Okay so since my post about how dead on main fics are wholesome but deadtired fics are all hella depressing, and my other post about reading roughly 600k words of fic in 3 days, I decided to make a list of all the fics I read, with links.
The Haunting of Danny Fenton by PaperPuffin (Unfinished) [Dick x Danny x Wally] {17k}
Teathered Decay & Fastened Renewal by CozyEarth (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {47k}
Vertical Limit by hppjmxrgosg (unfinished) [Danny x Tim implied] {68k}
Mesmeric Revelation by DisillusionedDanny (finished, pt 1) [Danny x Tim] {72k}
Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing by DisillusionedDanny (unfinished, pt 2) [Danny x Tim] {2k}
To Love and Be Loved by DisillusionedDanny (unfinished, p3) [Danny x Tim] {21k}
Better off Dead by DisillusionedDanny (Finished) [Danny x Tim] {67k}
These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends by DisillusionedDanny (Finished) [Danny x Tim] {64k}
The Nature of Kings by SunridersDestiny (finished) [Danny x Tim] {29k}
My Name is Not Wonder Boy by CrepuscularCryprid (unfinished) [Tim x Danny] {52k}
The blob by Filonikou (unfinished) [Danny x Tim] {36k}
Rounds at Midnight by WindyEngel (unfinished) [Danny x Tim] {46k}
The dead don't sleep! How Silly! by orphan_account (unfinished) [Danny x Tim] {49k}
Pathetic is My Type by Shadows019 (finished) [Danny x Tim] {38k} [(Fucking hilarious)]
Welcome to Gotham, Please Enjoy Your Crime by WindyEngel (finished) [Danny x Tim] {32k} [(Fucking Hilarious)]
Birds of a Feather by WindyEngel (finished) [Danny x Tim] {79k}
Tying the Knot with Phantom by Demon_23 (unfinished) [Danny x Tim] {30k}
Raising Dan by AshleyReyland (Oneshots) [Danny x Tim] {31k}
I Do Not Trust the World With You by pastistoday (finished) [Danny x Jason] {84k} [(Dead Dove-ish, its all consenual)]
Vacation (Far, far away) by Dazaimonamour (finished) [Danny x Jason] {31k}
Finally Getting Help by pastistoday (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {36k}
How to Become a Step Dad in 5 Easy Steps by orphan_account (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {31k}
Kissed by Death by Justt_Astrr (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {55k}
When You Accidentally Kill A Clown by SchalensitzBucket (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {29k}
How I Met Your Brother by Athelazarus (unfinished) [Danny x Jason] {60k}
Scary Danny by Daemonshadowfox (finished) [Danny x Jason] {33k}
Lightning in a Bottle by DisillusionedDanny (finished) [Danny x Jason] {46k}
Fresh Starts and Gotham Bats by Some_Stupid_Reckless_Idiot (finished) [Danny x Jason] {83k}
Dear Darcy by bloggerspam (finished) [Danny x Jason] {59k}
Like Betta Fish Do by PaperPuffin (finished) [Danny x Jason] {78k}
Going Broody by bloggerspam (finished) [Danny x Jason, Mom!Black Canary] {28k}
Ghost King in Gotham by GDogDfeld124 (finished) [Danny x Jason] {87k}
Cat's Cradle by DisillusionedDanny (finished) [Danny x Damian] {57k}
Love Like You by DisillusionedDanny (finished) [Danny x Damian] {45k}
Note: I didn't realize I read like all of @disillusioneddanny's stuff until literally making this list, lol. Nor @windyengel
I just realized I drastically underestimated how much I read. Whoops. 1.53M > 600k (apparently that's equivalent to reading the entire GOT series in 3 days... or all of the Dark Tower... whoopies)
Tagged (everyone who commented about it): @weresilver @alexabowwow21 @bianca-hooks123 @allmyhomieshatelawns
having a crush on xiao was hard, especially when he barely talks to anyone outside of his friend group and you became a bumbling mess whenever he's within your reach. it stressed you so much to the point your friends get concerned and advise you to write about it on your twitter account. things take a turn when your tweets suddenly gets oddly sweet and heartfelt comments from a burner account.
꩜. a xiao x reader smau ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ac : @/_kkafka on instagram!
꩜. warning : the high school system might be a little different because its based on my own high school curriculum experience, might have ooc portrayals, lots of swearing, kys jokes, fem!reader, timestamps don't matter, (🎞️) means its a written part!
꩜. started : 11th of July 2025
꩜. status : on-going (slow updates)
꩜. taglist : closed ! (50/50)
featuring the tortured poets department & chaos crash course
CHAPTER 0 ⁀➴ MIDDLE SCHOOL
01. the falling trope (🎞️) ⌗ 02. virtual diary (🎞️) ⌗ 03. so it begins/prologue summary (🎞️)
CHAPTER 1 ⁀➴ WHOS THIS ?!
