going to be out of writing for a while due to life hopefully will get a chance to do some slow updates ✨️Bob Reynolds my Mirror✨️ TinyDefector He/Him 25 I only Write Male X readers or Neutral readers traumatised little meow meow. who writes to cope with trauma and my mums death
!!!MALE AND GENDER NEUTRAL FIC REQUEST I DON'T WRITE FEMALE READERS!!!
RULES BELOW ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
REQUEST & ASK OPEN
Please feed me request they are keeping me sane.
information
1. I WRITE MALE READER INCLUDING TRANS MALE OR GENDER NEUTRAL
I am not a Fem writer do not ask for fem x characters (I am trans and don't feel comfortable writing fem readers plus there are many other writers out there who will write fem readers im here for the Gays and the Guys)
2. have the right to not do request if I don't want to.
3. I get a large number of requests, and sometimes they get lost in my inbox.
4. Every three months I will do an inbox clear out. And will save what I'm working on into my drafts.
5. I write as a hobby to keep myself busy.
Fandoms I write:
Transformers
DC Comics and Movies
Marvel
Experimenting with other Marvel characters
Love and deepspace
Requests & ask Rules:
I don't tend to close my request unless I get over 30+ of them.
- 1 character per request if you want a longish one shot fic.
- you can make requests for multiples with scenarios but but I tend to keep them short with a few headcannons added in.
- Specify if you want a continuation of a previous fic.
- your more than welcome to ask for NSFW, SFW, Angst, fluff and all sorts. I'm pretty chill. All Smut and NSFW content is marked
- I will write about menstruation, birth and baby's if requested but it will be gender neutral or if people want trans male I'm happy to write that.
(Transformers fics)
#valveplug for Transformers smut
- I will do both human and Cybertronian and occasionally Experimental monster readers. (For Transformers Fics)
-if requesting Cybertronian for smut, they have both a valve and spike as I write all Cybertronians with both parts, all cybertronian characters I write have both parts. (I will accept request with the fem bots, I just don't write Fem readers)
(Dc fics)
- meta readers if requested for DC
- don't really have many limitations on this outside of my stated I won't write
______
I write: gender neutral, or Male characters, (I'm not good nor do I like writing fem character, I'm a trans guy guy, if I do get fem readers I'm going to write them as gender neutral or just delete)
I will do:
- Scenarios
- family content
-disabilities (to the best of my knowledge)
- Fluff/Angst
Nsfw-
- fearplay, mouthplay
- NSFW, kink list
and Dub-con/ consensual Non-con
size kink
skin fetish
hair pulling
Scent/ smell/ pheromones
Sex pollen/perfume.
silk and ribbon play
cum inflation
breeding
pet play
Predator/prey
Cock warming
(On occasions will write Alpha/Omega/Beta, I write it rather differently to the classic AOB. But I will only write it on very rare occasions)
Transformers ones:
fluid play and consumption (paint, energon, oil, cum, spit, lubricant,)
Heart and spark syncing
new spike and Valve modifications to test on their human lover
(Just ask pretty much)
I will NOT do:
-domestic Abuse
-Pedophilia
- Self harm
-Minors x characters
- Don't get angry if I'm not willing to write fem characters, I'm a guy, and I tend to stick with trans content, M/M, or gender neutral, but I'm lenient but respect my boundaries.
Apparently a lot of people get dialogue punctuation wrong despite having an otherwise solid grasp of grammar, possibly because they’re used to writing essays rather than prose. I don’t wanna be the asshole who complains about writing errors and then doesn’t offer to help, so here are the basics summarized as simply as I could manage on my phone (“dialogue tag” just refers to phrases like “he said,” “she whispered,” “they asked”):
“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.
“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.
“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.
“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”
“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”
“There’s no dialogue tag after this sentence, so end it with a period rather than a comma.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that the entire post was as unasked for as it was sanctimonious.
Following the post, I reposted on Transmasc people and trans men being erased inside our communities. A lot of people seem to not understand a lot of us still live with traumas from when we were still a woman. I may look like this now
But I still feel like the tiny 45kg woman I once was. I still have the fear of men when I walk even tho I myself am masc presenting. No amount of hormones can take away the trauma of being sexually assaulted at 8 years old. It can't undo the two decades worth of being raised as a girl, a woman just because when I started testosterone I changed so quickly.
This was me at 17 to 19
Some days, I'm back being this in my own head. I love who I once was, and I will never be ashamed of her. She is a part of me, who I was for 20 years. But my body was also actively failing me.
Transitioning not only helped me mentally but physically stopped my muscle decay and getting hospitalised it actually is my treatment for my graves disease outside of gender affirmating care. I went from 45Kg to nearly 90Kg in only a 3 months before finally evening out. But some days, I'm still that terrified girl.
I lived through girlhood and womanhood.
I lived through being sexually Abused as an 8 year old girl
I lived through horrifying painful periods from the age of 12
I graduated from school as a young woman.
I spent 2 years in limbo after my mother passed because I was taken off testosterone, and my body declined horrifically. The photos up top are only from December till now I have only been back on Testosterone since August.
Yes, I present as a man now, but I was still raised as a girl by an amazing woman who told me not to hide who I was. And I will never hide my photos because that girl and that young woman went through hell for me to be the man I am today.
And I refuse to be ashamed to talk about my past as a woman.
Trans men are asking to be included in discussions about abortion access, where they, transmascs, and enbies (particularly if they're racialised) are THE most vulnerable group.
Trans men from the global south are talking about their specific vulnerabilities and the horrific violence they face.
Trans men are asking the rest of the community to please care more about the fact that their hormones are a controlled drug and their identities are already on a controlled drug registry that can be very easily cross-referenced with agab to Pick Out The Trannies.
Trans men are talking about how TMOC have been targeted for sexual & physical harrassment because of their transmasculinitiy in detention centres.
Trans men are asking the queer community to stop claiming they have made 'no historical contributions' when 1) they have, and 2) they have been violently erased, institutionalised, and forced into marriage throughout history, and even those lucky few who went stealth were often discovered through forcible outing.
Trans men are begging the queer community to stop spreading transphobic lies that predatorjacket them as dangerous, violent rapists.
Trans men are mentioning that they are often ENTIRELY banned from playing on men's OR women's high-level sport teams, because those teams are allowed to 'make their own decisions' on whether to permit them while using a banned steroid, which usually, you guessed it, means they can't compete.
If you wanna call me a Trans Men's Rights Activist because I care about the rights of trans men, along with every other member of the trans community... go right ahead, I guess.
The quiet hum of Gotham filled Tim’s ears as he perched on the edge of a rooftop, his cape fluttering in the breeze. The city below was alive, as always, but tonight was too calm for his liking.
