had me mortally worried!" he sighed holding her tighter feeling the adrenaline in his body still left from the night before "You worry too much, Dickie" he shook his head looking at her moving her hair while meeting her gaze "No I'm not, you could have really hurt yourself and you did, I was worried, you can't-" he was interrupted by her lips meeting his "I'm fine, it's part of the job...mother hen" she smiled sweetly returning the second kiss and accepting Bruce's ride.

Taglist:

@gabile18

@trainer--taylor

@violentvaleska

#gotham #gotham x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader

[jaydicksummerexchange]

JAYDICK EXCHANGE: AUGUST 24, 2020

[ ❤ Works posted so far! ❤ ]

Here are today’s fanworks! Please leave a comment and kudos for the author if you enjoy their work. Authors/artists will be revealed August 31st!

Alone Together by anonymous for Nottak [FIC, T, No Warnings, JayDick] 

Additional Tags: JayDick Summer Exchange, BatCat wedding, Wedding blues, or is it bachelor blues?, Dick's impressive list of exes, Loneliness, Drunkenness, Slight Abandonment Issues, Fluff and Angst, Open Ending

Summary: “Everybody’s off… getting married and going away. But you and me, we could be our own family.”

Dinnertime by anonymous for firefright  [Art, Gen, No Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd] 

Additional Tags: JayDick Summer Exchange, Fanart, Digital Art, just jason taking care of dick, Domestic Fluff, But also, Mild Hurt/Comfort, because of the premise/prompt

Summary: “That’s enough, Dickiebird. It’s dinnertime.”

Dick Grayson suffers from a very specific form of tunnel vision when lives are on the line, leaving him a) unable to take care of himself; and b) unwilling to take care of himself. Between his day job as a cop and his (actual) job as Nightwing, that's pretty much his new normal. Enter Jason, back from the dead and wherever he's been with the Outlaws, who may or may not have inherited the combined forces of Alfred's and Bruce's mother henning tendencies despite his claims otherwise.

we're just dancing in the dark by anonymous for naol [FIC, Teen, No Warnings, JayDick] 

Additional Tags: no capes AU, fairytale AU, curses and spells and such, Memory Loss, Transformation, brief description of animal death as associated with hunting, absolutely no research done into the proper historical setting

Summary:  Deep in the forest, there is a mysterious old man, a cursed manor, a blue-eyed wolf following his every move, and a hauntingly familiar young man who knows something he is not sharing.

Jason, a hunter in the nearby village, is just trying to survive the winter. But he'll have to unravel the mystery of it all, including his own missing memories, if he wants to protect the people he cares about and save himself.

Running on Fumes by anonymous for salvadore [FIC, Ten, No Warnings, JayDick] 

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humor, Missions Gone Wrong, Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Banter, Pre-Slash

Summary: Dick’s day goes from bad to worse but luckily, Jason is there to pick up the pieces.

Don’t let me go (don’t leave me) by anonymous for AlannaofRoses [FIC, Gen, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd] 

Additional Tags: Whump, ambiguous ending, does he die?thats up to u!, Dick Grayson Whump

Summary: "Does it hurt?"

"Dickie, please," he begs. "Come on."

He doesn't respond, glazed over eyes making Jason wonder if he'd even heard him at all. "I think it might be nice," he murmurs, fingers stilling in their exploration of Jason's face. "To see my parents again." No.

"Di-"

"I'll miss you, Little Wing."

They Are Out There Saying by anonymous for empires [Fic, Not Rated, No Warnings, JayDick] 

Additional Tags: Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences, Japanese Culture  a tiny little bit of a case, don't get too excited about it, Getting Together, Marriage Proposal, of sorts, ou will see what I mean, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, POV Jason Todd, POV Outsider, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd Swears, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Everyone Loves Dick Grayson, Everyone Fears Red Hood, The author is a nerd, The Author Regrets Everything, Rumors, Poetry, Undercover Missions, Shy Jason Todd, can this work remain anonymous forever?, Unreliable Narrator, Canon-Typical Violence, JayDick Summer Exchange, Kissing, my tags are a mess, I don't know what this is anymore stop looking at me

Summary:  There was a rumour going around the Hida Province that the infamous wandering monk was secretly courting the blue-eyed ninja. Not only has the monk not discarded his earthly desires, said some, but he actively sought to indulge them, insisted others. Something ought to be done, proclaimed few, lest he would turn into a demon or come back as a vengeful ghost, feared all.

Meanwhile, Jason and Dick were just trying to live their best life.

“So you’re saying,” Jason decided to sum it all up, “that a rival clan of surprisingly sloppy ninja,” properly trained ones wouldn’t stomp all over the place, after all, “is trying to enact revenge by going after an old calligrapher? Because you found a piece of rock?”

Who would have thought huh? by anonymous for geckoholic [Art, Mature, Now Warnings,  JayDick] 

Additional Tags: Fanart

Summary: Somewhere over the desert.

we wanted miracles (they didn’t happen) by anonymous for pentapus [FIC, Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, JayDick] 

Additional Tags: Telepathic Bond, Soul Bond, Space Flight, Sharing a Bed, Communication Failure, BAMF Dick Grayson, BAMF Jason Todd, Canon-Typical Violence, Major Character Injury, WhumpHurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug

Summary: “It gave us an edge.” Dick shook his head. “I couldn’t risk the city blowing up just to spare your feelings.”

“So you didn’t even ask.” Jason looked disgusted.

“No. In the end, you’ve always done what’s necessary.” Even after everything, Jason was still a bat, and that sentence might as well be their family motto.

Like a good little soldier.

That brought Jason up short. His mind was static, and he gritted out: “Whatever. I want it gone.”

“Oh, believe me, so do I.”

(In order to defeat some aliens, Dick and Jason enter a soulbond. To get rid of it, they embark on a galactic road trip.)

#2020 jaydick exchange #jaydick #dickjay #this week is so excellent #dcu fanfic #dcu fanart #jaydick summer blues

[oscars-wifeyyy]

Mother Hen Chapter Two

Prologue

Chapter One

Click! Lilo groaned and covered her face, but she paused when she felt a body under her so she slowly turned to see the Oscar Diaz sleeping away as if he had no worries and Cesar Diaz snapping away on his phone pointing at the two. She quickly, but slowly got up while swatting away at Cesar and his phone while he was quietly laughing. The duo went to the kitchen and began breakfast for the rest of the people in the slightly older girl’s living room.

They were done with the eggs and bacon, leading to Jamal to wake up to the smell and make his way to the kitchen to see what else they were cooking. All three of them decided to wake everyone up by playing music and the smell of food so Cesar and Jamal grabbed her speaker from her room while Lilo stayed in the kitchen to make the food. Jamal was turning on the speaker and setting it on the kitchen counter while Cesar was on his phone to connect it via Bluetooth. By the time they got it working Monse was up and rolling her eyes at the boys’ stupidity while waiting for the food to be done.

Monse quickly snatched Cesar’s phone and began scrolling through his music to pick a song, but Cesar took it back and picked Money in the Grave by Drake ft Rick Ross. The beginning of the song had started and Lilo squealed because it was her favorite song for the time being. It was almost at top volume as Ruby and Oscar came in glaring at everyone because they were interrupted by the loud music until the beginning lines started and Lilo belted out the lyrics and dancing around as she put the food out on the dining room table.

“I said where should I really even start? I got hoes that I’m keepin’ in the dark. Got my ***** ‘cross the street livin’ large. Thinkin' back to the fact that they dead. Thought my raps wasn't facts 'til they sat with the bars. I got two phones, one need a charge. Yeah, they twins, I could tell they ass apart” Lilo took a breath and smiled at the others.

Oscar had a small smile on his face, Cesar was smirking at his best friend, while the others had their mouth agape. Ruby, Jamal, and Monse didn’t expect Lilo to go off and yell out the lyrics to the popular song because they were used to her listening to old school music like Tupac, Guns N’ Roses, Black Sabbath, N.W.A, etc. There was a laugh that came out of Cesar as he took a look at his three other friends who were still in shock at the whole scene.

“Let’s eat, guys. I made corned beef hash, scrambled eggs, two fried eggs, there is rice from last night, hash browns, and bacon,” Lilo sat down at began piling her plate with the food.

The brother immediately sat down to pile their food on their plates soon followed by the other three who were debating who was sitting where until Lilo had enough of it, “alright, fine! Cesar, sit next to your brother. I’ll sit next to him too, now all three of you, sit on the other side,”

The three had their eyes wide open as they followed her orders and sat down but made no move to make their own plate. A moment passed until Lilo began a conversation with Cesar and Oscar so Monse began piling her plate then Jamal and Ruby. After that moment, a conversation began between everyone except Oscar, causing Lilo to feel bad for the man that was slightly older than her. She took matters into her own hands and started a conversation with the feared man to her left.

“Yo, homie. How did you sleep?” Lilo chuckled.

“Really? Homie? Fool, I slept alright. You?” Oscar smirked.

“That was my impression of you,” Lilo snorted, “You always say fool or homie to people. I’m sure you slept great since you made me lay on you last night while I was asleep,”

“What? Fool. stop playin’. I didn’t do that,” Oscar did his infamous eyebrow raise.

“Yes, you did, homie,” Lilo began laughing, “I sure as hell didn’t begin laying on you,”

The two realized it was quiet so they turned to see everyone was looking at them. Cesar looked happy, Monse was confused while Ruby and Jamal looked scared. Oscar began glaring at them and that caused a reaction to come out of the two scared boys, but Monse just glared back until her attention turned to Cesar. Lilo figured that Cesar had kicked her under the table to get her to stop and that happened as she turned her attention back to her food and in conversation with Cesar, Jamal, and Ruby.

Breakfast ended on a good note and the younger ones had left to hang out at Ruby’s as the older ones were talking. It was nearing 3 pm when Oscar stood up from the couch.

“Get ready, Hermosa. We leave at 4,” Oscar made his way to the front door.

“You got it, dude,” Lilo followed Oscar so she could lock the front door.

Oscar left as Lilo closed the door after him and made her way to her room to pick out her outfit and shoes. Lilo was a huge fan of Vans and Converse so she had a wall full of Vans and another wall full of Converse of different colors and types, even vintage ones. She decided on a black bralette with a white shirt that hung on one of her shoulders and a pair of light boyfriend jeans cuffed enough to see her white crew socks with her white Old Skool vans that she customized herself. The young girl didn’t really like to put make-up on so she put mascara and lip gloss.

The clock had hit 3:55 when Oscar came knocking on the door with a white shirt with black Dickies with his high-top converse. Lilo opened the door ready as can be and got out of the house to lock the door so they could start their adventure. They got into his cherry red Impala and blasted music as they drove on the freeway and towards the beach that was probably private property.

There was surprisingly little traffic so they got there 30 minutes later and parked in front of the view of the ocean. The duo got out of the car and started to walk, but Oscar stopped the short beauty and rushed to the trunk of the car, coming back with a blanket and a picnic basket filled with food, drinks, and snacks. Lilo chuckled and started to lead Oscar towards the ocean so they could be closer to the view, but not close enough for the tide to get close enough to get them wet.