04. educational hater ⌗ 05. fascinating (semi🎞️) ⌗ 06. tof_u111 ⌗ 07. block him ⌗ 08. tarot reading ⌗ 09. call me yours ⌗ 10. you're on. ⌗ 11. gagged ⌗ 12. quiz aftereffects ⌗ 13. always be there for you ⌗ 14. lunch at wanmin (semi🎞️) ⌗ 15. different povs ⌗ 16. admire ⌗ 17. self inserts ⌗ 18. banana bread (🎞️) ⌗ 19. partnered (🎞️) ⌗ 20. the LOML ⌗ 21. hu tao helps! ⌗ 22. wingwoman ⌗ 23. kazupid ⌗ 24. maternal
Hello everyone! I have created a channel where my team and I will upload all of the “Shall We Date?” Videos we are able to archive! I will have multiple copies of these videos so that they may always be available. This channel is just for public, free access so that anyone may have access to our footage at any time! At the moment, due to YouTube’s new channel policy I’m only able to upload about 6 videos per day until we build up more channel history so I’d like to apologize in advanced for video upload delays!
This is the otome vault for the Shall We Date? games! They are all posted here so that fans may enjoy them and so they do not become lost me
SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, there’s a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes. None of Bruce’s sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship. And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake
PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader, Original Female Character
TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers
🜼 :: had to cut it short again 'cause it was getting too long but at least this time there's mentions of the reader. i think by next chapter she'll finally have a scene
🜼 :: lemme know if you wanna be tagged for part three
At some point during the early hours, Tim had resorted to Google.
what do you feed a four-year-old for breakfast
how to talk to a kid who thinks you’re their dad
time travel psychological trauma in toddlers
The results weren’t helpful. A few parenting blogs, some clickbait titles, one academic article about multiverse theory, and a Buzzfeed quiz titled Which Justice League Member Should Babysit Your Kid? (He got J’onn.)
He clicked none of them.
So now he sat there, elbows on his knees, his cold coffee abandoned on the nightstand, staring into the quiet stretch of morning as if it might offer answers.
The rustle of sheets pulled Tim out of his thoughts.
He turned just in time to see Gia stir, shifting beneath the covers. Her tiny brows scrunched first, nose wrinkling like something in her dream hadn’t gone her way. Then her fingers tightened briefly around the Red Robin plush before her eyes fluttered open.
Sleep-heavy and glassy, they blinked once.
Then again.
Her gaze scanned the unfamiliar room. The heavy curtains, the warm Gotham morning light peeking through cracks in the blinds, the shelves lined with books and tech Tim hadn’t moved in years. She looked up—and her eyes landed on him.
“Daddy?” she mumbled, voice rough and soft from crying and sleep.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”
He stood and moved to the edge of the bed and sat beside her, careful not to crowd her. Tim instinctively leaned forward just as she threw herself at him, arms flinging around his neck.
“Do you want some breakfast?”
She considered this, lips pursing. “Only if it’s not green.”
He blinked. “Green?”
“Uncle Dickie made me ‘healthy pancakes’ once and they were green and yucky.”
Tim almost laughed. Almost.
“No green pancakes,” he promised.
“Okay.” She nodded, decisive. Then, after a pause—“Do you have work with Grampa already? Can you stay for breakfast?”
“…Yeah. Of course, I can.”
Gia had never let go of him.
She clung like ivy, one arm still around his neck even as Tim carefully stood up and carried her down the hallway. Her Red Robin plush dangled from her hand, bumping softly against his shoulder as they moved.
The manor was quiet in the early morning hush. Pale sunlight slipped through the tall windows, catching dust motes and the edges of picture frames on the walls.
Tim padded barefoot into the kitchen, and to no one’s surprise, Alfred was already there.
A full spread had been laid out. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, toast—classic comfort fare. There was even a mug waiting for Tim on the counter, the exact way he liked it. No one had to ask.
Gia perked up the moment the smell hit her nose. Her head lifted from Tim’s shoulder.
“Is that pancakes?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
Alfred turned just slightly, a faint warm smile. “Indeed it is, Miss Gia.”
“Yay,” she whispered, like it was a secret only she got to enjoy.
Tim eased her into a chair at the table, where a small plate already waited—cut-up pancakes in tidy triangles, syrup in a ramekin on the side. A glass of milk stood next to it.
She beamed. “Grandpa Alfred, you remembered!”
Tim blinked. Alfred, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Of course I did.”
Gia immediately dug in, humming around a mouthful.
Tim didn’t sit right away. He lingered by the counter, fingers wrapped tight around his coffee mug, watching her like the universe might yank her away at any second.
She was so at home. So certain.
“Daddy, sit with me,” she said suddenly, patting the seat beside her with a syrup-sticky hand.
He moved like gravity had called him.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
Tim had just taken a sip of his new coffee—finally warm—when he heard it:
Bare feet on hardwood. Light, casual, familiar.
A moment later, Dick stepped into the kitchen.
Hair still damp from a shower, his shirt barely on, he looked every bit like someone who’d woken up early but hadn’t quite decided to start the day yet.
And then he saw them.
Tim, hunched slightly over his coffee, still sleep-rumpled. Gia, swinging her legs and eating pancake triangles with both hands. And Alfred, calmly refilling the syrup dish like this was the most normal morning in the world.
