matrix !!

poc | he/she | 18+ | no one can erase you. i'm still here

[rizztaglia]

Bruce: It's pride month Tim

Tim: What? So you want me to solve crimes gayly??11/1/1!?!?!

Bruce: ... Tim: ... Bruce: ... Tim: Ok.

Bruce: ?????

Tim:

Bruce: ??

I like to imagine that Matt Fraction's Batman #9 happened in june cause why not.

[matrixx-level]

ok so expansion on the fake dating au cuz you guys maybe liked it and someone reblogged it with the most wonderful compliments and yeah omgee i love them-

“Tim! Mr. Tim Drake-Wayne! Who was that mysterious boy you were seen with at the previous Wayne Gala hosted for women’s shelters?” a voice screams out from within the crowd, as reporters and paparazzis alike rapidly snap pictures on either side of the red carpet leading into Wayne Manor.

Tim snaps his head over to the right where he heard the voice, and smiles a big, ditzy grin he had practiced in the mirror before getting ready for this as he walks over to the journalist he assumes it to be. He grabs their microphone, and shouts right into the camera so as to be heard over the deafening cacophony, “His name is Bernard Dowd, and he’s my boyfriend!”

He lets go of the microphone with fluttering lashes and a wiggle of his fingers, dashing up the rest of the stairs to catch up with his family, who were already well through the doors. He had almost laughed at the journalist’s frozen shocked face, before letting slip a low giggle at the renewed frenzy from the crowd who had heard his explanation, his name ringing through the air as it followed him into the gala.

It only takes a minute before he hears his name shouted again, but this time, from a voice he wants to hear. A voice that he can’t wait to familiarize himself with.

“Tim!” Bernard calls, shuffling through the crowd of elites and celebrities with an equally manic smile that matches how Tim is feeling on the inside as he makes his way over to him.

Truthfully, Tim hasn’t stopped feeling this giddy since he and Bernard had concocted their plan and had impulsively followed through with it. He’s never felt like this before, never just- done something because had wanted to, because he had wanted to be reckless and stupid with a friend. Before- well, before Robin, Tim’s only friends had been the occasional acquaintances at school, his camera, and spiritually, Batman and the second Robin. That hadn’t changed once he had gotten the mantle. He was too busy training to be worthy of the mask, of the insignia on his chest, of the heavy boots he had to fill.

And he had to fill them. For Batman. Because a Batman without a Robin is…it’s unacceptable. Incomprehensible. So Tim had made it happen, with his own bare hands and sheer stubborn will. In the middle of all of that, where would there be time for friends, or mischief, or teenage shenanigans? There wasn’t. That had never existed for Tim. So maybe, that was why it had been so easy. He hadn’t really known that’s what he was doing.

He had just…looked into Bernard’s eyes, and he had seen a sparkling cosmos full of possibilities, and he hadn’t been able to help himself from spitting out the first idea he had thought of with no regard to the consequences. He had been drawn in by Bernard’s charm- his loud, confident personality, his inability to mind a person’s personal space- (if he wasn’t slinging an around around Tim’s shoulder or squeezing his forearm or tugging on his hand, then he was ruffling his hair or knocking their dress shoes together or poking Tim’s cheek to make him scrunch up his nose and huff out a laugh), his brash, dry humor, his unhinged, startlingly-insightful theories that made Tim just want to give him a tinfoil hat-

And really, when Tim had complained about being almost overstimulated from all the noise and shiny things (he made possibly had had a light concussion at the time as well. or a headache, it was probably just a headache-), Bernard’s expression had softened, in a way that it hadn’t in the hours that he and Tim had talked in their secluded corner, and he hadn’t bumped their shoulders together with a knowing smile as he had asked if he wanted to get out of there.

Tim had held his gaze, his heart had squeezed and skipped a beat, and really, he couldn’t have helped the way he tongue had loosened as the last of his braincells had vacated.

So anyway, all this to say, in the present where Bernard is sort of run-walking towards him in a polite but also hurried way, Tim reaches a hand out and Bernard takes it, tugging Tim into a hug. He whispers into Tim’s ear, “My parents hate that I might have a supposed boyfriend. Think we should kiss in front of them?”