Cass crouched beside him, her movements as silent as a shadow. She barely made a sound as she shifted her weight, scanning the streets below with sharp, calculating eyes.
“Anything?” Tim asked quietly, his voice only loud enough to carry to her.
Cass shook her head once, her dark hair falling into her face. ‘Quiet..’ she signed, her head slightly, her body language speaking volumes. She didn’t trust the stillness either.
Barbara’s voice crackled softly in their earpieces, breaking the silence.
“Still nothing. No major activity on the scanners. Either Gotham’s taking the night off, or something’s brewing under the surface.”
Tim adjusted his grip on his bo staff. “It’s Gotham. I’m betting on the latter.”
The two of them moved across the rooftops in near-silence, their boots barely making a sound against the concrete. Cass moved like a ghost, every step precise and deliberate, while Tim followed, his eyes constantly scanning for anything out of the ordinary.
“Any updates from the others?” Tim asked, keeping his voice low.
“Hood’s in Crime Alley,” Barbara replied. “He’s taken out three muggers already.”
“Of course he has,” Tim muttered, rolling his eyes.
“Nightwing’s working a lead on the docks in blüdhaven” Barbara continued. “Nothing major, just some smuggling operation. And Robin’s...” She paused, her tone turning dry. “Well, Robin's interrogating some poor man. I think he made him cry.”
Cass chuckled quietly, the sound almost too soft to hear.
Tim sighed. “Sounds like a typical night.”
“Except for you two,” Barbara pointed out. “You’re practically babysitting an empty city tonight. Maybe you should enjoy the break.”
Tim glanced at Cass, who raised an eyebrow at him. He could practically hear her unspoken response. Breaks don’t exist in Gotham.
“Let’s finish this sweep first,” Tim said. “Then we’ll see if Gotham stays quiet.”
Barbara hummed in agreement. “Alright, RR. Just don’t go looking for trouble.”
Tim snorted softly. “Trouble usually finds us first.”
The quiet continued as they moved through their patrol route. Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, though. It was as if the city herself was holding breath.
Cass seemed to feel it, too. She stopped suddenly, her body going still as she tilted her head to one side, listening.
“What is it?” Tim asked, lowering his voice.
Cass didn’t respond immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment, her brow furrowing. Then she opened them and glanced at him, her expression sharp.
Tim tensed. “Where?”
Cass pointed toward an alley a few blocks away.
“Alright,” he said, nodding. “Let’s check it out.”
The two of them moved quickly and quietly, leaping across rooftops with practiced ease. As they approached the alley Cass had indicated, Tim’s unease grew. They dropped down into the alley, their movements synchronized.
Cass moved ahead of him, her steps silent as she crouched near a dumpster. She tilted her head, studying something on the ground.
“Blood,” she signed quickly, pointing to a small, dark stain on the concrete.
Tim frowned, stepping closer. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was fresh.
“Oracle,” he said, tapping his comm. “We’ve got something. Bloodstains in an alley near 42nd and Kane. Can you check the cameras in the area?”
“On it,” Barbara replied.
Cass straightened, her eyes scanning the alley. She didn’t speak, but her body language told Tim everything he needed to know, she was on high alert.
“Anything else?” Tim asked, glancing around.
Cass pointed toward the far end of the alley.
“Got it,” Barbara said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension. “Camera feed from the alley shows... oh. That’s not good.”
Tim straightened immediately. “What is it?”
“There was someone here about fifteen minutes ago,” Barbara said. “They were being followed by someone. I can’t get a good look at them.”
Tim and Cass exchanged a glance.
“Which way?” Tim asked.
“Batman’s coming through,” Barbara calls back quickly, her tone tight with restrained tension. “Everyone, hold for him.”
Tim and Cass immediately halted their movements on the rooftop they’d just reached. Tim heart rate spiking slightly. Cass glanced at him, her sharp eyes narrowing in concern, but he gave her a small nod, signaling he was fine.
“Joker’s out.” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, calm but with an edge that set everyone’s nerves alight.
“He broke out of Arkham an hour ago. We don’t know where he is yet, but I’m not taking any chances. Everyone be on high alert. If you see anything, you call it in immediately. No one goes after him alone. I don’t care what the situation is.”
Barbara’s voice came back on the line, adding details. “We’ve got GCPD mobilizing to lock down major areas, but you know how this goes. He’s already ahead of them. He’s moving fast.”
Tim felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment. the burning pain in his cheeks when those scars were carved into his skin. He forced the memories back, his jaw clenching.
“Understood,” Tim said finally, his voice flat and professional, even as his hands trembled slightly. “What’s the plan?”
Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “Red Robin, you and Black bat finish your sweep. Stay together, and stay alert. Red hood in Crime Alley. I’m redirecting him toward you.”
At the mention of Jason, Tim’s stomach twisted, but not in the same way as before. Jason. Joker. No matter how much time passed, the thought of Jason coming face-to-face with that monster again made his blood run cold.
“Hoods coming to me?” Tim asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended.
“Yes,” Bruce said firmly. “I want you both accounted for.”
“Robin's with me,” Bruce answered. “He’s not going anywhere solo. Nightwing head back now i dont want you out by yourself either. This isn’t a negotiation, understood?”
“Copy that Big B, heading back to base now” Dick called back over the comms despite how much it sounded like he wanted to argue.
Tim didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts still spinning. He hated this. He hated how the Joker always made him feel like he was 13 again, helpless and terrified. He hated how, even as a fully trained vigilante, the scars on his face still ached whenever Bruce said his name.
“Tim?” Bruce’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“I understand,” Tim said finally, forcing his voice to steady. “We’ll stay together.”
“Good,” Bruce said. “Hood’s already moving toward you. I’ll send updates as soon as we have more intel. Stay sharp.”
The comms went quiet for a moment, and then Barbara’s voice returned. “RR, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tim lied, his voice clipped. “Keep me updated if you pick anything up.”
He could feel Cass watching him. She didn’t say anything, but her expression spoke volumes. She knew he wasn’t fine. She tilted her head, studying him for a long moment before finally nodding. She wasn’t going to push it. She simply placed a hand on his shoulder for a brief second giving it a pat.
It didn’t take long for Jason to arrive. Tim and Cass were waiting on the edge of a rooftop when familiar boots on concrete alerted them.
“Tweedy,” Jason said as he approached, his voice coming through the modulator of his helmet. “You good?”
Tim nodded once. “Yeah. You?”
Jason snorted softly, but there was no humor in it. “Peachy. B called me off three muggers for this. You know how much I hate leaving something unfinished.”
Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “Look, I know you’re probably already spiraling, but we’re not doing this tonight. You hear me?”
“I’m not spiraling,” Tim said, though his voice was tighter than he wanted it to be.
Jason tilted his head slightly, his helmet reflecting Tim’s own expression back at him, Tim could feel the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. Sure,” Jason said finally. “And I'm hauling non lethal.” he states as if to call Tim on the lie.
Tim exhaled quietly, He wasn’t going to argue. Not tonight.
The three of them moved in perfect unison, Jason took point, his pistols at the ready, while Cass and Tim flanked him, their movements silent and calculated.
“Anything on the comms?” Jason asked as they moved.
“Still nothing,” Barbara replied. “It’s like he’s vanished. But you know how he works. He’ll pop up when you least expect it. That's How Joker tends to work” it's clear Barbara hates the fact he's back out too, Joker had done enough to this team to warrant multiple people wanting him dead.
Jason muttered something under his breath that Barbara probably wouldn’t approve of.
“Hood,” Tim said quietly as they moved, “if we find him—”
“We’re not finding him,” Jason interrupted sharply. “Not tonight.”
Tim frowned, it truthfully wasn't what he was expecting from Jason but the other man's tone left no room for argument.
“If we find him, I'm making sure he doesn't hurt anyone again” Jason said, his voice low and dangerous, “That’s it. No one’s dying tonight. Not on my watch.”
Tim’s heart raced as he moved silently through the shadows of the Bowery, his eyes constantly scanning every corner, every alley, every rooftop. He had learned to assess everything with meticulous precision, not just because paranoia had become second nature, but because he had to. Ra’s al Ghul had taught him that much: you don’t survive without watching your back at all times.
But the Joker? The Joker was different. The Joker didn’t just claw at his mind he ripped through the walls Tim had built to protect himself, dragging out the most vulnerable, fractured parts of him. The part which spent months in a mental hospital to recover from the damage done to him.
The air shifted, too quiet, too still. His instincts screamed at him, his paranoia flaring like a live wire. He opened his mouth to issue a warning, but it was too late.
The ambush came fast.
A flash of movement. The sharp crack of gunfire.
“AMBUSH!” Red Robin shouted, his voice echoing through the as chaos erupted around them.
The first shot missed, ricocheting off the brick wall beside Tim’s head as he dove for cover. Black bat moved like a blur, already engaging with one of the goons before Tim could even process the attack. Jason’s pistols fired in rapid succession, the sharp retorts cutting through the night.
Tim cursed under his breath, ducking behind a dumpster as he assessed the situation. There were at least a dozen armed goons closing in on them, Tim’s stomach twisted as he realized the pattern in their movements, they weren’t just attacking. They were herding them.
“Scatter!” Jason barked, his voice sharp and tactical. “Do NOT engage! You know the rules! Move!”
Tim hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to stay with Jason and Cass, but he knew better. They couldn’t stay together; they’d be easier targets that way.
Cass disappeared into the shadows without a word, her movements so fluid and silent it was like she had vanished entirely. Jason, on the other hand, moved loudly and deliberately, drawing fire as he backed toward an alley.
Tim moved to follow, but the moment he stepped out of cover, a sharp, searing pain exploded in his side.
Tim gritted his teeth, his hand instinctively pressing against his side. Warm blood seeped through his fingers, but he forced himself to focus on getting out of there. Alfred could stitch him up later.
Tim pressed a hand to his ear. “Oracle, do you copy?”
Nothing.
He cursed under his breath. Tim leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow as he tried to get his bearings as he dug the bullet out with a hiss, letting it drop to the alley floor.
And then he heard it.
A laugh.
It started low and soft, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. But it grew louder, echoing off the walls of the alley until it seemed to surround him completely.
Tim’s blood ran cold.
The Joker’s laugh.
“Hello, birdie,” a sickly sweet voice called from the darkness, dripping with malice.
Tim gripped his bo staff tighter, forcing himself to stand upright despite the pain. “Come out, Joker,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. “Or are you too much of a coward to face me?”
The laugh grew louder, and then, from the shadows, the Joker stepped forward. His grin was impossibly wide, his eyes gleaming with manic glee.
“Oh, JJ,” the Joker cooed, tilting his head. “You’ve grown up so much since we last played. But look at you now”
Tim didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to let the Joker get into his head. Not again.
The Joker’s grin widened as he took a step closer. “You know, I’ve missed our little chats. You were such a good boy when you were younger, look how rebellious you have become, I guess what they say about split families leave broken and angry children ”
Tim moved before the Joker could finish, lunging forward with his bo staff. But the Joker was faster than he looked, sidestepping the attack with an almost lazy grace.
“Oh, feisty!” the Joker laughed, clapping his hands together. “I love it!”
Tim didn’t let up, his movements precise and calculated despite the blood running down his side. He couldn’t let the Joker gain the upper hand.
But even as he fought, a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was playing right into the Joker’s hands. And somewhere deep down, Tim knew it was right.
The whistle cut through the dark alley like a blade, high-pitched and sharp, echoing off the narrow walls. For a moment, Tim froze, his body tensing instinctively. Then he heard the skittering, the scratching, the squeals of dozens, of rats pouring out of the gutters and trash piles all running towards Joker like he was a feast for a king.
The Joker’s laughter sharp, grating, turned louder and manic. rats biting and climbing the clowns frame as he desperately tried to kick, throw and shoot them.
Tim didn’t stick around to see what came next. He didn’t need to. He was already injured, blood soaking through the fabric of his suit, and if he stayed any longer, he wouldn’t be able to get away at all.
His breath was shallow as he forced himself to move, gritting his teeth and he pushed on. His hand pressed against his side, trying to slow the bleeding.
“Just keep moving,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “Don’t look back.”
The Joker’s screams faded into the distance, replaced by the sound of his own ragged breathing and the pounding of his boots against the pavement. He turned down another alley, his instincts screaming at him to gain higher ground, to get off the streets, but his body was sluggish.
He only got so far before he heard footsteps pounding behind him.
a voice called out, breathless and panicked. “Don’t stop, they won’t keep him distracted for long!”
He whipped his head around, his grip tightening on his bo staff, ready for another fight.
Their face lit by the faint glow of a streetlamp.
It was Y/N.
Tim blinked, his brain struggling to process the sight of him. Y/N was holding two bags of groceries, their contents clearly shaken by his frantic movements. His eyes were wide with panic, and his head jerked over his shoulder every few seconds as if expecting the Joker behind them.
“Get up high! Get out of the streets!” Y/N calls out quickly trying to usher the injured hero.