“…Whoa,” Dick said, voice low. “Okay. It’s real.”
Gia looked up, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Uncle Dickie!”
“Hey, peanut,” he said, recovering quickly as he moved to ruffle her hair. “You sleep okay?”
She nodded, mouth full. “Had dreams about waffles.”
“Those are the best dreams,” he agreed seriously, then glanced at Tim. “You holding up?”
Tim didn’t answer immediately.
He looked exhausted. Eyes shadowed, hair a mess, posture just slightly caved in—as if the weight of this tiny, syrup-sticky girl had collapsed every wall he’d spent years building.
“I’m still...processing,” Tim muttered.
Dick sat across from them and grabbed a piece of toast from a platter. “Processing’s good. Just means your brain hasn’t caught up to your heart yet.”
Tim raised a brow. “That was dangerously close to being profound.”
Dick grinned. “I contain multitudes.”
Gia reached across the table suddenly, poking Dick’s sleeve with her fork. “Uncle Dickie?”
“Yeah, munchkin?”
“Can you show me cartwheels later? Mommy says you do the best ones.”
Tim stilled. Dick hesitated for half a second—but only half.
“You bet,” he said brightly. “Only if I get a high five first.”
Gia offered one without hesitation, syrup and all.
Dick slapped it with a mock wince. “Sticky. I love it.”
She giggled, proud of herself.
Tim watched them, something unreadable in his eyes.
His fingers curled slowly around the handle of his coffee mug. She was smiling now, already bouncing in her seat, reaching for a piece of fruit with the same fork she’d used to poke her uncle.
She looked so comfortable. Like she belonged here. Like she’d always belonged.
And Tim couldn’t stop wondering what else she knew
Gia, as it turned out, had quite the memory for a toddler.
She chattered between bites, lips sticky with syrup and cheeks round with food, recounting moments with the ease of someone who had lived them a dozen times over.
By then, the others had already joined them—drawn in by the scent of coffee and warm food, or more likely, by sheer curiosity.
Jason came first, holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand. He took one look at Gia and deadpanned, “So the tiny intruder’s still here. Cool.” He poured himself coffee like this was completely normal.
Bruce sat silent at the head of the table, still nursing a half-drunk cup of coffee, his expression unreadable—but his eyes never strayed far from the child.
Cass, notably, had shown no shock at all. She’d walked into the dining room, looked once at the small girl confidently seated, nodded like that made perfect sense, and joined her at the table. She didn’t speak. But Gia beamed at her like she’d been waiting for her to show up. She leaned into Cass’s side with the kind of ease that didn’t need permission—like she already knew she’d be welcome there.
None of them interrupted. They just listened as Gia spoke
She talked like they’d all been there—like every story she shared belonged to them too. About a greenhouse with Uncle Dickie and Aunt Star where they got stuck in the gift shop because of a thunderstorm. About Uncle Jason teaching her to sneak cookies without letting Grandpa Alfred know and failing cause Alfred always knows.
The stories didn’t stop.
“Mommy said I could wear the sparkly boots to the concert even though Daddy said they were too shiny but then she said ‘let her shine, Tim’ so I did and I was the sparkliest one there!”
She swung her legs, stabbed strawberries with her fork, and kept her little voice bubbling on, as if none of them were blinking at her like she was some impossible dream they'd collectively conjured overnight.
Tim stirred his coffee absentmindedly, not realizing he hadn’t taken a sip during the whole time she was telling her story.
Dick looked over. “You alright, Tim?”
Tim blinked.
He didn’t respond at first. Not when his brain was still catching up.
Because these weren’t just made-up stories or wishful dreams. They were specific. Detailed. Real. Things that hadn’t happened yet—but could. Things that felt possible in a terrifying, time-looped kind of way.
Every word she said felt like a pin pushing into his chest.
He wasn’t just in her stories—he was the center of them. The axis of a life he didn’t remember living. One where he was a father. A partner. Someone whole.
He was watching her—watching the ease with which she existed, how she claimed space with all the confidence of someone raised here. Not a hint of fear. No trace of uncertainty.
Just this boundless, messy, syrup-covered confidence that she was loved and known.
It was both comforting and terrifying.
“No,” he said honestly. “Not even a little.”
Gia kept going. “And one time, Auntie Cass gave me sparkly bandaids even though I wasn’t bleeding. And Uncle Dami said I was faking but I wasn’t!”
“Do you remember anything else?” Tim asked finally, voice low. Careful. He kept his tone light, like he was trying not to spook her.
Gia nodded, mouth full. Then, after a beat, she added, “Lots of stuff. Like when you tried to make breakfast but you almost set the kitchen on fire ‘cause Mommy distracted you by kissing your nose.”
Gia licked a smear of syrup from her thumb and cheerfully reached for another strawberry.
“And then,” she continued, swinging her legs, “Mommy said we could go to the Grampa’s party in Grampa’s big building after your work but only if I wore the green dress, ‘cause the purple one had peanut butter on it—”
She popped the berry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, oblivious to the silence that had settled over the room like mist.
Dick blinked slowly. “Grampa’s big building,” he repeated under his breath, shooting Bruce a look.