He pulled back with that same mischievous glint in his eye and that same, crazy smile that looked like it made his face hurt, and Tim could only helplessly, fondly, smile back as his ears flushed red.

He nodded.

“Yes. Yes, we should.”

He’s not gay. Somehow, in the weeks since the last gala, he’s completely avoided any and all conversation about the possibility with his family, even despite their nagging and not-so-subtle hints and looks. Mostly, he knows that they’re a bit hurt he hadn’t told them before letting the public see. And obviously he doesn’t want to talk to them about it because there’s nothing to talk about but also…he just doesn’t want to. For some reason, this entirely new and exciting and strange thing with Bernard feels…private, even though the whole point of it is that it’s so incredibly public even your grandma knows about it. But. Bernard leads him further into the gala and they both grab some sparkling water on their way to the hors d'oeuvres table and he keeps hold of Tim’s hand as he keeps looking back at him with a smile, a dazzling, shy smile with accompanying blush on his cheeks, and Tim just. Why would he tell his family about that? About this?

About Bernard’s blonde lashes as they tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly after hearing something particularly stupid, about the way Bernard sucks on part of his bottom lip while he thinks deeply, his eyes narrowed and piercing. About how Bernard passes Tim a small plate of cucumber sandwiches because he somehow already knows Tim loves cucumber even though he never mentioned it, and about how he almost accidentally bumps into a beautiful 30-something year old and immediately winks at her once he gets a good look at her face, only simpering at her more when she acts all bashful accordingly.

No. No, there’s nothing to tell. Tim’s not gay, and this is just a ruse so he and Bernard can keep doing what they want when they can get away with it. It could possibly be a very long term thing that Tim could make use of for Robin. And. And. And.

Bernard holds out his hand for Tim to take so they can dance to the music, so they can waltz under the glittering chandeliers and in amongst all the other couples standing close with their hands on each other’s waists. He’s grinning and he’s giggling at the ridiculousness of this whole thing and so is Tim and Tim doesn’t even notice he’s grabbing hold of Bernard until he’s already being pulled into a spin, their steps shadowing each other’s in perfect sync like they’d already done this a million times before. Like this was their tenth gala together instead of their second, like they were meant to be. Like the way that Bernard looked down at him from his two inches above him with his shining hazels and his raised blonde brows and his perfect, perfect grin was real. Like they were the only real thing in a room full of fakes.

Like they’re two young boys in love, who will escape together for a second time once they’ve tired of the dancing and the mingling.

Tim isn’t gay, and this isn’t real.

But maybe, as he and Bernard twirl and spin together, chests pressed tightly against each other, hands clasped and arms wrapped close, as the songs wind down and they giggle and gasp for air even though Tim has done worse fighting against Killer Croc, as they finish downing their drinks and shovel the food into their mouths, as they try and sneak away hand in hand, again, much to Bruce’s chagrin from what Tim can see of his face before they’re out of sight-

Maybe, as he and Bernard run run run as far as they can, their laughter lighting up the evening with something like friendship (something like love-) and their hands never letting go of each other, maybe it’s the most real thing Tim had ever felt in his life.

Maybe the freedom of falling through the air with his grapple clutched tight in his hand as the wind and the ground come rushing up to greet him as he patrols as Robin, has nothing on Bernard’s arms wrapped tight around him as they pretend this is the only embrace they could ever need (as they pretend they don’t want to press their foreheads together, their noses close and brushing, their breaths warm and mingling, their lips-)

Maybe this is what true freedom is.

[matrixx-level]

ive kind of had this niggling brain worm since i started thinking of timbern but idk….

league au where instead of bern getting caught up in a pain cult because he lost the two people he cared the most about, he and tim both get kidnapped before darla ever get shot and they’re trained and molded into league of shadows assassins. initially ofc bernard was just kidnapped as leverage against tim, but then he fights back, and he and tim naturally fight side by side, back to back, gravitating towards each other and ra’s gets to thinking. the detective was his goal, the detective would always be his goal. infinitely more interesting than his other siblings (other than damian of course, who had only recently joined the bat family), with bruce a semi-close second. but if the detective’s…friend…was to be by his side, if the detective found this bernard dowd interesting enough to keep, then who was ra’s to dismiss his usefulness?

