#nxttime

[boosyboo9206]

Now what has happened to MY mutual @nxttime-deactivated20190202 ?

@mizmahlia sending out an SOS since you brought Sep's deactivation to my attention.

[mizmahlia]

Family member update! 😄

Hi, everyone!

I just wanted to update anyone who knows Sep (her blog is nxttime). I heard from her and she’s alright. 😊 She’ll likely be around at some point in some form, but it won’t be on her blog. And there’s a good chance she’ll see any love you give her, so please feel free to put it out there.

Thanks for the message, Kiddo. You’re stuck with the nickname forever and for always. I love you, dear! ❤️

[mirshroom]

Hey there! Just popping by to say I love your art style (especially the way you do Dabi) ((oh and Hawks (this birb is adorable))), and that I love getting notifications from your blog, especially because you seem like such a cool person! Have an awesome one, and a lot of luck in the future! ❤🤗

ahhh thank you very much! it makes me very very happy to hear that because I love drawing those two a lot, and i’m flattered that you like getting notifs from me-- you are too kind!!! ;A;;;!!! hope you have a great day as well//FLINGS GOOD VIBES!!!

[aspiratinganxiety]

Got it! If you wouldn't mind writing some bro bonding with Dick and Tim (in and/or out of costume), I'd be happy to read it! Wow I come off very energetic when I'm just a very nervous very awkward person, lol, I think I should stop talking now because at this point I'm rambling okay I'll stop talking now! (Gah I hope I did this right)

Baby, I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your whole damn life, and you’re not being awkward as far as I’m concerned! I’m a chatterbug when I’m nervous too, especially via text. Without being in person to gesture or emote through a conversation, I feel the need to explain every little thing in super detail so as not to be misunderstood. 

Don’t worry about it, Boo. I gotchu’ 💋💋💋

This one turned out pretty short. I hope you don’t mind.

Dick realizes as he raps his sore knuckles against the heavy door that he has never been inside of Tim’s apartment. This sudden knowledge disgruntles him, and his mouth turns down in a confused, offended frown.

Of all his brothers, Tim stays in contact with him most consistently. Entirely of his own volition, at that. They text almost daily and call or video chat up to a handful of times a week. They actively schedule time to hang out, no uniforms or nettlesome undertones of competition like the biweekly Thursday evenings he spends downing scotch with Jason. Certainly not like the challenging, though extremely rewarding, social effort he puts toward peeling Damian out of the Robin costume for one-on-one brotherly bonding time. 

Why hasn’t he been to Tim’s place? 

Is it like… a failing on his part as an older brother? Is Tim hiding something in there? Has Jason been here before? Surely Damian hasn’t. Bruce? 

Unlikely.  

Oh, god. What if Tim’s feelings have been hurt for years because nobody comes to his place? And he’s just not saying anything because he’s Tim and he doesn’t want to make a fuss? Because he never wants to make a fuss. Not over himself.

Why has no one been to Tim’s apartment?! Why does Dick have no fucking clue what kind of house his little brother is living in?    

What a massive freakin’ oversight.

Maybe Dick’s been here before, but suffered enough head trauma near the visit that he can’t recall it?  

Dick supposes, in the event that head trauma had not stolen his memory, that the reason he hasn’t been invited (or invited himself) over to Tim’s is due to the fact that their face-to-face meet ups are typically prearranged to take place in the manor, somewhere around the city, or at Dick’s. 

Or Jason’s. 

Or one of the many safe houses.  

The door swings wide before he can school his features into a more cheerful expression, and Tim’s welcoming grin falters. 

“Dick?” he questions, motioning his brother inside. “You okay?” 

Dick shakes his head dismissively, scoffing and running a hand through his hair. “Ah, yeah. Sorry, bud. Something on my mind.”

Tim lingers in his entryway, head cocked to one side like a confused pup. He watches as Dick wanders into the posh, modern condo with a strange, cautious gait.

He asks, “Something bad?” 

“Not exactly,” Dick says, somewhere between proud, envious, and disgusted as he surveys the clean lines and tidy state of the open concept living area. 

The decor of Tim’s home is gray… only gray. All of the walls, furniture, and flooring. Gray.

Literally 50 shades of the damn color tint everything from the coffee table to the kitchen cabinets. For half a second, Dick is repulsed by the stony, lackluster complexion of his brother’s living space. After a moment though, the sleek lines of the space slowly come into focus as carefully articulated design elements. Clearly the style was meant to seem effortless while being a tangled web of complicated technique. Like the shading of an elegant grayscale sketch?