Gia didn’t notice. She swallowed and kept going. “And I said I wanted the sparkly shoes too, but Mommy said they were too loud and they’d go click-clack click-clack on the floors and Grampa would do the forehead rub thing—”
She demonstrated with both hands pressed to her tiny forehead, dragging down her face in a perfect mimic of Bruce Wayne’s frustration.
Bruce blinked. Jason outright wheezed, slapping a hand over his mouth.
Tim cleared his throat. “Grampa’s party?”
“Uh-huh! With all the people and the music and the sparkly lights! And I got to dance with Uncle Dickie, and Uncle Jay said I was better than him.”
Jason blinked. “Well, that tracks.”
“Hey—” Dick began indignantly, but Gia was already chattering again, fork waving midair.
Bruce hadn’t said a word. Not since he’d walked in and taken his seat at the head of the table—coffee cooling untouched in front of him. He’d been still, observing her the way one might observe a threat, or a miracle. With precision. With care. With silence.
Until now.
“Gia,” he said evenly.
The little girl looked up immediately, bright-eyed. “Yes, Grampa?”
Bruce didn’t flinch at the name. Didn’t correct her. He only leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of him.
“You said your mother brought you to my building before,” he began carefully. “What else do you remember about that night?”
Gia tilted her head, lips pursed in thought. “Umm… It was cold. Mommy made me wear tights, and I don’t like tights ‘cause they itch. But she wore her shiny earrings. The dangly ones! And her green dress with the flowers.”
The others exchanged glances—but none of them interrupted.
Bruce nodded once. “ Do you remember what your mommy looked like that night, sweetheart?”
“Oh. Yes!” Gia lit up again. “She was really pretty. Daddy hated it ‘cause he said too many people were gonna stare and he’d have to deal with it all night.”
She furrowed her brows, lips pursed as she thought hard—really hard—like the memory was tucked somewhere behind her eyes and she just had to reach the right corner to find it. Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her plate, forgotten syrup smudging her skin as she swung her legs under the table in slow, distracted arcs.
Everyone stayed quiet. Watching.
The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I have a picture!”
Tim sat up straighter. So did everyone else.
“It’s kind of crumply,” Gia went on, setting her fork down and scooting toward the edge of her seat, stubby legs reaching for the floor. “But I keep it in my bag ‘cause Mommy says memories are treasures, and this one is my favorite.”
Her eyes scanned the room like she expected her bag to just be sitting there waiting.
“Grandpa Alfred?” she asked, already halfway down, voice small but sure. “Do you know where my bag is? It's black and small and Mommy says I’m not ‘posed to lose it ‘cause it has important stuff.”
Tim was already pushing back his chair to help, but Alfred, ever composed, stepped forward with a slight bow of the head. “Of course, Miss Gia. I’ll retrieve it for you.”
He turned without delay, his steps measured and quiet, shoes barely making a sound against the manor floor. She nodded, satisfied, and hopped fully to the ground with a small thud, bare feet pattering against the cold kitchen tile as she followed him out toward the hallway.
The rest of the family remained at the table—still, silent, watching.
The air in the room had shifted—expectant, tense—not like before when everything had been speculation. This felt like proof was about to walk back into the room.
Tim sat forward, elbows on the table now, eyes fixed on the doorway where she'd gone. His heart was beating too loud in his ears.
“That’s it?” Jason muttered, almost disbelieving. “All we had to do to get proof was ask her what her mom looked like?”
Damian scoffed softly, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Tt.”
But it was Dick who responded, quieter, more serious than usual. “She ended up crying when Tim asked her last night,” he said, eyes not leaving the empty doorway where Gia and Alfred had disappeared. “She thought her dad forgot her mom. We couldn’t have asked her then.”
They fell into silence again.
And then—footsteps.
They heard her before they saw her—Gia’s voice chiming softly, like a skipping stone over still water.
“—I told you, I didn’t lose it! Mommy says I’m very responsible now.”
Alfred’s gentle hum of agreement followed, along with the quiet rustle of something being held close.
Alfred returned, and beside him, Gia clutched a small, black bag to her chest like it was sacred.
“I found it!” she announced.
Technically, Alfred had—but no one corrected her.
She marched over to Tim first, standing in front of him with wide, expectant eyes. “Wanna see it now?”
He nodded, kneeling again to her level like he had the day before. “Yeah, sweetheart. Show me.”
She unzipped it with both hands, rummaging with syrup-sticky fingers. Tiny fingers fished past a red crayon, a lollipop, a bunch of stickers, and—finally—carefully, reverently, she pulled out a folded piece of paper.
The edges were worn, the glossy paper soft from how many times it had been handled.
“I showed it to Uncle Bart too,” she added proudly. “He said it was cute, but he’s a weirdo.”
She held the picture out.
Tim’s hand hovered. He didn’t even breathe as he took it.
Jason craned to look over his shoulder. Damian leaned closer. Dick and Cass watched like the moment might crack reality in half.
Tim unfolded the picture.
And stopped breathing entirely.