so he trains them together. he picks their brains apart, he tests them. and of course, the detective is as he has always been since ra’s first met him- since he met this child who was smarter than the batman. he’s strong, and he’s fast, and he’s well trained, and he sees through all of ra’s schemes. he knows most of his tricks and traps by now, and he helps his friend through it all. yes, he and bernard, fighting against the odds, looking to each other when things get hard, when they get brutal. it’s as if they can’t help by search for the other’s gaze, can’t help but reach out and try and help. wipe away the blood, soothe the bruises.

bernard is, of course, squishy. he’s too human and faulty and ignorant. ra’s was expecting this and it still makes his lips curl when he watches him. but still. there is something there. a sliver of potential. in the way that bernard of course does not known ra’s like tim does, but he still sees through him with piercing hazel eyes, a gaze so sharp it could sharpen his sword for him. ra’s was almost caught off the guard the first time he noticed that glare- almost put off his rhythm by those knowing eyes peering into his blackened shredded soul. but he is ra’s al ghoul, so he does not trip. does not falter. simply orders the boy to go again. go through the training course again, pick up his sword again, arrange the throwing knives again, go through the motions of that particular fighting stance again.

and truly, he had not expected the boy to do so well at chess.

the white and black pieces fight for space and bernard places his piece in checkmate and ra’s tries not to clench his jaw because he is the demon head and the demon head does not clench his jaw when he unexpectedly loses chess to a 17 year old nobody child. no. he simply challenges the boy to another game. and then another. and another.

while he has the detective and mr. dowd within his iron grasp, the batman is scrambling all over gotham, searching for his missing robin, and so is his gaggle of other children ra’s is sure. he is sure that by the end of the second week he will get a phone call. and he will be sure to answer it with a grin full of half-rotted, green-stained teeth.

in his endeavor to ensure the boys’ full cooperation, he had tore mr. dowd open- mostly because the detective had been the capable one before ra’s had made something anew out of mr. dowd. but then because he had re-built mr. dowd from the ground up, the boy had of course, become a creature of malice and brutality, so he had threatened him as well by slicing the detective through. it was really quite easy, they cared so much for each other. it was almost sickening if ra’s didn’t begrudgingly respect that which the detective loved and cared for. especially a squishy human such as mr. dowd who had proven himself quite…unordinary.

ra’s received his phone call. right on schedule, even. how unfortunately predictable. if it had been the detective on the line, ra’s was sure that he at least would have called a day earlier. or maybe a day later, depending on how thoroughly he would have searched gotham, and how many contacts he would have called. nonetheless, it did not matter anyway. ra’s had lied through his teeth about having tim drake-wayne in his clutches and he knew that meant the batman was on his way to him. most likely with an entire calvary to ensure the safety of his son.

no matter. ra’s had his fun. and he has made something at least half-worthy out of the detective’s…friend.

sometimes, he’ll see them together, when there is a rare, small moment of respite. they stand close, and mr. dowd slings his arm around the detective’s shoulder, their bodies close and their hair entwining as they press their heads together. and it’s quiet, as they simply hold each other. but then, inevitably, the taller of the two - mr. dowd - will start talking about nonsensical things, things from the outside world, rambling about ideas that don’t make sense and imaginings that even a child would raise a brow at. and the detective just- listens. he looks up at his friend(?) with enraptured eyes and an interested pinch to his brows as if he could listen to his friend ramble for hours. maybe even days. and ra’s realizes that he most likely has, in the time they’ve been here. ra’s had twisted their flesh and their minds for weeks, and in the quiet moments, when even the ninja in the shadows weren’t looking, mr. dowd would rant and ramble, and the detective would listen- his lips twisted and his expression awed. like, even in this place, this dark, bloody, anguished place, full of their shared pain and burdens, there is nowhere he’d rather be, as long as he could keep listening to his friend.

and ra’s…maybe he had found the jackpot. maybe, when the batman inevitably crashed the party and rescued his son (and subsequently his son’s friend), ra’s could eventually try again. maybe kidnap just mr. dowd, and lord him over the detective until he got what he wanted (the detective working for him and being unable to ever leave again, of course.) or maybe he could kidnap them both again, and then possibly drive the detective to the point of no return by killing mr. dowd in front of him?

any of it could work for his own gain. he supposed he’d just have to see with time.