More and more curious geometric features appear as Dick continues to glance around. The fixtures and materials are all of ludicrously expensive natures. Marble, silver, and leather.   

Dick has not spent an exorbitant amount of time imaging the interior of Tim’s home. However, the cluttered, hectic mess of red tartan and disarticulated computer guts that continues to be Tim’s bedroom in the manor set his mental precedent. Any domestic images of Tim that Dick conjured up always involved plaid, old coffee cups, and notebooks. 

When confronted with this oddly sterile environment of ambiguous gray elements, Dick’s mental impression of Tim itches as though it craves to be entirely re-rendered. 

“You look absolutely horrified. I’m going to attribute this to extreme modern interior design not being your forte, Dickie-boy,” Tim says, sauntering past him and into the kitchen. “Not whatever it is that was squatting on your brain in the hall.”

“I was upset because I realized that I’ve never been inside of your apartment,” Dick shares, still gawping at the ever-unfolding touches of elegance and wealth that seem to materialize out of the profusion of gray around him. “And I had never thought of you owning a place that looked so… that was like this. I feel like a crappy older brother. What the hell is that?” 

The question cuts Tim off before he can dismiss Dick’s ridiculous sentiment. He’s touched, and amused. Choosing to humor his house guest instead of berate him for investing in their social bond, Tim glances at the abstract cuboidal metal cage affixed so high up on his wall that it nearly touches the ceiling. 

“Ya’ know…” he says, pushing a freshly opened glass bottle of root beer across the countertop to his older brother. “I don’t have a clue.”

Dick cuts his eyes at Tim.

“The couple I bought the place off of did all the design.” He takes a swig. “I don’t really mind it. Some of it’s sorta’ out there, but, honestly? I don’t have the time or half the inclination to go through the trouble of changing it.”

Dick is caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and suppressing the urge to slam his face into the stone counter. “Are you kidding me, Tim? You didn’t pick any of this furniture or art or these lights or… anything?”

“The TV is mine. So’s the mattress.” He takes another drink, distinctly avoiding eye contact and grinning in admission of the absurdity that is living in a home without a single personal touch. “But the bed frame’s from the previous owners.”  

“Dude,” the older brother chuckles into his soda, shaking his head. “You set me up for quality jokes about smutty books and colorblindness like this, then you pull the rug right out from under me like that?”

“Ah, sorry Dick. Jason beat you to all of the E. L. James jokes about a year ago.”

Incredulity and a twinge of honest offense swells in Dick’s chest. He nearly chokes on his pop. “Jason’s been here?”

“Yeah,” Tim responds casually, leaning against the counter and pegging Dick with a teasing, lofty look. “He comes over every month or so to be absolutely destroyed in Call of Duty. Damian tags along every now and then too. If Jason’s been drinking, we need a ref.”   

Dick’s jaw is practically resting on the counter. His tone is hoarse with the overly dramatic edge of upset he stresses for affect. “Well, goddammit!” Dick delivers a swift punch to Tim’s shoulder, suddenly realizing that he is the one being excluded where this apartment is concerned. Not Tim. “Why haven’t you invited me over?”

Tim barks an awkward chuckle, rubbing his shoulder as though Dick hit him with any force at all. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I like to win PvP matches. You can’t be here if I’m going to be the best player in the house. And it’s my house. I should be the best player.” 

Dick gives him another thump on the shoulder. This one is clearly more of a pat. “You dork,” he huffs, tickled by the undue credit and oddly relieved to hear that his brothers are all socializing successfully outside of his influence. After the initial offense, of course. 

Nobody beats Tim at Call of Duty. Nobody.

He could just say they thought it would be lame to have Dick actually refereeing their game and their behavior. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.             

[avengerdragoness]

I MISS SEP

[an-all-write-life]

Gryffindor or Hufflepuff

Hufflepuff all the way 😂😂

[j-write-something]

You should draw people who you are friends with or look up too on tumblr as superheros or villains!

Okay so this might not be accurate at all because I am way too shy to ask them for a description and I’m also too shy to tag them

[imagineyoungjustice]

@nxttime @dirkapitation-station

Thanks! Tbh I miss the olden days from high school and getting the whole week off. I feel like I could really use a week break rn. -Terra