The image was unmistakable:
Tim Drake, older—maybe late thirties—hair slightly longer, wearing casual clothes and soft laugh lines around his eyes. One hand rested around the waist of a woman. She had a blinding smile, radiant even in a still image, and was kissing Tim on the cheek while their daughter stood between them, holding both their hands.
They looked happy. Tangled up in each other in that easy, familiar way that only comes with years of shared mornings and missed bedtimes and long conversations after the house is quiet.
Gia looked up and smiled brightly. “See?” she said proudly. “That’s Mommy. That’s you, Daddy. That’s me.”
Then Bruce, his voice quieter than expected. “May I?”
Gia blinked up at him, then carefully handed it over. “You have to hold it nice,” she warned. “It’s special.”
Bruce took the paper with the same care he’d use for an ancient artifact.
“Mommy’s the coolest,” Gia nodded proudly, as if that were the most obvious truth in the world.
“She’s got, like, a billion fans. She writes songs and yells at the camera people when they take pictures of me.”
Having handed off her photo like it was a royal decree, she turned and padded back toward the table. She got as far as standing in front of her chair before pausing, then turned around and lifted her arms.
Still a little stunned, Tim blinked once, then pushed out of his chair and lifted her gently back into hers. She nestled back into the seat, grabbing her half-eaten pancake like nothing life-changing had just occurred.
Gia had finished breakfast by then—her plate mostly empty, a few strawberries taken from Dick’s still clutched in one hand. She was now tucked into the corner of the room near the window, utterly engrossed in a stack of napkins she was folding and tearing with focused precision. Cass sat beside her on the floor, legs crossed and relaxed, watching her with a serene calm that somehow soothed the toddler’s endless energy into something more careful, more quiet. Every so often, Cass handed her a new napkin. Gia would accept it with a thank you.
At the table, the picture sat in the center. The boys had unconsciously huddled around it now, shoulders nearly touching as they leaned in over the image.
Bruce stood just behind them, arms crossed, watching in silence. His brows were furrowed, eyes sharp—not skeptical, not yet—but calculating. Gathering.
Dick gave a low whistle as he leaned in for a better look. “She’s certainly pretty.”
“She looks loud,” Jason added. “And sparkly. You’ve got a type.”
Tim didn’t even argue.
Damian, however, remained glaring at the photo like it personally offended him. “That still doesn’t tell us who she actually is. Do you recognize her?”
There was a pause. Then Tim, still staring at the image, nodded slowly.
“I know her,” Tim said quietly.
The words dropped into the room like a stone in still water.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What?” Dick asked, blinking. “How—?”
Tim didn’t take his eyes off the photo. “I mean… I know of her,” he amended, his voice low and careful. “She looks older here. A little different, but—I’m sure it’s her.”
He leaned in slightly, studying the image again, as if confirming it for himself a second time.
“We met a couple years ago—briefly—at a Wayne Entertainment event in Metropolis. It was just a passing moment. Polite conversation, nothing else. I wouldn’t have remembered it now if not for—” he hesitated, then looked toward the corner where Gia was playing. “If not for her.”
Jason blinked. “She’s a celebrity?”
Tim nodded slowly. “Singer. Songwriter. Definitely has fans. She’s kind of a rising name these days. Not a global household name yet, but she’s rising fast. And… she’s talented. I remember that.”
He didn’t add what he was thinking—that she’d seemed kind. Grounded, even in a room full of power suits and flashing cameras.
“She was different than the rest of the crowd that night,” he murmured. “And now… this.”
“She kinda does look familiar,” Dick said, frowning as he leaned in for a better look. “Kori might have mentioned her once.
“She’s one of the performers scheduled for the Martha Wayne Foundation benefit concert next weekend,” Bruce added. His voice was unreadable. “I remember reviewing the final list with Lucius.”
“Gia said her mom writes songs” Dick said slowly. “That tracks”
Jason leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “So let me get this straight—your mysterious maybe-future kid has a mom who’s a rising star that you only met once?”
Bruce spoke again, voice even. “I think by now it’s confirmed she’s from the future.”
Jason huffed. “Yeah, no kidding. Kid talks like she’s got a lifetime of memories, and none of 'em match our timeline.”
Dick exhaled. “Man, we really don’t get normal Tuesdays, do we?”
At the edge of the room, Gia giggled—still absorbed in her napkin-folding game with Cass, blissfully unaware of the small storm gathering around the table and the old photo that might just change everything.
I really do love that Batman is supposed to be this super strict and tough badass who has his rules and doesn’t budge on them for shit; to the point where unless they get express permission, the metas that literally make up his superhero team and closest companions aren’t even allowed to step foot in his city.
and then his kids come along and his entire backbone just falls apart at the seams.
Tim, walking into the cave and interrupting an online JL meeting: sorry just grabbing the bleach!
Bruce, pausing: what do you need bleach for?
Tim: oh, Jason killed another guy and wants help with the cleanup.
Bruce:
The JL, who know Batman as the strict ‘no kill guy’:
Bruce:
Bruce: …but just one? he only killed one, right?
Tim: yeah.
Bruce:
Bruce: bleach is over there
JL: ?!?!?!