After the blanket was set up and ready to be sat on, they sat next to each other to watch the waves and talk to each other about life and other deep stuff. Oscar was opening up on his childhood and how he was supposed to go to a good school in Pasadena, but he passed it up to take care of Cesar. There were a lot of questions and jokes exchanged between the two until the big question about Lilo came up.

“So what did you mean when you told Valentina that you competed with fighting to get the money?” Oscar turned to look at Lilo.

Lilo sighed, “well, I'm a trained UFC fighter and I compete in tournaments as well as some underground fights around the area. That’s how I can afford the rest of the mortgage payments, groceries, and other things like my car payments. I love it, but I also don’t want to fight my whole life,”

Oscar was confused, “wait, you’re parents are military. Don’t they get some type of help with the payments and things?”

“Military is a lot of things. They help a little bit, but they don’t help much. It’ll obviously help when I’m in JC because of their GI Bill, but the house and everything...we have to pay the rest out of pocket,” Lilo shrugged, '' It's a downside, but being in the military makes my parents happy and I don’t want to make them quit,”

“Soooo…” Oscar trailed with a smirk, “when is your next fight? I want to come and see if you really are trained,”

“Fool, my next fight is actually this Sunday. So tomorrow,” Lilo laughed, “alright, homie, we gotta go back home so I can rest and be ready for tomorrow,”

The two got up and cleaned everything up before making their way back to the car to go home. A comfortable silence came as they realized that they were closer than ever, to the point of Oscar being her second-best friend and Lilo being his person to vent to since she understood the gang life and didn’t deny it like Cesar’s friends. Cesar was outside the house in just his shorts and slides with a smirk on his face when he saw the two people that he cared about in his older brother’s car with small smiles on both of their faces.

“Hey, guys” Cesar smiled, “how was your day? Did y’all confess your love to each other?”

“Salad, go inside and sleep. I got a fight tomorrow, remember?” Lilo glared.

Cesar rolled his eyes, “yes I remember. Monse and Jamal are coming too,”

Lilo nodded, “ok. Spooky is coming with us,”

The younger brother nodded and went back inside, but put his head out after a second, “have a good night, but not too good of a night, you two,”

“Cesar, I swear if you don’t go inside right now,” Oscar glared at his younger brother.

The freshman laughed and went inside as Lilo started laughing at the younger boy with Oscar. Lilo started walking to her house while Oscar walked to his house and the two paused to take a look at each other for a second then went inside to finally sleep for the fight tomorrow. Oscar closed his front door with a small smile on his face because of his newfound friend that now knew him better than anyone while Lilo was inside her house and back against the door with a happy sigh. Cesar was spying on his brother from his room and had a huge smile on his face when he saw that Oscar had a smile on his face, his dream came true...he was going to get the family that he wanted with his best friend and big brother.

The next day came and Lilo woke up at the crack of dawn to warm up with a protein shake and a 30-minute run, but when she got done getting dressed and went to her kitchen she saw Cesar there with a protein shake ready to go and work out clothes. She had a confused look on her face at the baby-face in her house.

“What are you doing here, Salad boy?” Lilo grabbed the protein shake.

“I’m warming up with you. I know you can train me to be stronger so why not work out with you?” Cesar cheesed at his friend.

Lilo laughed, but let him join regardless because she just couldn’t say no to the younger boy to save her life. The two left her house and started with a light jog for a few minutes before speeding up a little bit until they were at a full run for 15 minutes around the block two times. They were done at 8 am and Cesar was struggling to breathe, but Lilo barely lost her breathe at the workout. Oscar was outside because he was wondering where Cesar left to in the crack of dawn until he saw the two come back around the corner so he walked down to meet them in front of his house.

Oscar started laughing at Cesar’s state, “hermanito, why you look like you’re about to die?”

“Lilo’s ‘warm-up’...” Cesar wheezed, “is a full-on work-out. Fuck, Lo,”

Lilo rolled her eyes, “dramatic ass. Go shower and call Monse and Jamal to be ready by 10 because we gotta be outta here and to Van Nuys at 1 pm,”

Cesar made his way inside while bringing out his phone to text two of his friends while Oscar raised an eyebrow at the short girl.

“Damn, we gotta go all the way there?” Oscar asked.

“Yup,” Lilo chugged the rest of her water, “We’re taking my car too. Alright well like I said we are leaving at 9:30 so we can pick up Monse and Jamal, now I gotta go shower and do my shit,”

The two separated ways and went into their respective homes to get ready for the day. Lilo trashed the water bottle before going in the bathroom to take a shower then change to her sports bra and spandex and putting on her cover-up. Oscar, on the other hand, took a shower only to cook dinner for his brother and himself before dressing in his wife-beater and shorts with his white socks pulled all the way to his knees and chucks on his feet. Cesar was struggling to walk after his shower but still changed to a black shirt and jeans with his all-black Vans.

Everyone was ready to go by 9:30 am so they sat back and relaxed in Oscar’s house until 9:45 and they began to get into Lilo’s car. They started to pick up Monse first who was already waiting outside of her house then Jamal, whose parents were out front with him to wish Lilo good luck on the fight. The group of people was on their way with Oscar on the aux while the kids in the back were groaning at the old songs that were flooding throughout the car. They arrived a couple of hours later at 12:30 so it was enough time for Oscar and the kids to get seated in the front and for her to get ready.

Lilo was getting ready with her coach/trainer and getting into the zone against one of the “softer” competitors in the division. She wasn’t really nervous, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up so she convinced herself that the girl was better. By 1 pm everyone was in their seats and getting ready for the fight as Rachel’s entrance music began and she was making her way to the octagon. There was a mixture of cheers and boos, but Lilo didn’t let that get into her mind and put her robe on as well as the hood of the robe.

Finally, Lilo’s entrance music began and she made her way to the octagon behind her trainer and her head down. There were pats on her back and cheers, but she paid them no mind only kept her thoughts on the fight and strategizing in her mind until she heard Cesar’s and Oscar’s voice.

“Let’s go, Lo!” Cesar was standing and clapping.

“Aye, fool! Don’t make me look bad,” Oscar smirked.

Lilo rolled her eyes at Oscar, but continued to the octagon and started jumping around a little. In the corner of her eyesight, she saw Rachel checking out Oscar and something inside her snapped to the point where she wanted to destroy this girl. It wasn’t like they were together, but her long term crush on the older Diaz and their time spent together at the beach made her irrationally jealous. She went to her corner to her trainer who was hyping her up and giving her water to hydrate her so she was good enough to fight.

A few minutes later, the fight was starting and Lilo was advancing towards the slightly taller girl, but Lilo took that to her advantage because she was faster so she quickly jabbed Rachel in the face before dipping to avoid her punch. It quickly escalated to kicks towards Lilo, but it was a weak attempt in Lilo’s eyes. Rachel was quickly wearing out in her energy so Lilo took the opportunity and began punching her and kicking her until it was a takedown and the ref had to take her off of the taller girl.

Rachel got up and they continued to fight until Lilo was bored of the girl’s need to back up so she made a quick jump towards the girl and gave her a right hook with all of her might that lead to her going into a TKO. The bell rang and the whole room went into a fit of cheers at the infamous fighter known as Lilo Jameson. Rachel’s trainer and the team were around her and getting her back into consciousness as Oscar, Cesar, Jamal, and Monse were around her with her trainer and congratulating her. It was a happy time until Rachel decided to go up to Oscar after she gained consciousness to try to pick him up, but Lilo wasn’t having any of it.

“Yo, why are you even here?” Lilo glared, “go back to your trainer and team so you can get better at fighting,”

“You aren’t even that good, Lilo. Chill,” Rachel rolled her eyes.

Lilo started laughing, “Fool, why do you think I’m named ‘TKO’? I’m undefeated, babe, so who isn’t that good? You didn’t even give me a bruise,”

Rachel huffed and walked away to her trainer and team causing everyone to laugh at the unsuccessful attempt to try to embarrass Lilo. Oscar was smirking at the shorter girl because he knew it was out of jealousy.

He leaned down to Lilo’s ear, “why you jealous, bebe?”

Oscar didn’t wait for a response as he went to the kids to wait with them. Lilo groaned and went to the locker room so she can change and take a quick shower so she didn’t have to put more in the water bill at home. Her trainer stopped her when she was leaving the locker room so he could give her the money that she had won, telling her that he already took his cut. After 30 minutes, she was with everyone else to go to the car and get something to eat before they started their journey back to Freeridge. They were in the car and on their phones to look at nearby restaurants, but they realized that it was only 2 and traffic was starting so they decided to just go around the Valley until traffic died down a little bit.

All of them ended up in Sherman Oaks and in Mel’s Diner to eat. Monse had started to facetime Ruby so they could tell him all about the fight and what he did all day.

“It was so crazy! Lilo was so quick and her hits looked so hard like she knocked the other girl out in one punch!” Monse was excited.

“Lucky you,” Ruby rolled his eyes, “I don’t have my own room anymore! I’m sharing with my abuelita now,”

The young ones kind of felt bad for Ruby because he was so excited, but there was nothing they could do about it. Lilo was trying not to laugh with Oscar, but there was nothing that could stop them and they busted out laughing at Ruby’s ‘dilemma’.

“Rubes, it’s gonna be fine,” Lilo laughed, “all you gotta do is focus on school and get outta school with a scholarship to a university then you will have your own room at a dorm,”

Freshmen will act like freshmen and that caused Ruby to roll his eyes at the senior’s wisdom. Lilo shrugged and continued looking through the menu to decide what she wanted, but since she was sitting in between Cesar and Oscar, the older one of the two nudged her a little bit. She turned in curiosity.

“You still haven’t answered my question, maravillosa,” Oscar whispered in her ear.

Lilo rolled her eyes and was about to answer, but the waiter had gone to their table, “Hey, guys. How are you? Can I start you guys off with drinks?”

The waiter took their drinks until his eyes landed on Lilo and he couldn’t help but stare at her. “Hi, can I get a water please?”

“Uhhh...y-yeah,” the waiter stuttered, “hmmm you r-ready t-to order?”

Lilo politely smiled, “yes we are. I’ll get a cheeseburger with no tomatoes or onions? Y’all order your stuff,”

Everyone ordered until it was Oscar’s turn, “Yeah, homes, I want a burger with shallots and you to stop staring at my girl,”

The waiter’s eyes widened and he stuttered out an ok and ran back to the server’s line to put their order up. Lilo began laughing while everyone else just stared at Oscar in shock.

“Why you jealous though, Spooky?” Lilo mocked him.

“Shut up, fea,” Oscar growled.

“Nah, fool. You called me maravillosa so you can’t call me fea until tomorrow,” Lilo stuck her tongue out at the hard cholo.