Red Robin nodded, forcing himself to straighten despite the pain. “Go!” he barked, his voice sharper than he intended. “Get somewhere safe!”
“No, I’m not leaving you down here,” Y/N snapped, his voice carrying a surprising amount of authority for someone clearly running on pure adrenaline. He glanced at Tim’s side, his face twisting in concern. “You’re gushing blood.”
“I’m fine,” Tim lied, his voice flat. “You need to get out of here.”
Y/N shook his head, his jaw tightening. “ I’m not about to let one of Gotham’s local heroes bleed out in a dirty alley.”
Tim didn’t have time to argue. His body was screaming at him to move, and the faint sound of laughter in the distance was growing louder, sending a fresh surge of panic through his veins.
“Fine,” Tim said through gritted teeth. “Follow me. And stay close.”
The two of them moved quickly, ducking through alleys and side streets as they searched for an escape route. Tim’s movements were slower than he wanted them to be, his body dragging with every step, but Y/N stayed close, matching his pace and glancing over his shoulder every few steps.
A crow calls out as it lands on a ladder. “over there fire escape!" Y/N says to Red Robin, trying to get him to head towards the building so they could get off the streets.
Yhe metal ladder bolted to the side of the building. Tim grabbed the bottom rung and pulled himself up, wincing as the motion pulled at his injured side.
“Go,” Tim said, gesturing for Y/N to climb ahead of him.
Y/N didn’t argue. He shoved the grocery bag straps onto his shoulder and started up the ladder, his movements quick. Tim followed, his grip on the ladder tightening as he fought to keep his balance.
Y/n helped pull him up the ladder once he was near the top. Moving to help Red Robin sit down. his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
The pain in Tim’s side was worse now, sharp and unrelenting,
Y/N dropped the grocery bags and crouched beside him, his eyes scanning the injury. “fuck thats deep” he said bluntly, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
The hero waved him off, his fingers fumbling with the emergency med kit on his belt. “I’ve had worse.”
Y/N crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, and you probably said that last time, too. Let me help, your shaking”
Tim hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to keep the man at a distance. But he was losing blood, light headed and his hands were shaking too much to be of any use.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly.
Y/N's hands are steady as he grabs a fist full of salad leaves out of his bag pressing them into the wound which makes Red Robin hiss out sharply.
"I'm sorry," Y/N said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "This is going to hurt a lot. Bite something. Try not to make noise."
Tim barely had time to register the words before Y/N pressed his hand firmly against the wound on his side.
The pain was immediate and overwhelming, blinding, searing, and so sharp it nearly took his breath away. Tim’s head snapped back into the vents behind him, and he bit down hard on his glove to stifle the involuntary cry that threatened to escape. It felt worse than anything Jason had ever done to him during one of his no-nonsense first aid sessions. worse than alcohol being poured into a wound, worse than stitching himself up in a dirty safehouse with no anesthetic.
The wound burned as if it were on fire, and Tim’s vision blurred for a moment. His hand shot out, gripping Y/N’s arm tightly, though whether it was to steady himself or stop whatever Y/N was doing, he wasn’t sure.
“I know, I know,” Y/N whispered, his voice soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
Tim forced himself to look down, his jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it might snap. His breath hitched as he noticed beneath Y/n’s hand a thin, glowing vine-like pattern crawled across his skin, spreading outward from the wound like tendrils. they pulsed faintly, almost like veins, and they seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light of the rooftop.
“What—” Tim tried to speak, but the pain made it impossible to form words.
“Just hold onIt’s almost done.” Y/N said, his voice still low but firm.
The burning sensation seemed to intensify for a moment, and Tim screwed his eyes shut, his breathing shallow and ragged. But then, as quickly as it had started, the pain began to fade.
Y/N pulled his hand away, his movements careful. Tim blinked, his vision clearing as he looked down at his side.
The wound was gone.
In its place was a scar, thin and delicate, shaped like a ring of intertwined vines. It looked almost like a flower, its edges faintly raised against his skin. Tim stared at it, his mind racing to process what had just happened, his skin felt like pins and needles like bugs crawling across his skin but it didn't hurt.
Tim looked up at him, swallowing hard as he tried to find his voice. “What... what did you just do?”
Y/N hesitated, his expression guarded as he avoided Tim’s gaze. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to move before he finds us.”
Tim wanted to press him for answers, wanted to demand an explanation, but the low, distant sound of the Joker’s laugh sent a shiver down his spine. Y/N was right. They couldn’t stay here.
Tim pushed himself to his feet, testing his balance. The pain was gone, and though his body still felt shaky and weak, he could move.
Y/N grabbed the grocery bags and slung them over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops. “Can you make it?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, his voice a little steadier now. “I’m fine.”
‘They have taken you from the Imperial City's prison. First by carriage and now by boat, to the east to Morrowind.’
‘Fear not, for I am watching. You have been chosen’
“Wake up. We're here, Why are you shaking?”
“Are you okay?”
“Wake up!”
Bright eyes of mixed blues and purples shoot open, a gasp stuck in the Half elf's throat as he jolts up. He rolls looking around panicked before his gaze lands on the Dunmer leaning over him.
“Easy. Stand up, there you go” he says while helping the brunette to get his footing in the Bowes of the ship they were in.
“What's your name Outlander?” he asked which finally makes the young of the two realise he's awake.
“Where am I? Who are you?” He asked rather skittishly, eyes darting around looking to see if there were others with him, like some sort of itch under his skin only to find they were the only two there.
“Name's Jiub. I heard them say we've reached Morrowind.” He answered, not too worried about the fact he hadn't learnt the strange half elf's name yet.
Footfall makes the younger Mer look up as a guard walks towards them, he tenses up like he's in trouble despite not remembering how he had gotten here. He doesn't remember anything but his head hurts.
“this is where you get off, come with me” the guard instructs, clearly not wanting to drag this out. The Half Mer looks around waiting as if it was someone else who was being spoken to.
“Me?” He asked. It earns him an irritated look from the guard.
“Yes, You. You're getting off here” he says trying to usher the younger out of the ship.
The young mer swallows hard before following behind the guard, his eyes darting around watching everything as he heads topside.
He squints once he reaches the deck, trying to adjust to the light from outside as he's instructed by another guard This one more civil than the last.
“Head down to the dock and one of the others will show you to the Census Office. Keep your chin up kid” he says, giving the brunette a quick pat on the back.
Swirling blue and purple orbs meet another man as he makes his way onto the rattly little bridge that leads to the dock.
“I-”
“You finally arrived, but our records don't show from where” the Guard hums while looking over paperwork. It makes the Half mer tensed up again as he racks his mind trying to figure that out himself.