-
Superman, video calling Bruce: i know you don’t allow metas in Gotham, but there’s a crossover between a job i’m on in Metropalis and a deal i believe to be going down in Gotham, so i was hoping that-
Bruce: no. send me the case, i’ll sort it. stay out of my city.
Superman: Bruce-
Duke appearing in the background of the call: B! COME LOOK AT THIS SHIT, I FIGURED OUT A NEW WAY TO USE MY POWERS!
Bruce: that’s great, chum! I’ll be right there!
Superman:
-
Batman: I will not have guns in my household.
Damian: you understand that both Pennyworth and Drake have firearms in the manor, correct?
Batman:
The JLA:
Batman: when did Tim get a gun?
Damian: when Todd took him and I to a shooting range and gifted us them.
What’s that one fic on AO3 where Tim thinks he killed his dad and he tries to call Dick but accidentally calls Jason instead? He is hiding under a desk for the most part and in the end, it turns out that Jack Drake was actually still alive. Also, Jack was like trying to sell Robin/Tim??
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 2
*Damian and Jason, four hours into a stakeout*
Damian: Jay, hand me the mango pieces.
Jason: *plastic crinkling* ayyy, I’m Jason again!
Damian: *snorts*
Jason: what was with that, by the way? I just showed up in Gotham and found you referring to everyone like they’re your professor. Like, that’s not a ‘you’ thing, I don’t know why you started doing that.
*audible chewing noises*
Damian: do you want the genuine honest answer?
Jason: please god do tell
Damian: so- and you aren’t allowed to laugh. but when I first came to Gotham and I showed up at the manor, father obviously had to give me a tour of the place, right?
Jason: yeah.
Damian: and they wanted to do a DNA test to check that my mother wasn’t pulling a fast one by claiming my birthright, so the first place he showed me was the cave, which was also where Tim was.
Jason: *hums*
Damian: and you know that place- the first time you went to the cave, it was wild, right?
Jason: oh, like walking into the tardis for the first time. insane.
Damian: exactly. all high-tech and shit, and I’d just come from the desert compound I’d spent my entire life in- like, my first time going into the kitchen at the manor I saw Alfred loading the dishwasher and my first thought was ‘oh my god what the fuck kind of machine is that-‘
Jason: *abrupt cackle*
Damian: -so the fucking cave for the first time? as a little desert-boy ten year old? I was a little distracted,
Jason, chuckling slightly: ok, fair,
Damian: and so I’m zoned the fuck out, looking around this cave and not paying attention to anything father’s saying, and then I finally tune back in just to hear the words ‘-ackson drake’ while he like, tries to introduce me to Tim.
Jason: *slowly starts laughing again*
Damian, raising his voice to be heard over Jason’s increasing beats of laughter: -and so I’m fucking standing there, ten years old, no clue what this kid’s first name is, and everybody’s looking at me like I’m supposed to be the one fucking talking right now, and ALL I can think of is my mother, who before she shipped me off to Gotham completely alone kept fucking telling me ‘Damian you have to be strong and show that you deserve to be the Batman’s blood son. show no weakness and take the mantle you were born to have; show no fucking hesitance.’, so I’M panicking,
Jason, still cackling: *a clap* NO I DO- I DO REMEMBER, LIKE, BACK IN THE LEAGUE-, holy shit back in the league when your only coping mechanism for not knowing the fuck was going on around you, was literally just to pretend you knew what the fuck was going on around you and bullshit till you make it,
Damian: WELL IT WAS LIKE THE ONLY FUCKING THING MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME-
Jason, through tears: -that’s why I didn’t say shit when I came back to Gotham and found you fucking, doing all this blood son bullshit! You started calling me Todd and speaking in old english and I was just like ‘bless him he’s terrified, just leave him be’
Damian: *cackles* and I did- I did appreciate you going along with it, because back when this happened I panicked and just started calling Tim ‘Drake’ because I was too embarrassed to ask him for his first name, and then by the time I heard somebody else call him Tim in passing, everybody had just assumed this was a thing I did. and I was too socially awkward to clear it up and switch back, so I just had to stick to Drake.
Jason: *wheeze* a-and Grayson?
Damian: well at first I just went along with the surname thing out of awkwardness, but then I’d gone too deep and I had no way out- AND THEN- and then Batman fucking died-
Jason: *wheeze*
Damian: -and I went from being parented by the gymnastics version of the dark lord to being gentle-parented by fucking Nightwing-
Jason, choking: holy- holy shit-
Damian: do you know what it’s like to go from *gruff voice* ‘Damian we don’t fucking kill, give me the katana or I’ll put you in Arkham’ to *high pitched, sweet voice* ‘oh hey Dames, obviously I can’t stop you from killing but I really would appreciate it if we discussed all our options and came to a mature decision together on what’s best in this scenario-‘
Jason: *crying, silent wheezes*
Damian: so DURING all this I’m trying to subtly switch back to using peoples actual names, except it fucking backfired because people just assumed I was calling Richard Richard because we had that special parental mentor bond, and Tim had pissed off to- whatever he was doing in the desert for six months- getting a hysterectomy or whatever the fuck happened-
Jason, amused: hysterectomy- he lost a spleen, Dames
Damian: well whatever happened he wasn’t AROUND for me to shift to calling him Tim! and when father was back I’d made no progress and was back to square one, except this time I was stuck calling one brother Richard and the other Drake!