Oscar glared and mushed her face with a smirk, but she glared and put him in a headlock with an evil laugh. The two began to play fight in the booth while Cesar began laughing while Jamal and Monse thought it was real.

“Don’t mush my face, estupido,” Lilo kept her grip on the cholo, but let go as he tickled her ribs and brought her into a headlock.

“Nah, fool. I ain’t stupid, fea,” Oscar chuckled.

“Alright, ugly. Stop!” Lilo laughed.

The food came out shortly and everyone was eating in silence. There was no conversation in the ride back to Freeridge, but there was no awkwardness to it as there was also music flowing and everyone was too tired to try and make conversation. It was 9 pm when Jamal was dropped off then Monse and the three remaining were cracking jokes.

A/N: The first 15 people that reblog will be on the tag list for the next chapter

#Oscar Diaz #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz imagines #oscar diaz fanfiction #spooky diaz #spooky diaz imagines #spooky diaz imagine #spooky diaz fanfiction #julio macias #julio macias fanfic #OMB #cesar diaz #monse finnie #ruby martinez #Jamal Turner #jason genao #brett gray #diego tinoco #sierra capri #on my block #oscar diaz fanfic #spooky diaz fanfic

[targaryen-stronghold]

Sexist Tropes in “Game of Thrones”

Missing Mom Trope / Death by Childbirth Trope

Missing Moms are considered more unusual than missing fathers, and they are more likely to have their absence explicitly explained (usually with death). Death by Childbirth is very often the cause of a Missing Mom, as not only does it get the mother out of the way whilst keeping her sympathetic but it adds an extra touch of tragedy to the protagonist's life

Lyanna Stark (Aisling Franciosi): Jon Snow’s mother

Rhaella Targaryen: Viserys and Daenerys’ mother

Joanna Lannister: Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion’s mother

Straw Matriarchy (Powerful Women are Evil) Trope

Women are shown to be fundamentally incapable of governing or utterly evil and castrating in their power-wielding

Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey): Queen Regent; Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms

Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie): Lady of the Vale

Ellaria Sand (Indira Varma): Prince Oberyn’s paramour

Olenna Tyrell (Diana Rigg): did whatever was necessary (including murder) for her family to remain in power

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke): Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea; Queen of Meereen; Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of Dragonstone

Hysterical woman Trope

Women as less rational, disciplined, and emotionally stable than men, and thus more prone to mood swings, irrational overreactions, and mental illness

Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie)

Myranda (Charlotte Hope)

Selyse Baratheon (Tara Fitzgerald)

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke)

Women Who Enjoy Sex are Evil Trope

Sex is regarded as fraught and dangerous

Doreah (Roxanne McKee): murdered Irri and helped Xaro Xhoan Daxos stealing Daenerys’ dragons

Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey): murdered every enemy she could get her hands on to remain in power

Shae (Sibel Kekilli): betrayed Tyrion Lannister by blaming him for Joffrey’s murder

Ellaria Sand (Indira Varma): murders Myrcella Baratheon and Doran Martell

Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie): murdered her husband, Jon Arryn; lied to her sister, Catelyn, blaming the Lannisters for Jon’s death; tried to kill Sansa Stark out of jealousy

Myranda (Charlotte Hope): helped Ramsay Snow in his torture games; tormented and tried to kill Sansa Stark

Tyene Sand (Rosabell Laurenti Sellers): alongside with her sisters, Nymeria and Obara, helped her mother, Ellaria, betraying House Martell

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke): burns down King’s Landing

I Was Quite a Looker Trope

You all know them. That kindly old lady who lives down the street. The tiny, wrinkly, owner of the local dojo. The aged, fading seductress. Wrinkled, aged, musty... but they weren't always that way. Once upon a time they were attractive, very attractive.

Olenna Tyrell (Diana Rigg)

Disposable Woman Trope

This character has a familial or romantic relationship with a protagonist, which allows creators to derive heart-wrenching sorrow from her death.

Talisa Stark (Oona Chaplin): provided a minute of Man Pain to the protagonist Robb Stark before his murder by Roose Bolton

Ygritte (Rose Leslie): provided Man Pain to the protagonist Jon Snow

Shae (Sibel Kekilli): provided Man Pain to the protagonist Tyrion Lannister

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke): provided Man Pain to the protagonist Jon Snow

Disposable Sex Worker Trope

The prostitutes are killed because they know something they shouldn't, or a villain thinks they do.

Ros (Esmé Bianco): Petyr Baelish gifts her to Joffrey Baratheon to torture and kill because she’s been working for Varys

Woman Scorned Trope

What’s the only type of woman more dangerous than a Mama Bear? A woman who’s been dumped, cheated on, or otherwise done wrong by her significant other. Especially if she’s been hiding some sanity problems,

Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie): tried to kill Sansa Stark out of jealousy

Ygritte (Rose Leslie): go on a murdering spree after being betrayed and abandoned by Jon Snow

Shae (Sibel Kekilli): testifies against Tyrion Lannister in his trial for Joffrey’s murder for believing he didn’t care for her and was shipping her off

Myranda (Charlotte Hope): tried to kill Sansa Stark out of jealousy

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke): slaughters every men, women and child in King’s Landing after being rejected by Jon Snow

The Glorious War of Sisterly Rivalry Trope / Sibling Rivalry Trope

There are two sisters, close enough in age to have a relatively equal relationship, but light years apart in personality.

Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley) vs. Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie)

Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner) vs. Arya Stark (Maisie Williams)

Tomboy and Girly Girl Trope

The "Girly Girl" will highly care about her appearance, pursue "girly" interests, and is often (though not always) The Chick. The Tomboy will be into sports, mechanics, or the like. The two ladies will have some sort of relationship with each other, whether they're best friends, sisters, on the same team

Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner) vs. Arya Stark (Maisie Williams)

Mama Bear Trope /  Motherhood Is Superior Trope

Like many other mammals depicted throughout history as predators, bears are actually passive animals, and won't attack humans unless provoked. Despite this, if you even think about getting between a mother bear and her cub she'll tear straight through you. Threaten her children, and you are in for a world of hurt.

Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley)

Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey)

No Guy Wants an Amazon Trope

All Guys Want Cheerleaders, but no guy wants a girl who can beat him up.

Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie) is unceremoniously dumped by Jaime Lannister because he wants to return to his traditional feminine ex-lover, Cersei

Female Misogynist Trope / Not Like Other Girls Trope

Considers other girls to be inferior- not like her. People will remind her that she's a girl herself, but she will deny it - or consider herself an "honorary dude" or claim she's "not like the other girls" (i.e. she's ''better'' than the other girls, in her mind).

Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey): I should have been born a man. I’d rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens

Arya Stark (Maisie Williams): Most girls are idiots.

Fiery Redhead Trope

A Fiery Redhead is a red-haired character who is strong, Hot-Blooded, outgoing, usually outspoken, and (if a love interest) often female. She has a big personality and she's not afraid to use it. Whatever you do, don't get on her bad side, or there will be hell to pay.

Ros (Esmé Bianco)

Melisandre (Carice van Houten)

Ygritte (Rose Leslie)

Sleeping Their Way to the Top Trope

There are many ways to rise to the top, some more pragmatic than others. Some people decide to use their charms and sex appeal to boost their career. It's usually frowned upon by other characters, and may have certain downsides to it, but for some it proves to be the key to their success.

Margaery Tyrell (Natalie Dormer)

Real Women Don't Wear Dresses Trope

A woman is shown as weak, incompetent, and ineffectual unless she dresses and behaves in a masculine manner, or is otherwise applauded for being "not like other girls."

Arya Stark (Maisie Williams)

Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie)

Ygritte (Rose Leslie)

Yara Greyjoy (Gemma Whelan)

Nymeria Sand (Jessica Henwick), Obara Sand (Keisha Castle-Hughes) and Tyene Sand (Rosabell Laurenti Sellers)

Madonna–Whore Complex Trope

A pattern of thought that divides female-humanity into two mutually exclusive categories: Madonnas and Whores. The virtuous Madonna figure, possessing and protecting social virtue is an object of worship and everything that all females should aspire to be. However, sex is not part of this. The Whore, always with massive sex appeal, catering to the male gaze, is often evil and scheming

“The Whore” Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey) vs. “Madonna” Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner)

“The Whore” Margaery Tyrell (Natalie Dormer) vs. “Madonna” Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner)

“The Whore” Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke) vs. “Madonna” Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner)

Sour Prudes Trope

Accusing other women (or sometimes men) of being "skanks", "sluts", "cheap" and whatnot.

Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie) vs. Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner): Lysa falsely accuses her niece, Sansa, of sleeping with Petyr Baelish

Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner) vs. Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke): Sansa implies Daenerys is (sexually) manipulating her brother, Jon Snow

God Save Us from the Queen! Trope

While kings and princes can be good or evil, and nice or mean, and princesses are (almost) always good, queens tend to be the royalty version of Always Chaotic Evil. Once a queen is in charge, things get nasty.

Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey)

Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke)

#game of thrones #anti game of thrones #anti d&d #sexism #sexism on pop culture #daenerys targaryen #ygritte #shae #talisa stark #sansa stark #arya stark #ros #catelyn stark #lysa arryn #cersei lannister #myranda #selyse florent #brienne of tarth #sand snakes #ellaria sand #tyene sand #obara sand #nymeria sand #doreah #missandei

[askjondami]

Batboys, Who is the most overprotective big brother?

Damian: Grayson

Tim: Dick

Jason: Dick

Dick: me

Dick: Damian is my babybat! my cute little Dl! my lovely little Prince! my brother from another mother! That´s why i want to protect him from all possible threats 

Damian: 1. stop calling me little, I´m almost an adult! 2. How is superboy a threat? He is a Hero like u and me

Dick: babybat u are only 17 y/o u arent a adult yet and everyone who looks at u the way Jon looks at u, is a threat. 

Jason: Our Dicky acts like an overprotective mother hen

Dick: like u are any better. I wasn´t the one who shoot jon with a kryptonite bullet.. 

Jason: It was an accident.. it was midnight, i was cleaning my gun, and bam it happened

Tim: and your sure it doesn´t happened cause u saw Jon kissing Demon? 

Jason: am sure!

Tim: both of them are overprotectiv in there own way. I´m the only responible one

Damian: U? tt

#jondami #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #red hood #red robin #send me asks

[madamesmoke]

Funky Ideas

Dickie threatens Slade with a sex ban

Respawn or Rose have to do a family tree for school... they take the assignment very seriously (Rose just wants to fuck with Slade and Dick)

That'd also be funny if it was Damian (or Lian through JayRoy (pirate uncle ftw)) [Lian telling Grandpa Ollie ALL about her favorite pirate uncle and how happy he makes uncle dick and the yummy food he makes. Oliver having one heart attack after the other with this information]

Slade and/or Dick are called into the school (maybe for the family project. Maybe Rose got reprimanded for bullshit (dress code))

Slade bringing Dickie food at work (I know it's been done already, but it's too funny.