‘Summerset Isle’
The thought hits him but it's not something he remembers; the name is slightly familiar so he goes with it.
“The Summerset Isle” he answers, hoping he doesn't look like he's lying.
“Great. I'm sure you'll fit right in. Follow me up to the office and they'll finish your release” the guard turns and begins walking towards the office leaving the Mer stunned.
‘What in the Gods name did I do!?’
He thinks for a second before quickly catching up and walking slightly behind the guard.
Once inside another man greets him. This one wears extravagant robes, human and on the older side.
“Ahh Yes, we've been expecting you. You'll have to be recorded before you're officially released. There is a few ways we can do this, and the choice is yours” he explains while handling off documents to the young half elven man.
He's looking over the paperwork as if trying to find his name, he can't remember it, its something stupid to forget yet as he stares at the documents it just says
‘Un-named Half-bred’
occupation: Spellsword
Born under: The Ritual
Crime: ‘Undeclared’
Release ordered by Emperor Uriel Septim VII
Signed
Socucius Ergalla
16th of Last Seed 3E 427
“Am I meant to sign this?” He finally asked looking up. The older man gives a nod before stamping the documents.
“Show your papers to the Captain when you exit to get your release fee. Welcome to Seyda Neen Outlander”
That was how the young half mer found himself sitting on the back of a silt strider. His eyes glued on the landscape around gently running his fingers over the striders plating. The air was thick with the scent of salt and ash as the sun dipped below the jagged horizon of Vvardenfell. The faint wails of the silt strider echoed across the land, resonating sound that mixed with the distant cries of cliff racers. The towering creature swayed gently, its massive legs moving with a rhythmic grace.
Darvame, a Dunmer with skin ashen like volcanic rock and eyes that gleamed like rubies, glanced over her shoulder at the half-Altmer behind her. She raised her voice.
“You look lost, Outlander,” she called back to him. The wind caught her dark hair, pulling it across her face, but her expression remained stern, as if she were measuring him.
The brunette stopped, his hand resting on the coarse, chitinous surface of the silt strider’s back as he looked at her, his eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that made them seem like liquid amethyst.
“I am,” he admitted.
“This place is so different, yet it feels so familiar all at once.” He let his gaze drift back to the horizon, where the golden light of dusk painted the jagged landscape in hues of crimson and amber. The rolling hills, dotted with the twisted forms of mushroom-like trees, seemed to stretch endlessly, each shadow cast by the dying light adding depth to the alien beauty.
Darvame’s eyes softened slightly. studying him like one might a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
“Different and familiar,” she repeated, rolling the words over her tongue as if testing their weight.
“You’re not the first to say that. Vvardenfell has a way of pulling at the threads of memory. Perhaps you’ve been here before, in another life.”
He chuckled lightly, though the sound was tinged with melancholy.
“Something about this place feels alive in a way I’ve never experienced. Every sound, every shadow, it’s like the land is watching me.”
“It is watching you. You’re an Outlander.” She turned back toward the road.
“Not all eyes watching you are kind ones, though. Keep that in mind. Nammu ”
“Nammu?” The half-Altmer tilts his head slightly at the name, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but it felt right.
“it means No name, but it is also the name of a cave in the Grasslands,” she explains as they begin to see the flickering lights of Balmora.
“Hmmm I like it” he says softly which earns a laugh from her.
The path to Balmora was uneven, winding through rocky terrain and over narrow ridges that offered breathtaking views of the surrounding wilderness.
“What brings you here, Outlander? You don’t look like the type to wander into Morrowind without reason.”
He hesitated, his steps slowing as his thoughts churned.
“I’m not sure,” he finally admitted.
The Dunmer studied him for a moment longer, then nodded.
“Come on,” she said, her tone softer now.
“Balmora’s not far. We’ll get a drink at the Cornerclub, you’ll need someone who knows this land to guide you.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
The city of Balmora sprawled out before them, its stone and adobe walls rising from the riverbanks like a fortress built from the land itself.
The bridges over the Odai River glistened faintly in the dim light of the lanterns, but the air was thick with a damp, cloying scent that made Nammu wrinkle his nose. It was a smell that clung to everything: a mixture of swamp, mildew, and the faint tang of something metallic.
He tried not to make a face, but the corners of his lips twitched as he followed Darvame through the bustling streets.
“Smells like home,” Darvame said dryly, glancing back at him with a sly smirk. Her crimson eyes glinted in the torchlight, and the slight curl of amusement on her lips suggested she’d noticed his discomfort.
“What, Outlander? Too delicate for a little swamp air?”
Nammu cleared his throat, his tone carefully neutral.
“Not at all,” he replied, though his voice lacked the conviction to sell the lie. He glanced around, trying to focus on the surroundings rather than the smell.
Darvame chuckled softly and gestured for him to follow as she turned down a narrow street.
“Come on. The Cornerclub’s this way. Bacola Closcius is the owner, and he’s the one you’ll want to talk to if you’re looking for information. He knows everyone who comes and goes in Balmora.”
The brunette nodded, adjusting the strap of his satchel as he followed her. The man who had sent him to Morrowind had been cryptic at best, and Nammu’s only lead was Caius Cosades, a name as unfamiliar to him as Vvardenfell itself.
“I take it, you know Bacola?” Nammu asked, trying to make conversation as they wove through the labyrinthine streets.
Darvame shrugged, her posture relaxed but her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
“Everyone knows Bacola. He runs the South Wall Cornerclub, a place for thieves, smugglers, and anyone who doesn’t fit in with the Hlaalu nobles. He might not like you, though. You’re a little... clean.”
“Clean?” Nammu echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“You know,” she said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of his robes.
“Like you haven’t spent a week crawling through the muck. Don’t worry, though. I’ll vouch for you.”
“Comforting,” he muttered, There was something oddly reassuring about Darvame’s bluntness, even if her humor was at his expense, she hadn't called him anything offensive, just called him No name.
As they approached the South Wall Cornerclub, the air grew heavier, the scent of damp stone mingling with the acrid sting of kwama eggs being fried. The building itself was unassuming, a squat structure of dull stone and wood that seemed to sink into the surrounding architecture. A faded tapestry sign hung by the entrance, the words barely legible in the flickering light.
Darvame pushed open the door without hesitation, stepping into the dimly lit interior. Nammu hesitated for a moment before following her inside.
The Cornerclub was exactly what he’d expected. cramped, smoky, and filled with the kind of people who stared a little too long when a stranger walked in. The room was a patchwork of mismatched furniture and scuffed floors, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and the faint hint of moon sugar. A few pairs of eyes turned toward him as he entered, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to open suspicion.