Jason, still laughing: and this is where I came in?
Damian: I felt BAD! I’d already taken Robin from the guy, I didn’t want him to feel like he was lesser of a brother to me than Richard. So I demoted you to Todd so he wouldn’t feel alone.
Jason: very thoughtful.
Jason: we should probably get you a therapist, dude. I think everybody forgets that when you showed up you were literally just a very confused immigrant child with no experience of normal social interaction apart from me at the league.
Damian: oh I was like, 60% into an anxiety attack consistently for the first two years I was in the city.
Jason: *snorts*
Damian: the first time I was left alone with Tim we were in the kitchen and he said ‘do you want wifi?’ and, y’no, coming from the league, barely any tech and the only normality was the concept of fighting to the death over everything, MY instinctual ten-year-old thought was ‘oh shit, wifi must be slang for brawl here, we’re about to fight’-
Jason: *laughter* you’re fucking kidding
Damian: -so I’m like, so be it, and I say ‘come on then’ and get ready to start punching, only for him to turn around and grab a piece of card stuck to the fridge and hold it out to me,
Jason: *cackles*
Damian: and he goes ‘here’s the password so you can connect, I’m assuming you have a phone or something’-which I fucking didn’t by the way, my mother gave me a shitty flip-phone to call her in emergencies but it didn’t use wifi-, and he’s holding it out to me and I had to like, subtly shift my posture out of the defensive position I’d been in-,
Jason, delirious from laughter: this is the fucking best. thing.
Damian: -and I take it from him, and he gives me this weird look like he has no idea how to communicate with me, and I was just like ‘shit I might have to kill this one, it’s the only way to get out of this interaction’.
Jason: *wheeze* if we go through the timeline, every murder attempt on Tim’s life has just been an occasion where you’ve felt socially awkward and didn’t see any other way out of conversation,
Damian: pretty much, yeah. I should have been on xanax for those first few years.
Jason: stories from your first years in Gotham are my favourite thing in the world.
*a few silent beats*
Tim: are you telling me I’ve been stuck as Drake for YEARS all because Damian’s fucking scared of social interaction?!
*crashing sound*
Jason: HOLY FUCK-
Damian: OH MY GOD I FORGOT WE WERE CONNECTED TO THE MAIN LINE-
and another thing. I just had a thought of Tim being captured by whoever, really. honestly, the circumstances are not important.
i had a thought of Tim in danger, and he shouts for Jason. not Hood, Jason. And he knows he can use Jason’s name because when he gets here, all these people are fucking dead.
and i’m just picturing Bruce being on his way to help Tim, and all he can hear is Tim screaming for Jason. He’s about to drop down and take care of business, and then shots ring out.
bang. bang. bang.
he looks again and all three kidnappers are dead, Tim is untied, and Jason is holding Tim to his chest. “It’s okay,” He mutters, “I’m here. I gotcha.”
Tim would never dream of outing Bruce or Dick, or even Damian. There’d be someone around to hear it.
But Jason? When Tim is in danger, Jason never leaves survivors.
I bet the JL has a “how fucked are we” metric that’s literally just how many of Bruce’s kids are there.
Like if he pulls up to the alien invasion or whatever with just Robin, then everything’s fine. More than fine, actually, because Bruce feels comfortable enough to bring his eight year old along for the ride. This battle will take approximately fifteen minutes and they’ll all get shawarma after. Not fucked in the slightest.
But if Red Robin shows up too… hmm, okay, this is getting somewhat serious. Tim is one of Bruce’s most trusted partners; he’s the smart Robin, the tactician, the loyal one, and so if Batman brought him along then it means he’s at least a little bit worried about shit hitting the fan and wants one his advisors around. But the combined brain power of Bruce and Tim is pretty much unmatched (DC plot armor for the win), so everything will be fine, basically. Superman might take a hit, but everything’s going to be fine. Just keep calm and you’ll all make it home in time to Door Dash some Panda Express before it closes. So not that fucked.
It starts to get serious after that. When Signal and Spoiler roll up the scene, shit has definitely hit the fan. Batman’s worried enough to call in reinforcements and he’s probably doubting the League’s ability to listen/obey his orders, so he needs a backup plan in case things go really south. But with Signal’s abilities and Steph’s superpower of turning anything into a joke, chances are you’ll be okay. Maybe impaled or something, but okay. But still, fucked.
When Nightwing shows, the JL knows it’s starting to get dicey out on the field. See, Nightwing’s got his own team, his own issues—the fact that he set that all aside to help out his dad is cause for concern. On a scale from 1-10, they are at a 7. Above moderately fucked.
And… oh God. Black Bat? Most of the time the JL doesn’t even see her, but once she makes herself known and starts fighting alongside her siblings, they all start to silently freak out. Black Bat is a fucking machine and if she’s breaking a sweat trying to fight the Big Bad, things are definitely not going to go well. They start praying that Batman figures something out. They freak out. They are intrinsically fucked.