Dickie gushing about his adorable little baby brother, maybe repeatedly for months, just to have "bigger than Bruce-tank" Jason appear (could bring him food, pick him up for sibling time....)

Joey being a little shit and calling Dick "dad" in front of his coworkers, maybe pulling Grant along (he is suffering, Grant just wanted to get pizza (Joey tricked him))

Dickie and/or Tim succumbing to the combined mother-henning of Slade and Jason

Bruce has hired Slade as his head of security (he needs a civilian presence). Now, Bruce doesn't like him very much, but Alfred approves and Dickie is the happiest he's ever been. The Press is having a field day

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #sladick #jason todd #red hood #batman #robin #writing prompt #story ideas #feel free to use

[savedbythenotepad]

marvelingjules replied to your post: I’m going to need to lie down for the next century...

She looks so worried to me, too. I want to think that besides feeling hurt he didn’t tell her, she’s worried about what this’ll mean - for him, for Jack. For what her Dicky’s going to have to face after that. (I want GOOD SUPPORTIVE FAMILY FOR BITTY DAMN IT.)

Honestly SAME!

Here, she looks like Worried Mother Hen™ and I hope that’s what it is. I WANT THEM TO BE SUPPORTIVE OF HIM AND JACK. ;-;

#marvelingjules

[iphoenixrising]

200 Followers Prompt Fill

Ah, over 200 actually, so THANK YOU ALL!  I’ve taken a bunch of Asks and answered them here. This is only part 1 tho, so there will be five more I believe? Anway, thanks for the loves :)

From Anon:

Prompt: What if Dick or Jason or both;) are taking care of Tim while he's got the concussion of the century, and staying awake with him and having fun. Tim, noticing Dick or Jason eyeing a really bad scar, and him not being in the right state of mind, tells them where the scar came from. Not from vigilantism or anything dangerous or villainous as Jason/Dick came to expect, but from small Tim taking care of himself (while his neglectful parents were away) and not being careful enough. Love you <3

You got it, babe.

**

And

—W—

Walter is just a pissy companion for the night.

Seriously.

Walter is a concussion that comes with a distinct lack of boundaries apparently. He’s already told Dick how much he just really enjoys his hands, and Jason is now aware of how fucking cute he thinks that little white tuft of hair is, and just…

He’s never going to live this one down.

Ever.

The Perch is at half-lighting, softly curled around the edges of his vision because of things like sleep dep and owfuck. Luckily, the two eldest Robins tried doing a rock-paper-scissors for who got to come find Timmy’s hurt ass—since, well Bats and shit, there was no chance at ever getting a winner. Dick is just that good and Jay cheats like a nasty bastard.

Cue the two of them jimming the windows open shortly after O put out the word of a possibly bad end to a little fight Red might have been in on down in the Narrows. Commence with the Where’s Red? protocol, Bat edition.

In a little less than twenty seconds using nothing more spectacular than his crappy iPhone to hack into some traffic cams, Dick verifies Red is still in Gotham and looks to be moving toward his own little nest in the city.

B at this juncture just waved them both off into the pre-dawn with the same old, same old: call me if he needs transport, call me if you need transport—just call me.

And yes, B is paranoid as fuck—that doesn’t mean his dad instincts don’t rise to the fore, especially when one of his Robins gets hurt…and doesn’t come back to the Manor for proper treatment (reads as mother-henning).

The call was promptly made within twenty seconds of N and Hood breaching the Perch, strafing through the apartment until the injured bird came out of the shower in only a towel, giving them both an ample chance to look him over for anything else. Gloved hands turned and prodded while B asked a ton of questions over speakerphone.

Anything Tim might have had to say is drowned out with a mix between finger wags, the know your limitations speech, and absurdly attentive vigilantes.

N wrangles him to sit long enough for Hood to dig out boxers and sweats, then kneel down to get the things up his legs, and even if his balance is just fine fuck you very much, N still holds him standing for Hood to get them the rest of the way up. A t-shirt is pulled over his head, muffling his useless protests; the only pause in the mother henning is when a short noise escapes when one of the wrangling hands brushes over his bruised (but no longer bleeding) temple.

Hood tilted his chin with absurdly gentle hands, leaning close to get a good look at the scrape while N fits together a small device from pieces hidden around his suit, effectively pulling out a mini X-ray scanner.

Agent A gets immediate results from the scan, looking at Red’s skull for any fractures.

And coffee is made, frozen pizzas thrown in the oven, calming over-protective Bats taking turns changing into civvies, the fight is discussed, and diagnosis per Alfred made.

Of course it’s a concussion, like he hasn’t had enough of them to know.

“What letter ya on, Timmy?” Jason just happens to ask, putting coffee right in front of him.

“I think W, so Walter it is.”

“Right on. Eat yer pizza.”

From there, since, you know, why bother trying to sleep anyway, the three of them end up on his overstuffed couch, watching something he never gets time to check out, and he just blurts out all kind of embarrassing shit.

The worst is when Jay traces a fine white line on the inside of his forearm, making Tim feel even hazier where he’s laying against Dick’s side, nudged between them. It’s telling how close he’s come to being back.

“Where’d this one come from, Timmy?” Is asked low and quiet, in case he might have dropped off (just to be woken up in an hour or so? Nope, all good here).

“Making dinner when Mrs. Mac couldn’t come for a few days,” he blurts out, “I was trying to make chicken the first time and slipped.”

And that is apparently not what Hood had been expecting to hear.

He makes a noise of protest when Dick straightens a little and reaches a bare hand over to grip his wrist and look closer.

“How old were you?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it, and that’s the problem. With Walter hanging with him, his eidetic memory is at the concussion’s mercy, and he blurts out, “almost eight.”

Both vigilantes stop, the creepy-like Bat-stillness. The only movement is Dick’s hand tightening on his wrist and the increasing downturn of Jay’s mouth.

“How long did she leave you alone, Tim?” Dick asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Tim blinks, knowing he’s walking a very, very fine line here.

“She was snowed in at her sister’s house,” he carefully adds, trying to deflect. “It was a bad blizzard that year.”

“You were seven years old alone in a fucking blizzard?” Is the Red Hood’s snarling reply. “Jesus-motherfucking-Christ, Timmy. How many times were you left alone?”

His mouth drops open (because Walter) automatically, but he manages to stop all processes and laugh a little instead. “Having a housekeeper let me have the opportunity to be Robin, you know.”

“Not the point, Tim,” Dick fills in for a not-happy Red Hood, who is still grinding his teeth. Like, obviously.

But there are hands, making him sit up from his comfortable slouch, and his clothes are pushed, pulled, lifted off while the two are looking for the oldest scars, but it’s not enough. And the two finally manhandle Tim up on his feet to strip him down to boxers and take in every mark on his body, causing a flush to stain his cheeks down to his chest while they find, touch, and ask about a majority of the oldest marks, horrified at his years in a silent house, being left to his own devices.

“Mrs. Mac usually made me meals once a week and left them in the freezer. It wasn’t hard to work a microwave.” He argues at one point, and had no idea why Jay looked completely crushed.

“I think it was fine,” he finally tells them, “that they were always gone. I mean, they couldn’t get sick of me if they never saw me, right?”

Dick completely engulfs him in a full-bodied hug, almost suffocating him enough that he has to literally tap out. Just please stop trying to kill me with your love.

“This one?” Jay points to a tiny nick on the back of his right hand by the knuckle.

“Trying to make a grapple so I could follow you and B better,” he yawns, finally allowed to get dressed again.

The grapple, well, it sort of worked, but really no one needed to see the scars from when it failed. The boxers and sweats are, fortunately, covering that one. (Just, it’s bad enough he’s got such a thing for these two anyway and it’s getting worse each time he comes back to Gotham, each time one of them finds him on patrol, calls out, eats roof tacos, just all of it. Their hands all over him is just not fucking helpful and Walter isn’t making the sitch better.)

“How old?”

“…” They wouldn’t want that answer.

“And none of us noticed?”

“Um, well—“ and he breathes and glances over, “I think Jay saw me. Once.” Then Tim’s face gets hot, cheeks flush a little, a sign that draws both older vigilantes like a moth to a flame.

“Timmy,” Dick draws out.

“I…” and he breathes out, “I may have accidentally been trying to get up to the old Mylar building and…”

And he just leaves it off because really.

Dick blinks down at him; he and Jay exchange a look.

Tim wakes up enough to shift, shove the waistband of his boxers down only a few inches or so by his spine, showing them an old mass of white scars. “I think B took a beating at the hands of Killer Croc because Nightwing and Robin were patrolling side-by-side. It was the first time I’d seen you two together.”

And Jay might be smiling rather than smirking because even with the Pit messing with his mind and memories, he knows he has that time, the one Tim’s talking about, buried so deep, a memory so important, not even death, his death, could smear it. And the Robin that never talks about it, about that time in his life, breathes out through his mouth softly.

“Was the first time B got all kinds of fucked, well ‘a-cause of me anyhow.” And Jay smiles faintly, accepts Dickie’s broad palm on the back of his neck. “Nice that someone took a break from his team ta come home.”

“I’m glad I did,” Dick shrugs, grinning back, and both vigilantes look over at their Baby Bird, slouched over. “How did you get the scars?”

There it is, his face heating up again, “I didn’t know you’d be up there, it surprised me so hard, I fell.”

Both older vigilantes flinch. Everyone in the cape and cowl crew knew the Mylar and its damn treacherous design, four stories of possible doom from crumbling brick to thin wrought iron.

“All the way down?” Jason’s eyes are blown wide, picturing a little kid with a camera falling four stories to the unforgiving pavement below.

“Ah, no,” and Tim scratches the back of his neck, cheeks pink, “Robin caught me, actually. Smelled like cigarettes and told me to get my stupid ass home before I got hurt.”

Dick’s brows shoot up into his hairline at the same time Jay’s jaw drops, “seriously, Baby Bird?”

“Yeah,” and it’s low in his chest because, well, he’d already told Jason when the Pit was riding him and he needed something to bring him back, “you were my Robin.” Literally, it’s true.

“I don’t remember it either, Timmy, I’m sorry,” Dick claims softly, a hand inching into Tim’s hair to rake blunt nails gently against his scalp. And he feels awful about it, the majority of his memories from that night about trying to make it work with the kid that took his place as Batman’s partner. It was the first time he’d been back to the Manor for any length of time since their fallout, and Nightwing had been the next feasible step. Something to keep going.

“S’okay,” Tim slurs, falling right into the motion, “big vigilante now, remember?”

Jason hums as Baby Bird’s eyes finally flutter closed and Dick settles him more comfortably against his chest. He finally passes out to the old scars, the foundation of his life, being outlined, and catalogued by the two vigilantes that will eventually be his undoing.

 Justice is Blind AU (for @satire-please) :D

“Ah, there you are, little bird.”

And that voice. He’d know it anywhere. Well, hard to forget the first person that taught you how to maim, isn’t it?

Tim smiles faintly, fingers moving over the grooves of the delicate tea cup in one hand, “long time.”