anyways, it takes a total of three weeks for batman to rescue the kids. in that time, ra’s relishes in having the detective to himself, incapable of getting himself out so long as he had his friend’s health to consider. and ra’s finds himself pleasantly surprised by said friend- yes, maybe he’d keep a tab on him too, separately from the detective, just because. not for any particular reason, no, of course not. bernard dowd normal and human in a way that tim drake was not- but also, there was…something there that made ra’s want to crack open his chest and dig around in his heart and soul for that interesting taste. he won’t forget this little lamb for a long time coming. not at all.

mr. dowd and the detective only had each other in the pits of ra’s curated hell, and ra’s had watched as they only grew stronger, continuing to fight and fight and fight, all while holding onto each other as tightly as they could.

ra’s will miss them. how entertaining they were. how utterly stimulating they were. maybe he could send his assassins to stalk them for a little while, just to feed a little bit of his curiosity.

yes. and maybe, on a lonely, Saturday night, when they’re alone and playing chess together, maybe his assassin would see their feet tangling together under the table, and their empty hands intertwining while the other hands move the pieces, and tim’s narrowed eyes as he scowls at bernard for making a move outside of the maneuver that he knew bernard was going for and that which he knew bernard changed mid-motion specifically because tim knew, and maybe the assassin would catch sight of bernard tracing the scars on tim’s arms that he had put there himself before a silver glint flashes in the moonlight and everything goes dark.

yes. maybe bernard and tim both knew immediately that they were being stalked, and they sat down to play because ever since they got back to being civilians bernard has had this itch- and really it’s not his fault when the knife tucked into his sock goes flying through the air, as silent as a mouse, and catches the assassin’s eye, straight to their brain.

it wasn’t tim’s either of course because batman doesn’t kill and neither does robin and actually robin fights the killers he would never endorse one he would never keep his eyes glued to a chess board while his…friend…eliminates the threat, no, robin would never do that.

[nyukaart]

Robin shut up you're scaring the hoes

[matrixx-level]

timber fake dating au where berns’ family is rich and well known (not wayne level but maybe like drake level?) and they meet at a wayne gala when they’re both like 15 or something (tim became drake-wayne earlier cuz jack died earlier and obv he’s still robin).

and they’re bored out of their minds and when they meet immediately bernard blurts out a conspiracy abt the wayne galas being fronts for bruce to conspire with batman to operate their cloning empire or something and tim laughs so hard he cries and they become really fast friends. and they decide that they need to come up with a cover to get away from the galas when they’re this mind numbing and they’ve had it up to here with haughty old ladies pinching their cheeks and asking little timmy when he’s gonna take over his dad’s company and tiny bernie when he’s gonna host his own dowd gala or whatever, and tim thinks of all the times that bruce has covered up his scenes as batman by being a bumbling himbo womanizer and eureka that’s it, that’s the plan!

he tells bernard they just need to be airheaded giggly boyfriends who want to run off and go…make out, or whatever it is giggly high school boyfriends do, and bernard is staring at him with big, sparkly hazel eyes and a manic grin that splits half his face and ofc bernard agrees he’s certifiably insane and maybe so is tim (it’s a definitely, especially if you asked bernard).

and so they’re grabbing onto each other and stumbling out of the gala and their faces are inches apart and they’re faking, of course they are, they’ve only known each other for as long as the gala has been going on with it’s sparkling chandeliers and champagne and jewelry hanging off of simpering benefactors, and maybe the way they’re looking into each other’s eyes as suddenly-interested papparazzi snap scandalous photos is all made up but tim- tim is kind of forgetting that they’re meant to be escaping with bernard’s loud, bright laugh in his ear and his fluffy blonde hair falling into his eyes- his eyes that are so mischievous and shine with so much brilliance, tim doesn’t think he’s ever met someone as smart as bernard and he’s only known him for a few hours but- but-

they sneak away and all the adults that catch them running arm in arm just roll their eyes fondly and shake their heads and a few of them shout after them asking why they aren’t with their parents so really, tim was an evil genius for this plan because it goes amazingly well, and well, they’re going to have to keep this up for the next gala and tim is actually excited about that because that means he can use this cover for, well, anything really- not just getting away from the noise but also maybe for robin?