Darvame doesn't pay much attention. She strode up to the bar, where an Imperial man was polishing a mug with a rag that didn’t look particularly clean. His sharp eyes flicked to Darvame, then to Nammu, taking in the half-Altmer’s robes and unfamiliar face.
“Darvame,” the man said, his voice a low rumble.
“You’ve got a habit of bringing in strays.”
“Bacola,” she replied smoothly, leaning casually on the bar.
“This one’s harmless. He’s looking for Caius Cosades.”
At the mention of the name, Bacola’s expression tightened for the briefest of moments before settling back into a neutral mask. He set the mug down and crossed his arms, leaning against the bar as he looked Nammu over.
“Caius, huh?” he said, his tone unreadable.
“What’s your business with him?”
Nammu hesitated, before finally giving his answer.
“I have a package to deliver,” he said carefully.
“I was told he’d be expecting it.”
Bacola studied him for a long moment, then sighed.
“Caius lives just up the hill from here, near the north eastern side of town. Look for a run-down house, You’ll probably smell the skooma before you see it.”
Nammu blinked, unsure if Bacola was joking.
“... Skooma?”
Darvame smirked, patting him on the shoulder.
“You’ll see. Good luck, Outlander.”
As she turned to order a drink, Nammu sighed, heading to the door and stepped back out into the night, the faint sound of laughter following him as he made his way toward the eastern side of Balmora.
me, whispering to the ao3 page of an author who wrote one life altering banger and nothing else: I hope your pillow is cool and your skin is clear and you find money in a forgotten jeans pocket
Ps guys this works. Leaving a little whisper on a fic activity makes me remember said fic exist and then I work on it because it's been put back into my brain.
I just saw some girl on TikTok get accused of eugenics all for saying she didn’t want to have kids because she has a lot of health problems that have seriously impacted her own life and she didn’t want to pass that down.
Like y’all this is bad. People are so chronically online that it has melted their fucking brains to the point where critical thinking and nuance have effectively been abandoned in favor of newborn baby levels of reasoning. It’s honestly scaring the fuck out of me fr. Back when I worked as a tour guide, I spoke to a LOT of teachers and this is a huge issue they’re dealing with in the classroom as well.
Nerds, I need y’all to sound off in the comments. Has humanity gone thru anything like this before? And if so, is there a name for it?
I DO also wanna say tho that I am glad that it's becoming more of a trend to discuss the Chronically Online Crowd(TM). Because I'm sorry I think this type of behavior needs to be shamed out of existence. And I swear to FUCKING GOD if I get ANYBODY try to tell me that this is an 'ableist' take....NO! I'M AUTISTIC. DIAGNOSED. I HAVE ADHD TOO AND EVERY OTHER POSSIBLE LEARNING AND PROCESSING DISORDER A MOTHERFUCKER COULD HAVE so stfu.
I want to bring also post this as someone who is not having kids because my DNA is fucked up so badly that I wouldn't wish this shit on anyone.
I am 25 with Graves disease, two other auto immune disorder/ diseases. A heart condition called WPW, hypermoblity and muscle decay.
I would not wish the shit I have gone through on my worse enemy it has taken me 10 plus years to get over 45Kgs because my heart condition and thyroid made it that hard for me to gain weight and muscle due to my metabolism being that hyper.
My body causally puts me in hospital from either getting sick or dislocations or my muscles decaying. The only thing that helped was going on testosterone injections to help my body try and gain muscle and strength. I'm on testosterone not only for gender therapy but by orders from my endocrinologist as treatment for My Graves disease. Some days, I can function at a decent enough level without being in constant pain. Other days, I'm bedridden.
I made the choice that I'm not going to have biological kids because I don't want them to deal witht he same thing I'm dealing with. And that's not to mention the mental health side of things.
When we say we don't want to bring children into the world because we don't want them to suffer, we aren't being eugenic or Abelist. We are suffering and know the pain. And I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Poison Ivy was curled up in her moss bed, body relaxed but her mind far from it as she watched Harley bustle around.
It was, in many ways, a quiet domestic moment. Harley was humming to herself, sorting through a box of old knick-knacks she’d picked up on a recent outing.
But her mind wasn’t here. It kept dragging her back to that meeting from months ago, she doesn't know why it unnerved her so badly.
Her fingers absently brushed against one of the vines curling around her arm, replaying the moment she’d seen him. She’d been so confident, so sure of herself as she strolled into the nursery, her vines creeping over shelves and counters to claim the plants she wanted.
And then he’d been there.
She hadn’t even noticed him at first, he’d been standing near one of the potted trees, almost blending into the background. But when their eyes met...
Ivy frowned, her fingers tightening around the vine.
He had yelped, startled, his wide eyes locking onto her in a mix of fear and confusion. For a split second, she’d thought he was just some unlucky bystander, someone who’d wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.
But then she’d felt it.
The plants. The connection.
It was subtle at first. A faint shift in the air, a ripple through the greenery around them. The potted plants nearest to him seemed to lean toward him, their leaves trembling faintly as if reaching for something. A crow on his shoulder let out a sharp caw, its beady eyes fixed on her with an intelligence that felt far too human.
And then she saw it.
The way the vines and leaves beneath his skin seemed to coil and unfurled, faint but unmistakable. His cheeks, his arms, like plants living under his skin, a part of him. Something that almost mirrored her own abilities but felt... different.
Older.
The memory sent a shiver down her spine, and she shifted on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She’d been so startled in that moment, so thrown off by what she was seeing, that she hadn’t stayed, didn't steal what she was after just up and left like she had angered the earth itself.
And that was what fascinated her most.
She never got startled.
There had been no malice in his wide-eyed stare, no aggression. Only confusion and fear, as though he didn’t fully understand what he was or what she was.
Ivy’s fingers trailed along the edge of a nearby flower, her thoughts swirling. She hadn’t even known someone like him could exist. She’d always thought she was alone, a unique creation of science and nature. But this man... he felt more mythical than anything.
There had been something primal in the way the plants responded to him, something ancient and deeply rooted.
She’d heard whispers of such beings before, in old stories she’d once dismissed as myths. Spriggans. Guardians of the forest. Creatures born from nature itself.
“Pammie?”
Harley’s voice broke through her thoughts, Ivy blinked, her gaze refocusing on the room around her. Harley was standing in front of her, one hand on her hip, the other holding a small ceramic figurine of a clownfish.
“You okay, Red? You’ve been starin’ off into space for, like, five minutes. I thought maybe you were talkin’ to the plants or somethin’.” her head tilted slightly as if waiting for her girlfriend to respond and tell her what was going on.
Ivy offered a small smile, though her mind was still elsewhere.