She hums a little, and with the modified shades covering his dead eyes, the radar array pings just the outline of her lithe form sliding into the chair across from him. The sweet Jasmine always a part of her wafts over in the breeze; she only surprised him being down wind. Well, touché.

“What are you doing in Beijing?” She signals for tea, acting like they’re just here in a random tea house, you know, just hanging out. Not like he was pretty damn sure they’d been an inch from killing each other the last time. But, if there’s one thing he’s learned in his time as part of the cape and cowl crew—bad guys who generally seem to want to kill you? They get all kinds of messed up when the heroes are down for the count.

But Tim Drake smiles, flashing white against the dark sunglasses. “I think you already know the answer to that, Lady Shiva.”

And the gentle laugh rolls down his spine, settles somewhere in the base.

“I suppose you need a reminder then,” and he hears the exchange, get the impression, the outline of the waiter bringing Lady Shiva a fresh pot, her own cup, bowing low in respect.

“Things…are more complicated.” And in his civvies, a young American, ratty jeans and hooded sweatshirts, miles away from the clean-cut CEO he played on video screens wherever he happened to be needed in the world.  It’s been painfully easy keeping shades on, making sure he’s in bright enough rooms to explain it away while keeping the confidence of Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors after the successful transfer of power. In less than five months, he’s already expanded Research and Development, put several new products into Production, made suggestions to exiting products to adapt to a changing world.

Profits were up, the Board was happy, and no one was more the wise about his “condition.”

Except Tam, that is.

Being taken by surprise by the Widower is the epic fail of his life, but to be blinded before he’d even found Bruce?

Not to mention that somehow during the punch drunk blood loss and perpetual night, he’d managed to patch Pru up enough that she could pilot the Jeep to one of the League of Assassins’ safe houses not far from the site of the attack. It was Tam’s bad luck to get snatched up by the League’s spies when word reached them she was hot on his heels, wrangling him for Wayne Enterprises. They thought she already found him and was the only reason Ra’s ordered her alive.

Luck of the draw there.

The downside of it all was that Tam had been there while he danced between the League and the Council of Spiders, trying to acclimate to his new condition, trying to bring everyone down, trying to keep himself from falling apart, not when he was ass-deep in bad guys of oh shit proportions.

And yeah, he’d pulled it all off like a boss. Well, other than getting kicked out of a window to a potentially fatal free fall. That? Slightly sucked.

But, all’s well that end well—he’d pulled Bruce out of space/time with the help of S.T.A.R. labs, sent him back to Gotham, and…

Came directly here.

Tam is covering his ass at WE for a few weeks while he gets his head together. The documentation is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Other than that, well, there’s really no reason to go back, is there?

Bruce will train, get himself back, and take up the cowl. Damian will keep breaking criminal faces. Nightwing will start appearing again.

Everything in its place.

Except—

To Do List:

1)      Figure out where to live

2)      Figure out what to do

3)      Figure out how to do it

4)      Figure out who to do it with

5)      Figure out who to do it against

Yup, that’s why he’s here.

“You must find your balance, little bird.” She sips delicately, “to learn yourself again.”

The laugh coming from his chest is one of those unfunny ha-ha ones because that sounds a lot like one of those crazy platitudes she sprouts just before the fight starts.

“Let me guess,” the radar array pings back, and he gets the impression she’s smiling, “you can help with that, right?”

“I think,” she fills in, steadily sipping her tea, “I have an old acquaintance who may be better suited.”

“He’s in prison,” Tim fills in because she can’t really be suggesting—

“The King Snake is here in Beijing, little bird. Perhaps a week with each of us, and you may find what answers you are desperately looking for.”

His useless eyes are wide behind the shades, his brain picking up on the impossible theme happening here. His career as Robin began with Lady Shiva and the King Snake, Sir Edmund Dorrance, the blind crime lord and exceptional fighter. Kind of fitting to either end his walk down vigilante lane if one of them decides this is the perfect opportunity to kill him, or to give them all the kudos if they manage to get him able to move again.

Either way, it seems like things have a way of coming full circle.

**

*The list is from the Red Robin comic series ;) Just FYI

Angst

travellover1245 said:

Hey! I am craving some angst right now. Any chance you can take up this prompt: Tim/?? with someone else having feelings for Tim that Tim has never or no longer feel for that person. Please and thank you!!!

Angst, babe? Let’s see what I’ve got ;)  Maybe something from the No Home for Dead Birds Verse, yeah? But Mentions of Adult Themes.

**

And it’s more than he remembered.

The sweet press of their bodies together, hands fitting in the most perfect niches of flesh, muscle, and bone; like this body is made for him, made to respond to his touch, made to give in.

His mouth is still soft and always slightly bitter with coffee or sleep deprivation, and it’s almost painful how much it’s like getting something back, something so crucial missing from beside him in bed, in a fight, in the shower, in all aspects.

Thumbs in the dip of hips, moving in circles, and he growls low, refusing to let up, to let go—

He needs this back in his life.

Hands grip his wrists and push.

An abrupt pain arcs in his chest, thumping hard against his sternum.

“Wait,” is hoarse, a plea, don’t go said right into Tim’s mouth.

He’ll swear it was all muscle memory, grabbing on, pressing Tim against the wall, quieting his messy rambles until they’re both panting, ready for more.

Well, that was all before the downward spiral, the one that cost them one former Robin in Gotham—back when he took up the mantle to keep Jason from staining it with blood, from defiling the meaning behind it all, Bruce’s mission. When he made the call for the right reasons…

Not that it mattered now.

“I can’t do this,” and Timmy doesn’t sound any better, pushing away even further, breaking him open wide. “I can’t—I can’t do this.” And the tone of voice, the words, the deep, husky quality fills in a lot of blank spaces for Dick Grayson; he knows the reactions, knows the subtle tells of Tim’s body when he wants. Under Dick’s hands and mouth, Tim had shown all his previous weaknesses in spades, allowing the eldest Robin a look into his very depths, to unravel all the secrets and mysteries. The only time Tim had ever offered insight into his soul.

Being pushed away, denied, is like a stab, sharp, cutting, biting, in the soft meat and ripe viscera rupturing underneath. It literally feels like he’s dying.

“I miss you,” and oh God is it true. He’s been functioning, moving for over a year feeling like one of his limbs has been cut off, turning automatically to talk to someone—who isn’t there anymore. When he’d taken the tunic away, when he’d done it without thinking, without reminding Tim just how much he was needed, wanted, would always, always, be utterly and completely necessary, when he’d done that, he’d been cutting himself off at the knees.   “I miss you and I’m still crazy about you, and—and I did what I thought was right, but I should have done it differently.”

Tim backs up until the kitchen counter in his Perch stops him, looking back at Dick without a cowl or a domino, just those blue-violet eyes narrowed slightly, full of old pain. (And it wasn’t as bad as the look Dick finally saw on old video footage from the Cave, when he was at the big computer with his back to his former boyfriend, missing the way Tim’s expression just crumpled in on itself, a mask of real, true pain before that terrible realization, the ‘I was never really part of it all anyway’ changed his face into the same separated neutrality Dick gets to this day).

And he cuts through Dick’s ramblings, forcing himself not to focus on the sentiments and false declarations (because really), he keeps his tone soft and firm, “unfortunately…I’m not available. Even if I was… I couldn’t. Not with you, not anymore.”

Oh.

Too late.

The pain is an immediate thing, low in hidden places he didn’t realize could hurt like this (too little, too late).

And Dick Grayson just lets his body slide back, brace against Tim’s fridge because his knees feel weak, and for a man that knows his body, knows his limitation, his strengths, his capabilities, he inanely thinks how odd it is. He dives off buildings, throws himself into fights, bends and twists to escape fatal traps, he’s an acrobat, a vigilante, and weakness like this is so uncommon.

With a shaky hand, he pulls at the domino, looking up bare-faced, and makes the question easy, “Kid or the clone, Timmy?”

It’s telling when red heats up Tim’s cheeks, darker against his pale skin, and his eyes move away to an uninteresting spot on the floor, and as absurd as it is right now, with his held hopes crumbling, the old recriminations biting at his heels, that the reaction can make him choke on a laugh, a genuine one. That he can drop his face into a gloved hand and snort because some things just never change.

And even getting this much is more than he could have hoped for.

**

Anon Sick!Tim or Sick!Tony prompt

Okay. But. If you had to choose. Tim Drake being the absolute badass he is but the second he gets sick around someone he trusts he turns into goo. Like be prepared to be a pillow and a servant until he's better where then he'll pretend it never happened. Or. Tony Stark being the badass he is and when he gets sick he gets more stressed (he thinks he's a burden) that he gets MORE sick until someone stops him and makes him sleep and eat and he never forgets so lots of secret gifts.

You know, I’ve done Sick!Tim, so maybe a little Sick!Tony just to round it off ;) And, ah, sorry but just fluffy? Maybe?

**

“Sir, this is the third warning. I have permission to set U lose should you not cease and desist at once.”

J.J.’s voice is just so matter of fact that it actually does permeate Tony’s running train of thought; he leans back from the hunched over crouch, several vertebrae popping in succession.

Unfortunately, leaning back makes him immediately light-headed enough that almost falls off the damn stool anyway. “Well, fuck,” is about accurate. The last fight had more of an impact than he realized.

“Scans indicate your core temperature is elevated.” And, yes, his AI sounds smug about it. All that Sir should rest after that many hits taken in one battle.

Well, going to feel it about now then. Fantastic. Schematics for the new navigation systems are due to R&D ASAP, and there’s a whole lot of damaged uniforms in need of fixing before the next Avengers fight, then he owes Fury the upgraded designs for the new helicarrier’s defense system.

Which means he has no time for this.

“All right,” he claps his hands, completely pretending not to feel the tingly soreness in his muscles, the headache starting right at the base of his skull, or the abrupt chill hitting him right in the upper body, “taking a break, J. We’ll start back on the Nav designs in four hours.”

“In that time, I suggest you contact Dr. Banner for a medical exam.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor,” Tony fills in as he stands, rides the headrush that makes the pounding progressively worse. Besides, Bruce always has to gossip to Nat, and Nat will tell everyone in the Tower just for her own amusement. She is exceptionally good at being an evil hell bitch when she wants. Hm, making a t-shirt with that phrase, just for her. In every color.

“I am certain he has and will make an exceptions for you.” Is J.J.’s smooth attempt.

“Touché, but we’ve already got a protocol,” he waves to DUM-E and U from their charging stations, and as he walks to the double doors (maybe slower than usual), the lights and systems power down behind him. The elevator is already waiting to take him upstairs to the Penthouse where he can start checking the reactor seal, make sure nothing was breached.

But, with the familiar arches and sick sucks feeling, he already knows the answer. A low whistle and Butterfingers is rolling out from the stocked shelves, following his creator to the elevator, and whatever previous events he’s learned from are telling when he sticks his arm straight for Tony to strategically lean on without seeming to do so. The bot probably thinks it’s a game, Tony is grateful one of them has some kind of discretion.