but it’s all kind of drowned out of his head as his gaze keeps getting caught on bernard’s smile, so wide and caught full of teenage guilt and excitement and they’ve fully escaped by now but tim can’t stop thinking about bernard’s cheap shampoo and lemony laundry scent as bernard spins around him with delight. they’re in the backyard of wayne manor, where no one will see them, but also they’re still at the manor so bruce can’t be upset that they left exactly. and the moon is high in the sky and shining bernard in silvery blues and tim- he’s not gay, of course he’s not, and well- he knew what he was getting into when he convinced bernard of their plan, he knew he’d be called all sorts of things, none of which of course would be true, including the label of gay- he knew they’d plaster it all over the news and social media and he knew that he’d have to talk to his family about it and he knew that he, well, he came out when he’s literally straight, but. tim would normally think long and hard about all of those things, about all of the consequences, for hours, but there was just something about looking into bernard’s eyes and feeling this rush spark in his chest at the thought of being in bernard’s arms and faking something he hadn’t even thought of, not once, in all his 15 years of living. but. here they are, here tim is, here bernard is, and they’re laughing and they’ve escaped the misery that is a wayne gala and there’s a lump in tim’s throat and bernard is- he’s-

he’s so beautiful. in the soft rays of the white faced moon, in the darkness of the night, in his all black suit and dirtied up dress shoes, with his hair ruffled and wild from the wind and tim’s hands. he’s the most beautiful thing tim has ever seen.

and tim…can never say a thing.

[matrixx-level]

update:

im so fucking obsessed with timbern now omfg someone save me (don’t save me) i can’t breathe im exploding im having an episode (i need them injected in my veins, don’t save me) I WILL EXPLODE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH (DO NOT. SAVE ME.)

Coughs. Anyways.

might lowk write snippets or fics and post them here idk we’ll see um. i am. mentally unwell. :)

[plagueislost]

a superblond value study for the soul 😌

[savoye]

superblond community let me in i have a warrant

[savoye]

bernard vs. the allegations ft. batblob & boyfriend

[timdrakesstepmum]

bernard (on the phone with tim): turn around

bernard: no the other way

bernard: again, the other way

bernard: no not there, one more time!

tim: OH MY GOD WHERE ARE YOU?

bernard: i’m not there yet, but the thought of you aimlessly turning around in circles amuses me

[lukadeedoodah]

Happy pride from the karaoke booth! (they have not been doing any singing)

[blurrilines]

Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈

[akaanmo]

guys who is that guy next to robin

[akaanmo]

their miis end up in a throuple (in a perfect world it's possible)

[the-kinning-hour]

In his sophomore year of high school, when he was 16 years old, Bernard Dowd went to Tim Drake’s house.

This was an uncommon commodity in their friendship. Tim was an exceptionally “busy” boy for someone who had no hobbies other than skateboarding and, from what Bernard hears, a bit of photography. Tim, like most teenagers, was embarrassed of his parents from time to time and how they might be perceived by his peers. Bernard’s parents were… the way they were, with him. So it wasn’t always that the circumstances lined up for a house visit. And it wasn’t always that Bernard or Tim would bother to ask after one. They much preferred to bum around town, anyways.

But one day, Bernard did go to Tim’s house. It was rather nice. His dad was… well, not as scary as dads normally were in Bernard’s experience, and his stepmom was pretty nice and made such a mean pie it made you forget how young she was.

Then again, Bernard couldn’t judge their relationship. Older people kind of did it for him, too, for reasons he never wanted to think about too deeply.

So after the obligatory dinner and conversation, Bernard followed Tim up to his bedroom. It was fairly normal at first. They talked and they played on Tim’s impressive collection of consoles, losing time. And then Tim spilled his Zesti on himself while drinking, somehow. Which was hilarious, so of course, Bernard laughed accordingly and followed his friend as he trudged to the bathroom to clean his hands and chest before the stickiness settled in.

Once Tim had finally cleaned himself off, now sporting a damp shirt, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror. Bernard had no idea what his friend saw, but Tim’s eyes widened just a fraction before he was rifling through a drawer and whipping out a bottle so fast that Bernard didn’t register what it was until Tim was dabbing it on his cheek.

Makeup. Drake owned makeup. More than owned it— he wore it.