“I’m fine, Harl. Just... thinking.”
Harley plopped down beside her, setting the figurine on the moss.
“Thinkin’ about what? Or who?” She waggled her eyebrows mischievously, but her tone softened when she saw the faraway look in Ivy’s eyes.
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been kinda quiet since we got back from that last job.” Ivy hesitated for a moment before deciding to share, at least partially.
“Do you remember the nursery? The one we visited a few weeks ago?”
Harley tilted her head, chewing on a piece of gum as she thought.
“Yeah, that’s the one where you didn’t grab anything. Which, by the way, super weird for you, babe. You were all moody after.”
Ivy sighed, leaning back against the moss. “There was... someone there. A man.”
Harley’s eyebrows shot up. “A guy? What, like a customer or somethin’?”
“Not just a customer,” Ivy said, her tone thoughtful. “He was... different. The plants responded to him in a way I’ve never seen before. Even my vines hesitated.”
Harley frowned, clearly trying to process this. “We talkin’, like... another plant person? Like you?”
“Not exactly,” Ivy murmured, her gaze distant again. “There was something... older about him. Something deeper. I think he might be a Spriggan.”
Harley blinked. “A what now?”
“A guardian of nature,” Ivy explained, her voice quiet. “Ancient beings tied to the earth. I always thought they were myths, but... now, now I'm not too sure.”
Harley leaned in closer, her expression softening. “If he is, what?”
Ivy hesitated, her fingers brushing against the petals of a nearby flower. “Then I’m not as unique as I thought I was.”
Harley didn’t say anything for a moment, then reached out, taking Ivy’s hand in hers. “Hey. Doesn’t matter if he’s a Spriggan or a tree whisperer or whatever. You’re still you, Pammie. And you’re still the baddest plant lady in Gotham, no matter what.”
Ivy couldn’t help but smile at that, though her thoughts still lingered on the man from the nursery.
_____
Tim barely had time to react as the blur of Y/N came barreling down the stairs, nearly colliding with him. Tim caught himself against the railing, stepping aside just in time to avoid a full-on collision.
“Whoa careful!” Tim called out, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and concern.
Y/N skidded to a halt, his eyes wide and his face flushed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tim replied. He raised an eyebrow, noticing the way Y/N was fidgeting, clearly in a rush. “You alright? You look like you’re about to sprint a marathon.”
Y/N ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. “Yeah, sorry. I overslept, and I’m late for work. I hate being late. It’s not professional, you know?”
Tim nodded, filing away the confirmation in his mental list of observations. Before he could ask anything else, Y/N muttered another curse under his breath, glancing at his watch.
“Sorry, I gotta go, like, now.” Y/N gave Tim a quick, apologetic smile before rushing toward the small parking lot outside the building.
Tim watched him go, utterly baffled. He hadn’t expected to see Y/N so flustered or panicked. It was a stark contrast to the calm, confident demeanor he’d displayed in the garden or at the café.
But then Y/N’s bad luck struck again.
From the doorway that led into the apartment reception, Tim watched as Y/N slid into his car and tried to start it. The engine sputtered weakly, coughing a few times before going completely silent. Y/N tried again, his movements growing more frantic, but the car refused to cooperate.
Tim stood there looking at his watch, sipping a French earl grey and grimacing slightly. He had time before he had to be at WE but here he was watching a young man go through the multiple stages of grief over a car.
Pulling out his phone, he opened the family group chat and quickly typed a message.
---
[Wayne's World Orphans, organs and Morgue]
Tim: Jason, you free right now?
Jason: Why?
Steph: Uh oh. What’s Tim up to now?
Tim: It’s nothing big. Y/N’s car won’t start, and he’s late for work. I figured you could “help him out.”
Jason: ...Wait. Are you asking me to spy on your plant boyfriend?
Tim: He’s not my boyfriend. And yes.
Steph: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Jason: Oh, this is the best thing that’s happened all week. I’m in.
Dick: Jason, don’t scare him.
Jason: No promises.
Tim: Just... fix the car and keep an eye on him while I'm at work. I need more information.
Jason: Relax, Tim tams. I’ve got this.
---
Tim sighs pinching his brow ridge over the fact that he was now getting Jason involved. He strolled across the parking lot, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he approached Y/N’s car. Y/N was still in the driver’s seat, his head resting against the steering wheel in defeat.
“Hey,” Tim called out, making Y/N jump slightly. “Car trouble?”
Y/N looked up at him, his expression sheepish. “Yeah. It’s been acting up for weeks, but I thought I could squeeze a few more drives out of it before getting it looked at. Guess I was wrong.”
Tim nodded thoughtfully. “my brothers pretty good with cars. I could call him, have him take a look?”
Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard by the offer. “Oh, I don’t want to bother—”
“It’s no bother,” Tim interrupted smoothly. “He loves this kind of stuff. Besides, you’re late for work, right?.”
Y/N hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay... yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”
Tim pulled out his phone, pretending to dial.
---
Ten minutes later, Jason rolled into the parking lot on his motorcycle, packing not far from where Tim stood. Jason moes swiftly unbucking his helmet tucking under one arm and a cocky grin plastered across his face.
“Alright, Timmy Turner” he said, hopping off the bike and striding toward Y/N’s car. “Who’s got car trouble?”
“Don't call me that Jason derulo” Tim snarks back before looking at the time he still had a few minutes before his Uber would be there.
Y/N stepped out of the driver’s seat, looking a little overwhelmed. “Uh, me...”
“ Jason.” he introduces himself giving Y/N a strong handshake.
“Y/N,” he said, offering a small smile.
Jason grinned, already sizing him up. “Alright, Y/N. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.” As he popped the hood and looking around the engine bay.
Tim didn't stick around long once the car showed up, leaving Jason alone with Y/N and the stubborn car. Jason is half in the engine bay, grease and oil on his hands as he checks different parts, hed already ruled out the battery or wires. He wipes his hands on a rag as Y/N paced back and forth nearby, phone pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, I know, Sarah,” Y/N said, his voice tinged with frustration, “I’m really sorry about this. I swear I’ll make it up to you next shift.”
Jason shakes his heas in amusement, pretending not to listen as he poked around the engine, but his sharp ears picked up every word. How Tim thought this man was a threat was beyond him.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Y/N continued, glancing over at Jason. “I can still make it in if I—” He paused, letting out a soft sigh as Sarah’s voice came through the phone again. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay home and get the car fixed. Thank you, Sarah.”
He hung up and turned toward Jason, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Well, looks like I’ve got the day off whether I like it or not.”
“Lucky you,” Jason said, his tone light as he crouched down to check the spark plugs.