When they make it to the Penthouse, Tony gets as far as the island, sliding himself into one of the tall stools and braces himself for the next few steps. He breathes in, tightening his hands into fists to get the tingling sensation in his joints to calm down enough.

Butterfingers boops at him nonchalantly, small talk how about that weather, while he wheels to the cupboard at the back of the island where his tracks can fit just fine. And yes, the name is Butterfingers, but the bot is completely competent in grasping the handle of the bottom cupboard and opening the door. Likewise, he rolls back in to grip the handle of a large kit inside on the lowest shelf and sliding it on to his chassis to wheel around to Tony with more enthusiastic beeps.

“Mmhm,” his creator murmurs, eyes half-mast, “those really are the best kind of wrenches. Next time I’ll get you something better to play with, okay?”

Butterfingers boops back happily in agreement and lifts the large kit up in a claw, moving back and forth to wave it in Tony’s directions.

The mechanic takes it, choking on a laugh, and starts with the preliminaries. He spins slowly (to keep from falling) to scrub his hands at the kitchen sink in hot water before removing his shirt. He lays out the two sealed, sterile trays from the stacks, and gloves up before he opens any of them.

No blood around the reactor, but the bruising is absolutely beautiful, all dark blacks and purple. Apparently, that hit to the chest was a little more ow than he realized. Any compromise to the skin-on-metal seal could allow on-set infection, hitting his system like a freight train. The plan is to get the appropriate samples, ship them to Helen, and see what kind of antibiotics & etc. he would need to fight it off.

All the pizazz of being the Tin Man. Metal heart and all that.

He starts with a blood draw, leaning back to breathe, gathering himself to be steady when he already feels like doing nothing other than falling into bed for a few hours.

Priorities.

Well, that and a slightly compromised immune systems stemming from the metal magnet in his chest.

The band he manages to get around his bicep is faded blue, the ends already have teeth marks from other instances just like this one; he manages to get it tied without more fumbling than necessary and moves on to open the package with the syringe and vacuum sealed container.

He has to sit back and breathe, working the hand open and closed, getting himself steady before he can stabilize his left hand enough to actually hit a vein.

The bright red splashing into the container makes his eyes hurt slightly above aching sinuses.

Butterfingers accepts the padded envelope, one that would be sent to Helen’s lab for a discreet testing, wheels over to the far wall next to the door, and drops the envelope down a suction tube built in to his floor that could disperse anything necessary throughout the Tower (Pep hated it, just gave him more of an excuse to miss meetings).

The next samples are from the reactor/skin connection, the swab opened in gloved hands, run below the primary casing. It’s placed in a sterile vial with shakier hands, fumbled into a padded envelope and given again to Butterfingers.

Now the rough one.

Tony leans back for another get it together moment, waiting to crack the next swab just to make sure the sample is as pure as possible.

“Sir, this is highly unrecommended,” J.J. breaks in and there must be something terribly wrong with the intercom system in here because the voice cracks, fades in and out a bit.

Tony blinks owlishly up at the ceiling, adds checking the systems as another thing on the honey-do list. He ignores the warning and starts up with prepping his chest for the arc reactor seal to be disengaged and the unit to come partially out of his chest.

“Won’t be a problem,” he assures his AI, fighting down an abrupt roll of nausea. “Just a quick swab.”

Butterfingers boops worriedly at him this time, sliding his arm under Tony’s to brace. Agreeably, Tony wipes down the metal with an alcohol wipe; with a deeper breath than necessary, he palms the reactor and—

Opens his eyes to the Winter Soldier crouching a few feet away on top the island.

In full regalia, Jim’s eyes are granite gray and miss nothing.

Tony doesn’t jerk in surprise, but it’s a good damn thing.

“Troll,” the mechanic sneers.

There’s enough light that Tony can see the flash of teeth, a sharp smile, through the slits in the mask (reads as muzzle).

“Doll face,” Jim cocks a brow up at him, “thought we had a talk about this.”

“How was the mission, dear? Did you get to blow up anything exciting?” He diverts immediately and still feels like crap about it since he’s not in the best shape to meet his significant others home from a hard week at the office.

Jim moves out of his crouch, off the island, to look at the charming, charismatic pain in his ass. Between Tony and Stevie, Jim Barnes had enough to keep him mother hen instinct working overtime for the next seventy years. He works his sleeve up to press against Tony’s forehead, tisking at the smirking mechanic.

“Heya Sugar,” Jim calls to the ceiling.

“Yes, Bucky?” She chirps back, sounding suspiciously smug (and she had better not be on their side now—it’s enough Jim and Steve already have J.J.).

“Tell the others I found ‘im first, okay? Hundred points ta me.”

And because it’s just hilarious, he feels like ass and still laughs at the little things.

Good times.

The mask and gloves come off while he chorts, layers of the Winter Soldier sliding away on the island until Jim’s exasperated face makes his eyes dart away and pause in the last swab of the night, admittingly violating his own protocol for sick is ass. Besides, Helen would be able to make a diagnosis with the samples he’s already sent.

“Hit up Stevie too. Let ‘im know our fella ain’t feelin’ well.”

Oh God, not both of them.

“Completely unnecessary, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Belay that!” Tony leans up enough to brace his elbows on the island, talking that loud making his head do that thing again. He snaps the gloves off, still feeling shaky, “this part? Not conducive to hello, honey, how was your day. But, no, seriously, welcome back. Everyone good? Mission go well?”

Jim already puts a glass of water in front of him and two white pills. The flesh hand against his forehead is nice and warm while the metal one cool on the back of his neck.

“Mmhm. Standard usual, Tones. Y’ didn’t miss nothing good.”

As silently commanded, Tony takes the pills and drinks, keeps going until the glass is empty, and sleepy is starting to look like the perfect state of mind. The bandage underneath the reactor from this morning is still holding, so he can definitely take a few hours to get it together before uniforms in need of mending start coming in from the mission, just another thing on his never-ending plate of shit to get done.

“I hate it when I do, you know,” he returns with a somewhat pathetic yawn, and Jim steps a little closer, the hand on the back of his neck directs his listing upper body right against Jim’s stomach and chest where the Winter Soldier can be a total sap and wrap a throw stolen from one of the couches around his shoulders without letting go.

“Considering yer fevering and already starting with the shakes, I’m glad y’ didn’t come anyhow. J.J. woulda ratted you out faster than Sugar-Pie up there.”

“Need to reprogram him, both of them” Tony huffs right into Jim’s abdomen, eyes half-mast. The metal hand rubbing against the ache in his joints, making him huff out low, almost imperceptible moans (but, well, got pretty good ears over here, doll face).

Jim laughs low and soft, the flesh hand tunnels in to the mechanic’s curls, gently raking nails over his scalp, easing the painful points of the headache.

“Don’t much matter. He knows how ta take care o’ you, so’s only a matter o’ time until we got ‘em both on our side.”

Tony hums (because true, rude but true) closing his eyes, letting himself shiver against Jim and pull the blanket further around his shoulders.

“S’okay, Stevie’s gonna carry ya ta bed and I’m gonna make some warm soup, take the chill outta ya bones. Sound good, doll?”

But the shorter man is already half gone, making Jim’s mouth quirk just slightly.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer for the elevator to open up and the Cap, shield on his arm, to take the floor. Always the strategist, Steve’s eyes take in the scene, narrow, and he’s striding across the room, flipping the shield to his back and pulling his gloves off, shoving them in the tactical pocket of his uniform.

“Whadda we got?” He asks low, taking in the snoozing mechanic.

“Dunno. Looked like he was trying ta take a sample of the AR when I caught him at it,” Jim waves a hand to the open medical trays. “Pretty sure he was gonna pull it outta his chest, Stevie.”

The two super soldiers exchange an irritated glance, but Steve is already bending down, sliding his arms carefully under Tony’s back and knees. Jim’s hands gentle as the two of them ease Tony up into the Captain’s arms (and yes, Steve holds him up high enough to kiss the top of his head a few times, glad to see him after a week of being knee-deep in bad guys).

“Plan?” Jim starts down the hall first, opening the Master Bedroom door for Steve and moving to turn down the blankets.

“You hit the showers first. I’m going to start some soup and sandwiches.”

“Aw, Stevie. I was gonna make matzah ball. You geta wash first, and I’ll throw everything together.”

“Haven’t had the Barnes’ special recipe for a while,” Steve admits with a grin as he eases Tony’s lax form down into bed. “Sounds good.”

“When Tony wakes up, we’ll find out what all the trays are for. Gotta feelin’ this ain’t the usual round o’ the flu.” Jim shakes his head and eases the covers up over the sleeping mechanic.

Steve paces over to the wall-length closet and opens a section—one with very familiar jeans, khakis, and t-shirts. He pulls the black case on the floor, the one Tony made for the shield, out of it place first before getting out of uniform. Jim does likewise, opening his section and hanging up the Winter Soldier gear.

“Something with the reactor, huh?” Steve muses, toeing his boots off. “Anything you can tell us, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I apologize Captain.”

Both men quirk a brow at the ceiling.

“What if he uses his fancy pass code?” Jim snickers, down to an undershirt and the tight pants. He palms the twin .45s and slides them both into the holsters Tony had built in to the back of the closet door.

The notable pause is well worth the question.

“Avengers Emergency Protocol will allow the Captain to request a medical update of the team members, Bucky,” she fills in after a second. A very non-subtle hint, hint.

The Captain gives a put-upon sigh, “fine. But don’t think I’m not aware you just wanna get something to laugh at—“

“True,” Jim cackles, “don’t mean it ain’t gonna work, babe.”

“All right, all right. You take too much enjoyment outta of busting my balls, Sergeant.”

Now that look—that look is the same one from Brooklyn a lifetime ago, when shameless and scandalous was the fella’s M.O. Steve just laughs to himself when he catches it, when his heart stutters for half a second before righting itself. The curse of any time traveler—metaphysical vertigo.

But Steve puts himself back in the moment. They’ve had a rough week, Tony is apparently working his usual hectic schedule while feeling awful (and yes they recognize the signs and can now do something about it—another glaring benefit in the transition to “significant others” as Tony specified), and the others are in various stages of hurt, tired, and grumpy, getting themselves together on their own floor. The usual post-battle communal meal wouldn’t be for a few hours if everyone is already on their way to sleeping off the mission.

So: first, take care of his fellas, then make some food for his people.

Sound plan. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? All right, here it goes. ‘This is Captain Handsome ordering you to rock and roll on that 45.’” *

As usual, Jim plain out laughs (softer than normal since Tony is just passed out a few feet away) with it, and Steve gives him a patient look.

“Subject: Iron Man.” A hologram from one of the wall projectors pops up in front of them, a 3D image of a shadowed human body with circular arc reactor in his chest, a red splash of color around the bottom.

“Was it breached?” Jim asks, stepping closer, eyes wider. How long had Tony been getting sick?