Bernard’s thoughts screeched to a halt as he struggled to comprehend what, exactly, he was looking at. Tim didn’t seem even slightly put off by the fact Bernard was here, watching him put on makeup. Which, okay, men wearing makeup isn’t, like, world boggling new information. Rockstars do it! And, um… probably some other guys. And gay guys. Did he mention rockstars? Yeah, so, it’s totally… normal to wear makeup. For those people.

But Tim isn’t a rockstar, or gay. Tim is— Tim. Was he doing this to be funny? Was this supposed to be funny?

With a strange clamminess, Bernard barked a laugh, because he’s supposed to. Because guys don’t wear makeup. They just don’t do that.

Tim shot him a look, brow raised in a bit of judgment and a bit of amusement. “What’s so funny?” He asked, definitely sarcastically. Bernard wondered if he does his eyebrows, too, like those chicks in movies. Or maybe they were naturally perfect like that.

Bernard swallowed around a dry mouth. “You, dude. Why do you have that?” He nodded to the open bottle of… of… something the same shade as Tim’s skin. It’s ever so slightly too pale, he couldn’t help but notice. Tim’s face is a little warmer these days. A result of evenings spent roaming around town with Darla, the three of them trying desperately to soak up the meager sun that peaks through the always-grey clouds.

Bernard internally bashed himself for even noticing that. He shouldn’t have noticed that.

Tim frowned. “To cover my acne. Why?”

Bernard fumbled. Why? What does he mean, why? Doesn’t Tim know what would happen if he was caught with that shit? He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he struggled to put his jumbled thoughts into words. “Well,” he said. “It’s… it’s makeup.”

Tim turned to squint at Bernard, then. His strikingly blue eyes narrowed slightly. Dangerously. “Yeah,” Tim said. “It is.”

An uncomfortable feeling squirmed in Bernard’s stomach. It reached up and squeezed the life out of his chest, constricting until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried for something more casual and normal and not freaking out over a tube of whatever that is. “Just— I mean, it’s— normally… We’re dudes, Drake.”

Somehow, that was the wrong answer. Tim carefully set the tube of unidentified makeup down on the counter. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he told Bernard evenly. Then he left the bathroom.

Bernard didn’t immediately chase after him to soothe whatever damage he caused by being weird. Instead, he stared at the inconspicuous cream-colored tube on the counter. He picked it up with shaking hands.

dissimulateur/corrector, it said. High-definition concealer. 02, Porcelain.

Bernard shot a desperate glance to the doorway. But there was no Tim to stop him, to call him a creep for touching his stuff, to call him weird for being so hung up on the stupid plastic tube of concealer. The hallway was empty. So he shut the door, even as an uncomfortable guilt swam in his lungs.

He faced the mirror like it was his execution. Then he… tried it. He twisted the little cap off and put just a little bit of the substance on his trembling fingertip. He slowly and cautiously swiped his finger across his cheek, as if it might bite him.

It… felt strange. Cold against the bathroom air. Wet, but not liquid. It was the wrong color. Too pale for him, too. It stood out starkly against his freckles, hiding them from sight. He looked a little naked without them. He definitely felt naked. Which was weird, because he was now wearing more than he was before. He was wearing makeup.

Oh. Oh god. He’s wearing makeup.

Bernard’s heart jumpstarts and goes straight into heart-attack territory. He drops the tube of concealer and flicks on the faucet, frantically rubbing the makeup off his finger. Then he swipes at his cheek with his wet hand, grabbing a towel to make sure he really got it all off.

Mom was going to kill him. Fuck. Would she be able to tell? Could Dad tell? He’s dead. He’s fucking dead.

“Bernard?” Tim called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Are you coming back, or are you sleeping in the bathtub tonight?”

Bernard startled hard, dropping the towel in his hands. Shit. He hurried to fix it back on its little hoop-thing, and twisted the cap back on the concealer, and turned off the faucet and tried not to look like someone being chased down with a hatchet. He opened the door. “Drake!” He greeted with a smile. “Hey, man! Let’s boot your PlayStation back up.”

The concealer was not put back in its drawer. It lay on the counter, beside the sink, reflected in the mirror.

[duplexbiscuit]

[plagueislost]

narrator: it was not, in fact, a surprise.