But God Forbid you catch sight of the Red Hood. The prodigal son is a legitimate killer, and if Batman’s letting him blow out brains then the JL knows he’s desperate. And a desperate Batman is not good. At all. They are definitely fucked.
synopsis:Keep your head down, focus on getting through your classes, and try not to die. That had always been your plan of attack when it comes to attending Kings Dominion School of the Deadly Arts. But your life plans get thrown out the window as you find yourself growing attached to the new kid who refuses to lose his compassion and moral code, despite the ruthless curriculum and vicious social cliques he finds himself surrounded by.
author’s note: okay, here’s the next bit! in truth, i wrote the cafeteria scene ages and ages ago and i’m very happy with it, so i’m glad you guys can finally read it! a little bit of angst and action, a little bit of romance… what more could you want. ;) enjoy!!
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Marcus Lopez Arguello x Reader
Lockdowns at the Academy of the Deadly Arts are rare and very intense, demanding obedience in their strictness, and there is no getting out of this one. You groan against the door, smacking your palm one last time against the wood and resting your forehead on it in defeat.
When you turn around, you realize you’ve been pushed into a dorm with two Kuroki students, both of whom are glaring at you from their beds. You think you recognize one of them from your Poisons class — Hana, you think her name is? — and offer her an awkward nod. She raises an eyebrow but nods back, and you breathe out in relief, aware that the only reason you’re not in danger right now is because they’ve seen you with Saya before.
Y/n and Mattheo find themselves in an unexpected situation after attending a party.
Adrian Pucey (y/n’s ex) begins bothering her at this party. In a surprising turn of events, Mattheo, despite being enemies with Y/n, decides to step in. He pretends to be her girlfriend to ward off Adrian's advances and protect her from any further harassment.
The following morning, both Y/n and Mattheo awake to the news spreading around school that they are now dating. With their newfound "relationship" having become the topic of discussion, Y/n and Mattheo are left with no other choice but to continue pretending to be a couple.
Do non-americans realize that the United States is literally just a bunch of countries in a trench coat that agreed to be semi-nice to each other in order to sneak into the Big Boy Club? Because let’s be honest that’s just what the USA is
The rest of the world: So… you’re a big country?
The states, standing on each other’s shoulders: Y- yes,,,
I love how everyone who’s reblogged this hasn’t added anything on or tagged anything on it. They’re all just like “Yeah. That’s it. That’s the entire United States summed up in one post-”
I moved to another state. 30 minutes away. My family acts like I betrayed them and can’t understand my life choices. It’s completely different way of life, especially during covid. Completely different country.
every single fucking time one of those articles of “things europeans find weird about america” complains that sales tax isn’t included
states set the sales tax!!! it’s literally different across state lines!!! american retailers can’t add it bc they’d have to account for 50 different prices!!!!!!!
It gets even more insane! California’s clean air standards for cars and other such things are so much higher than everyone else’s! So if a car manufacturer in Detroit wants to sell their damn cars in California, they need to build their cars to California clean air standards. But retooling an assembly line and car design to have some cars meet California clean air standards, while building others to other clean air standards is a lot of work, so car manufacturers all over the country have to build all their cars to California clean air standards.
Which is why California went into an uproar earlier this year when the Federal Government tried to argue that states can’t set their own environmental guidelines! “Fuck you!” says California, “we remember Los Angeles in the 80s, how bad the smog gets, go pollute your own damn air over in your own damn state where there isn’t a thermal inversion layer to trap all the smog down near ground level!”
“But you’re making it soooo haaaaaard to sell our cars everywhere else!” they whine.
“Fuck you!” California shouts. “And while we’re at it, we don’t give a shit what you say, Mister President, we’re gonna open our damn states when we’re good and ready, and our friends Nevada, Oregon, Colorado, and Washington State agree! Also, we’ve decided to legalize weed!”
“But the Federal Government says it’s illegal!” shouts the other states.
“Fuck you, we make the drug laws in our state, and we say toke up!”
“Now, hang on!” shouts the Federal government. “You can legalize weed in your state, but all banks are federal agencies, so if your weed dispensaries set up bank accounts, those accounts have money from illegal practices in it and are subject to seizure by the federal government!”
“FINE!” shouts California. “Hey, weed guys, you can keep selling weed, but you can only deal in cash!”
“How the fuck is that supposed to work!?”
“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, TAKE IT UP WITH DC!”
“By the way, if you’re gay married elsewhere, we won’t recognize it,” mutters Texas.
*gestures at Florida*
Oh also, the reason Florida is “so weird” is only PARTIALLY because people who live here are bonkers – it’s also because Florida state laws around privacy do not include the details of arrests! So in other states, when you’re arrested, it can just show up in the registrar like “25 yo man arrested 04/30/20” but in Florida they can (and do) print the details of why they were arrested: “25 yo man arrested 4/30/20 for riding an alligator through town while naked and smoking weed.” I promises you the other states have PLENTY of weirdos, they just don’t get their dirty laundry gleefully aired in the local news.