“Not substantially,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. fills in. “A small tear in the connection between skin and metal, Bucky. It is, however highly susceptible to infections.”

The two exchange a look. The look.

“What’s Iron Man gotten into while we were gone, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

The AI goes silent a moment. “Boss has been answering the Avenger’s alarm since your mission, Captain.”

“By himself?” Jim interjects, eyes going to the lump on the bed. “We left Bruce and Wanda—“

The soldiers exchange an irritated glance and go back to eye-balling the bed.

“All right. When the team gets somewhat lucid, we’re having a meeting,” Steve growl out, pulling his undershirt over his head.  “Next protocol for consideration: no one goes out on an alarm alone.”

Jim peels his pants down his legs, tossing them in the special uniforms only bin. “He’ll be a pain in the ass about it, Stevie.”

And the Cap, hair a mess from pulling his shirt off, grins a little at one of his two best guys, “really, Buck? When ain’t he?”

They share a rueful expression and lean in, hands pulling, bodies fitting together in all the right niches.  A week of being around the others and toning down the PDA was just professional courtesy, but here, in their own bedroom (well, Tony’s but possession is 9/10th of the law, and they own the mechanic as much as he owns them), they can hold, touch, kiss, and take comfort in intimacy—the same way they did in their shared apartment in Brooklyn a lifetime ago, the same way they did in tents stationed outside France, Italy, Spain, and Normandy. The time may be different, the mad mechanic may be part of their bond now, but this, this, hasn’t changed.

Steve holds on to Bucky for another important second, breathing out against the brunette’s temple, stirring the hair there, and Jim sets his worry for Tony aside just long enough to shudder delicately at the press of skin, at Steve’s arms around him, holding on.

It’s comfortable and necessary, only one thing missing from the embrace—

A small noise from the bed, the mechanic shifting to his side, a hand flung out where other bodies should be.

The two soldiers laugh softly and pull back, looking at Tony with warm, soft eyes. But Jim, as much as he claims the opposite, is just as much of a sap as his two boys, and presses his mouth softly against Steve’s before pulling back to throw on sweats and a tank top. He’d get more details out of the AIs while cooking and fill Steve in on them. Once Tony was up to fill in the extra blanks, they were going to feed him, medicate him, cuddle the ever-lovin’ hell out of him, and make him sleep for another day.

“Going to hit the showers,” Steve leans down, noses at Jim’s jugular.

“Mmhm. I’ll have something fer ya ta eat when ya get out, babe.” Jim just tilts his head enough to allow the touch.

“Still worried too much about me, Barnes. Gonna make ya old before your time,” is a gentle tease, Steve sliding into the old accent when he feels particularly warm.

“Stop doing dumb shit then,” Jim snarks back, not even raising his head.

“Really?” And one broad hand goes up, fast and sharp, comes back down with feeling, aiming for Jim’s right ass cheek, the sound muffled through his sweats, and dammit if he doesn’t have to bite his lip to keep from yelping.

Smart, but Steve is already through the bathroom door, doing a little snickering of his own.

Rubbing the spot, Jim sneers at the closed door, but leans over and presses a few kisses to Tony’s forehead and jaw line without even making the mechanic twitch. Once he was awake, at least somewhat, and they got all the details on how do we take better care of you?, Jim will make sure he eats plenty, takes more medicine, and gets better.

After years of making Steve toe the line, Jim Barnes already has a plan.

**

A noise makes him come to blearily, an itch of panic takes hold. His body works even if his mind hasn’t caught up, legs and hands moving to try and stave off a blow to the—

Broad hand cups the back of his neck, pulls him into a familiar chest where a strong, clear heartbeat sounds like good things.

A hand in his hair, being gentle with nails scratching lightly.

Circles on his back made by a hand without any give.

“—oughta just give her a call, babe. It’s Cho, right?”

“Pretty sure. Don’t think she’ll tell me a whole lot—“

“Aw, Stevie. Like she can resist Captain America?”

Lips on his forehead, warm and just so nice.

“Spiking again?”

“Yeah. Need to try and get some food in him. I don’t like how light he feels.”

“I’ll get a bowl, get Sugar Pie to order us some raw ingredients, make ‘im a couplea good meals. Maybe if he eats, we can get some details on the arc breach.”

“You ask. He gets all weak when you give ‘em that look, Buck.”

“Who ya kidding? You get the same way.”

“…That’s…that’s so true—“

“A’course it is, punk. Just makes ya all the more susceptible ta my charms,” and a soft noise, lips touching, gentle hums.

Consciousness is here, and here to stay (for the moment), and he feels even more like ass when his brain finally catches up with the rest of his synapsis.

The pressure in his chest and sinuses, the ache in his joints, the cold feeling down to his bones, all big flashing signs of reactor breach.

Dammit. One of the unfortunate side effects of having a magnet in one’s chest—getting sick is usually worse than the normal garden variety.

“Hey, hey,” is Steve’s soft voice admonishing when Tony makes the attempt to get up, “don’t gotta move ‘til Buck gets back with some soup, Tony.” And those hands pulling him in just that much closer, do an excellent job of thwarting his well-meaning motion to get up and get back to the workshop.

He rambles, still muddled, about the list of things waiting for him, eyes already falling half-mast because Steve is just always so warm and comfortable, and there’s this perfect place on the shoulder/ collar bone so his ear doesn’t hurt, and he can smell Steve’s aftershave and fresh, clean skin.

“Nope, not happening, Shellhead. No workshop for you.”

The ensuing conversation might have some placating or some justification, but the Captain obviously ignores him, all for keeping a hand in his hair and the other around his back, keeping him completely weak and helpless and—

“Startin’ ta come around, doll face?”

“Work.” Is his slurred return reply because Jim would understand. Things needed to get done and if Tony’s down for any amount of time, who would—

“Ya ain’t going nowhere, Mr. Stark. Already had a word with Pep and One-Eye. Nothing gonna be needed ‘til ya fever’s down.”

Shit. Usually having at least one of them on his side means winning, but it’s really a moot point because he’s getting tired just from being awake and makes a questioning noise while his eyes slip closer and closer to good night.

And the feel of Jim’s warmth against his back again, the other soldier turning him with gentle hold, maneuvering Tony to be laying on Jim’s chest instead of Steve’s. Something warm close to his face, metal arm pressing around him—

“Open up, doll. Slaved over a hot stove ta feed my poor fella.”

And Jim smells absurdly good too, recently showered and shaved (and no fair his brain taunts him, missed the communal shower—saving water and all that), enough that he hums in appreciation and sighs in contentment.

Home. They’re both home—

“S’good ta be home,” is said softly against his mouth while Jim noses at his cheek.

“Missed you two, worried—”

Jim half-hums, half-laughs, and his eyes are that soft kind of gray, one that means he’s happy and safe and—

“Yer a good boyfriend, Tony. Gotta heart and all that. C’mon an open up fer me, yeah?”

When his mouth opens next, something good and warm is spooned in, and he swallows on instinct even if his throat is sore and scratchy. If he was just a little more on the up-and-up, this might be mortifying, being hand-fed like he was helpless. But Jim is relaxed while he focuses on the task, making soft humming noises in his chest, and Steve is right beside him against the headboard, running a hand through Tony’s hair and checking his forehead at intervals.

They talk softly and fondly, mission details he picks up between a spoonful of soup or a drink of water, his mind fuzzy with their presence and the medicine Jim made him take.

And since he’s lying in the tangle of their bodies, being fed, held, and oddly pampered, well, the usual urgency fades down to mild irritation, an itch of creation and completion. But the warm broth, fresh vegetables, noodles, and spices sliding into his stomach rules out the itch just as sure as Steve’s hands and low tone vibrating against Tony’s back and Bucky’s gentle laugh and equally gentle scolding.

**

*This phrase was really one Tony gave Steve in the comics. Lol, just because Tony couldn’t remember his own birthday.

Sad Anon: JLA Posthumous Award

Just throwing this out there: Tim Drake, AKA Red Robin (or whatever alias he was going at that time given his split from the Batfam), is posthumously and unanimously inducted into the Justice League. This could be after he dies during the multidimensional counterattack in the Fractured Destroyed universe/timeline, or some other verse where Tim dies in the line of duty away separate and away from the Batfam.

Tim is remembered as a Robin of legend among the Titans and the JL at large, but the Batfam struggles with their regrets for the rest of their lives. (I might be a little vindictive on Tim's behalf.)

Ah, I did something similar to this one time because SUFFER BATS! Lol, but I’ll give it another go for you, babe, okay?

**

Outside the Hall of Justice, the Batman steps out into the early morning quiet. Flanking him, the other founding members follow silently, solemnly. They stay with him, close, as he lowers each flag to half-mast.

**

The nameplate is added to the wall, below the original seven.

**

For the ceremony, the Titans accept the award, something to hang in their own remembrance hall. They all wear a yellow bandana (red, gold, and green was the OG Rob) tied around a bicep.

Kon-El and Kid Flash are turned slightly, trying to hide wet eyes and trembling forearms, trying to be the epitome of super and hide their mortal weaknesses.

Superman follows the group away and wastes no time in pulling his sidekick right into his chest to hold on, talking softly against the teenager’s ear—how sorry he is, how much Red will be missed, how he’ll be here for Superboy anytime, anytime.

It’s not the first time the hero has ever taken his “clone” (reads as son) into an embrace, given him desperately needed comfort, but it’s still not an easy thing, stiff and awkward, but Superman can’t help it. Some inner instinct drives him forward, wraps his arms around the younger man to just try. When Kon-El allows it, slumps to let the older hero take his weight, to let the pain and recriminations (where were we when he was bleeding out on the battlefield? Why didn’t I hear his heart slowing, stopping, until it was too late?) overcome him, Superman just picks him, carries him like a child while rubbing circles on his back and making soothing noises in the base of his chest where he can.

It’s a crucial moment that shows him how remiss he’s been—the moment he swears Kon-El, Conner, won’t be left alone without a safety net again.

The rest of the Titans disburse before the service is over—BB and Rave leave go back to their own little apartment in the Village to hold one another and remember the bird, their bird. Bunker will be taking some time off, to remember what it is he’s fighting for, or so he tells Cassie before he leaves, back to El Chilar and the man he left behind. If anything, Miguel has learned to cherish what he has while he has it.

Wonder Woman goes for Wonder Girl, making certain she puts a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder first, gives him a squeeze, just before she wraps an arm around the floundering teenager and flies.

A small inlet off the coast, a place where they once trained together, where Cassie Sandsmark was first given the lasso and bracelets, was taught how to use them, she tells all the stories, hands shoved in her thick hair, weeping while she recounts the best times, tries to burn them in her memory. It’s Diana that holds on to her, making supportive noises, laughing when necessary, her eyes wet and heavy with the terrible ones. And when the sun sets, when night picks up a peaceful pace in the rhythm of the sea, Cassie feels like she can breathe again without pain.

Without a word, Kid Flash runs. He runs like the world is ending. He runs like the Speed Force is going to suck the life out of him. He runs like he’s trying to escape the future. He runs until he’s screaming.

The Flash finds him in the Swiss Alps, bent over in the snow, tearing himself apart, ripping his uniform because he just wasn’t fast enough. And the older speedster knows what it’s like to bury someone you love that much—someone that would walk with you from one fight to the next, one catastrophe after another, someone that would step out in front of the fatal shot to save you. Someone that knew you, not the mask. And that’s why he doesn’t let Kid, his little bro, fight him on it. It’s why he breaks off from the JLA, lets the rest of them see to the obviously grieving Batman, follows no matter how far or how fast. It’s why he refuses to let Kid push him away, convince him all good, nothing to see here, it’s why he just sits his ass down in the snow and grips the smaller speedster tight, tucking the smaller boy into the shelter of his body to shake apart, to scream, to rip himself apart at the seams.

The bravest thing he’s done all day—is to keep holding on.

**

Flanked by superheroes on all sides, Ra’s al Ghul steps up to the podium, dressed in the colors of mourning.

The immortal speaks briefly on the character of the Red Robin, to agree his membership is long overdue. There is no mention of the Council of Spiders, the Widower that ended his life. The undertone, the he died alone in the desert while the rest of you moved on, is certainly there.

Slyly, he laments the loss of a great detective, one that would have fit among the ranks of the League of Assassins with such ease, and turns just enough to catch the Batman’s shadowed figure, offering his condolences for yet another dead bird.

From the audience of mourners, O makes a note to put cameras up around the sparse span of ground where Red would be buried in his civilian identity. Best not to give Ra’s the opportunity, he already has plenty of motive.

Beside her, Batgirl and the Black Bat look pale and worn against the darkness of their masks and suits, even with the whiteouts, O is aware Batgirl has been crying since she heard the news. Of course, didn’t they all have their regrets? Batgirl certainly for the deceptions and betrayal, the broken friendship and lost respect. And O knows the next few weeks, few months, few years are going to be full of the should’ve, could’ves in respect to keeping up with the former Robin, that maybe a phone call, an attempt to catch up, an attempt to get back into his life, no matter how miniscule, some level of effort on the part of the Bats could have made all the difference.

None of them would have felt like he wouldn’t want them to be here.

All his arrangements had been made, his final wishes come through lawyers not associated with Wayne Enterprises. The instructions were short, and obviously never meant to be seen by anyone in the cape and cowl crew. Just a simple coffin already purchased, an ordinary blue suit and white shirt, a generic headstone with his full name and the dates. O and Agent A are the ones who went to see the stone the day after when B was falling apart, down in the Cave, stripped of the Batsuit, and working the punching bag until Superman finally gave in, came to Gotham, and restrained the Bat in his massive arms, forced him to stop trying to work through the pain with more pain.

O and Agent A let the two heroes have their privacy so one of the few people on the planet Bruce would actually yield to at time could get through self-destructive rage.

Instead, they found themselves on the outskirts of Gotham, a husked-out neighborhood, staring down at the stark engraving, and O could keep it together, did so in fact, for N if nothing else. She prides herself on the ability to keep moving despite all the wrongness of the world, the burdens it wrought upon her, prides herself on the distribution of strength—until she and Agent A realize the only other markings on the stone is a small picture in the lower corner.

A robin.

When she cries, Agent A kneels down with old, creaky knees, wraps his arms around her shoulders, and holds on.

In this moment, with the JLA inducting Red Robin into their ranks, to honor his deeds and sacrifices, O is the one with both arms around Batgirl’s shoulders to keep the teenager grounded, to try and give her some much needed strength. Since Nightwing and the Red Hood refuse to let anyone comfort them, to let anyone near them, this is the best she can do.

**

One week

Robin stands in front of the glass case, staring at the familiar (and yet not) suit displayed. It’s the first one Drake wore during his time in the tunic—red, gold, and green instead of the strict red and black Robin recognized, one that signaled his predecessor’s downfall, when Drake’s Robin lost the vestiges of innocence, of light that previously embodied the Robin mantle, even after the years of fighting the worst, most twisted criminals on the planet. As he learned later, the red and black suit was meant to be the colors of remembrance when really it signaled something in his predecessor breaking open wide.

It is little wonder Father chose this suit to display.  To remember Drake as he was before.

And his eyes take in the details, the shuriken R, the laces over the chest, the nearly imperceptible broken stitches to create hidden pockets; he catches the glint off the ring added to the memorial—the same ring Father wore on occasion, the entire obvious one with JLA in a circle.

He had said the appropriate words during the ceremony: a good soldier. He knew the risks and died bravely. The epitome of a positive demise.

He said the right things Robin would have said about anyone in their ranks.

And yet, he has been in the Cave for hours, staring at this suit.

Father is finally sleeping, the alien apparently successful in pinning him down long enough to let his eyes close for longer than a few moments—to put his grief on hold. Grayson is in the wind, Todd chasing after him all over the country probably. Cain remains in residence, seemingly in no hurry to return to Hong Kong.

The three of them, him, Brown, and Cain, patrolled tonight, planned on where to meet up tomorrow.

Like him, like Father and Grayson and Todd, they show how deeply they mourning by fighting, trying to drown out the emotional pain with physical. The least he can do is be there should the situation become dangerous for them, to try and do his best to protect them, these two Drake cared about so deeply.

He’d played Pennyworth’s role in a safehouse close to the Wallstone apartments when dawn was but a few hours away, patching up the road rash on Brown’s arm up to the shoulder, making Cain wiggle her fingers while he bandaged her bloody knuckles.

When they parted ways, Cain followed Brown back to her own haven, and he returned to the Cave, his own meager injuries notwithstanding.

Rather, it is here, in front of the display where Pennyworth brought him tea and toast, informing him Father was out cold and Kent still in residence. Summer is here and no school to attend, so Pennyworth left him to his thoughts while he stares up at the colors of remembrance.

**

Nightwing has shaken off the Red Hood off his trail twice while he fights his way through Detroit’s seedy underground. He’s in the same suit he’s put on for days, clean, but ripped up and worn, an obvious I don’t give a fuck, I’ll still break you.

The fight tonight is a good one, constant to keep his mind from taking a stroll other places. A lot of guns and knives to keep him on the move, a lot of strong players with righteous left hooks or upper cuts, guys in fight clubs that earn the real cash. It makes the vigilante that much more vindicated when bone crunches under his fist, his boot, when blood arcs wildly, when he takes a few good ones himself.

It’s pain he needs.

And the ghosts follow him when he moves to the next hot spot, only a duffle of belongings for the trip. The next BI safe house is outfitted with the usual gadgets and first aid; he wraps his bad knee and ignores the laptop, the comm link, and anything else that would let O trace him. Instead, he drinks water while standing at the kitchen sink, staring out into the daytime like it’s a curse—he needs nightfall, he needs the dark and the shadows to twist and bend around him (Batman). He needs the fight and all the broken skin that goes right along with it.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from seeing Ra’s al Ghul walking into the Cave holding Tim’s body in his arms, close against his chest.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from screaming until his throat rips and his ribs creak, until his lungs tear, until he can forget the feeling of cradling Tim’s cold, stiff body, of the matted blood around the fatal wound. It’s the only thing that can cover up the recriminations and regrets, the where-were-yous and how-could-you-have-let-this-happen-agains. It lets him get out of the endless loop of reliving the last time they’d spoken in person, when he’d given Damian the Robin mantel without Tim’s knowledge, when he let Tim leave Gotham alone.

In the broken mirror of the shoddy bathroom, his upper body is a roadmap of bruises and contusions, half-assed sewn-up lacerations; he peels the falling apart gauze pads off, ignores the old blood, and gets in a weak shower of cold water, his eyes falling half-mast while the water washes over him.

And it’s just like that moment when he’d taken Tim’s body from Ra’s, fallen to his knees, and laid his cheek against Tim’s to cry, it’s pain and regret, cold and terribly hollow.

It’s a place he expects to be for a while.

**

One year

Ra’s al Ghul is not normally one for anniversaries. In his extensive lifetime, he’s had many moment, dates, he could celebrate, and all those instances would fill a year ten fold.

Rather, he is a man to celebrate accomplishments. The ones in need to careful planning, time, care, those are the ones he chooses to remember.

This will be one of those.

“Demon’s Head,” one of his soldiers bows low, “we are ready at your will.”

“Excellent,” said absently while he raises a hand to the large, wooden box sitting on a stone slab, the usual eerie green glow reflecting off the dark wood. “Prepare the platform.”

His people do as instructed, working to bring the descending platform level. When the Demon’s Head is pleased with the results, he gives a simple nod to continue.

The box is loaded on the platform by four more soldiers, centered perfectly.

“As I once said to your mentor,” he begins casually, “true greatness cannot be learned or acquired. It cannot be made. It must be bred.” The platform rises steadily, pulled by a soldier at either fulcrum points, and Ra’s eyes follow the progression intently. “Those in this world with the genetics are the ones bound to save it.”

Carefully, the platform moves, follows the track until it looms over the suspicious body of liquid. “I had planned to wait as long as necessary. Until you were older, mature, until you understood the real way the world must work and why the balances of power must be occasionally tipped.”

He sighs a little wistfully for those days, for better days.

“The unforeseeable circumstances almost foiled all of my carefully laid plans, plans to tip the balance. Plans that hinge—on you.”

The platform comes to the end of the track and sways just slightly, alarmingly. An ominous click begins a slow descent.

“But we can still have our day, can’t we? You will still save the world. At my side, we will be unstoppable. Where I have failed with others, I will not fail again with you.”

And the platform starts to sink into the turgid green waters, the box sinking with it.

“We shall have our day, won’t we, Timothy?”

**

Thank-you for following and reading! I’ll post Part II when I get them done, lol

#200 followers #prompts #an amalgamation #I love you guys seriously #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #some mentions of #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers #ra's al ghul #is a creeper as usual #my writing #my fic #blind!tim au #no home for dead birds #fracture verse #forward momentum

[iphoenixrising]

Okay. Okay. Okay. Dickie's gone and got himself kidnaped. I LITERALLY CANNOT WAIT TO SEE HOW TIM REACTS. he's gonna be so mad and worried and he's full of owfucks right now so he realistic can't do much outside work. Oh the ways which Timothy Jackson Drake WILL LECTURE the asshole known as Richard Grayson once he's back. Please please give me a lecture scene. Because hurt Timmy yelling at Dick (and Jason let's be real) is my fave.

Lol. Dick Grayson eveyone. It’s dangerous? I’m on board. You know, that guy. Ah, Tim is probably going to be hitting about an eleven on the angry scale, so I might get a chance to give him full-on mother-hen rant. 

It get worse when they figure out who Dick is chasing because oh Timmy, isn’t that the guy that sold you out to those asshat terrorists? Does that mean they might be back in the game?

And Tim just facepalming like fuck because now he needs another plan. Or series of them. Which is very possible.

But, thanks for checking out Fracture and showing me your loves!