Y/N crossed his arms, his expression a mix of worry and guilt. “Tell me how bad it is. Be honest, I can take it.”
Jason stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. “Don’t know for sure yet. I’m leaning toward the alternator or the sparkplugs, but I’ll need to test a few things.”
“It’s... not in the best shape.” Y/N admits sheepishly, he honestly should have looked after the car better then he had but that was a problem for another day.
Jason snorted. “Yeah, I can see that. Don’t worry, though, I’ve been scrapping and fixing cars since I was a kid. I’ve got a storage shed full of spare parts. If it’s the alternator or the spark plugs, I probably have what you need.”
“Really?” Y/N asked, his eyes lighting up with a mix of hope and relief.
“Really,” Jason confirmed, leaning under to inspect that there isn’t any leaks or damage to the radiator. “I’ll need to grab some gear, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”
Y/N let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re a lifesaver. Seriously, I owe you big time for this.”
Jason waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal. This kinda shit is like a hobby to me, plus Tim now owes me. Win, win for me ”
But Y/N shook his head, determined. “No, really. If this is going to take a while, let me at least make you something. Snacks, lunch, whatever you want.”
Jason paused, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at Y/N. “Homemade snacks, huh? You cook too?”
“Kind of,” Y/N said with a shy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I like messing around in the kitchen. I use a lot of herbs I grow myself, so... yeah. It’s not fancy, but I can whip something up.”
Jason straightened up, resting an arm on the edge of the hood as he grinned. “Alright, deal. You make me lunch, and I’ll get your car running again. Fair trade, yeah?”
Y/N smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah. Fair trade.”
Jason nodded, already making a mental list of what he’d need from his shed. “Alright,” Jason said, closing the hood for now. “I’ll head to my storage shed and grab the parts. Shouldn’t take me too long. You good to hang out here?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here,” Y/N said, his smile widening. “Thanks again. Really.”
“No problem,” Jason said, giving him a casual wave as he headed toward his motorcycle.
As he started the engine and pulled out of the lot, Jason couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Tim was going to love this update. And the homemade food? That was just a bonus.
Jason rummaged around some of the spare parts he had while looking at his phone. family chat was already buzzing with activity, most of it at his expense.
---
[Wayne's World Orphans, organs and Morgue]
Jason: Update: Plant Guy freaked out over his car, but honestly, he’s kinda adorable. Like, full-on pacing, chewing his nails, the whole deal.
Jason: Pretty sure it’s the alternator. Maybe sparkplugs. Gonna take me a couple hours to fix, but he’s chill. He’s making me lunch, so I’m basically winning.
Duke: Wait. He’s cooking for you?
Jason: Oh yeah. Dude stress cooks, apparently. Said he’d make me sandwiches or something.
Steph: Tim, I think Jason’s stealing your boyfriend.
Tim: He’s not my boyfriend.
Jason: Well, he’s definitely not yours, Corporate Cloony.
Cass: Pics?
Jason: Not yet. But I’m telling you, this guy is like the definition of a Hozier song. Straight out of the woods with his herbs and plants and soft voice. Like... “Take Me to Church” vibes but wholesome.
Duke: You mean “Cottagecore”?
Jason: Yeah, or Goblincore. Whatever TikTok’s calling it these days. He’s that.
Tim: Can you stop flirting with him and focus on the car?
Steph: Let him cook, Timo.
---
Jason rolled his eyes at his phone, pocketing it as he heads back to his bike, backpack and saddle bags filled with tools and equipment so he can do a service of the car and hopefully get ti up and running.
About an hour later, Jason was elbow-deep in the engine, carefully adjusting the alternator and muttering to himself. He didn’t hear the door open at first, but the sound of footsteps made him glance up.
Y/N was walking toward him, balancing a small platter in one hand and a large glass jug in the other.
Jason raised an eyebrow, straightening up as Y/N approached. “What’s this?”
Y/N offered a sheepish smile, setting the platter down on the car’s roof. “You’re fixing my car. It’s the least I can do.”
Jason glanced at the spread, his eyes widening slightly. The platter was loaded: thick sandwiches made with tomato, basil, and melted cheese, sliced beef. still warm; fresh-baked biscuits, slices of cake with a light glaze and a large jug of what Jason guessed was some kind of homemade lemonade.
“Dude,” Jason said, blinking. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I figured you’d probably be hungry. It’s nothing fancy, just... stuff I had lying around.”
Jason picked up one of the sandwiches, inspecting it with a mixture of curiosity and hunger. He hadn't eaten breakfast yet and was still running off a two day old burrito from after patrol last night. He took a bite and immediately decided this was the best thing he’d eaten in weeks.
“Holy this is amazing,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“You’re welcome,” Y/N said with a laugh, pouring a glass of the lemonade handing it to Jason.
Jason took a sip, the tangy-sweet flavor refreshing after the heat of working on the car. He could feel his earlier skepticism about Y/N slipping away.
“I need to take a photo of this to send to the fam and a few buddies of mine. Gotta rub it in their face the meal I'm eating” Jason laughs while talking some photos of the platter. Jason snapped a few quick photos of the platter. He made sure to include the sandwich in his hand for scale
---
[Wayne's World Orphans, organs and Morgue]
Jason: Alright, update: I was wrong. The guy isn’t just a Hozier song. Actually Remy the Rat.
Steph: Explain PLEASE!?.
Jason: Dude just brought me a platter of food. Sandwiches, fresh-baked biscuits, homemade cake, and some fancy lemonade. I’ve never felt more cared for in my life.
Duke: ...I think I’m in love with him now, too.
Tim: Why are you like this?
Jason: Because I’m eating the best beef sandwich of my life while you’re stuck in an office.
Cass: Pics now.
Jason: Fine.
Jason: Here. Behold the power of Plant Guy.
[Photo Attachment]
---
Jason chuckled, already imagining Tim’s reaction when he read the chat.
Jason wiped his hands on a rag, leaning back from the engine as Y/N stood nearby, sipping his drink. The two had fallen into an easy rhythm of chatting while Jason worked on the car, trading little details about their lives in between Jason’s muttered curses and the occasional clank of tools.
“So,” Jason said, glancing up from the alternator, “you’ve been working at the nursery for a while?”
“Yeah,” Y/N said with a small nod. “I’ve been there for about three years now. Sarah, the owner she’s amazing. She kind of took me under her wing when I was trying to figure things out. Taught me everything I know about plants, and, well... I guess I’ve been hooked ever since.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “You’re more than just hooked, man. You’ve got the whole green thumb thing down. I’ve seen people who’ve been gardening their whole lives, and they don’t have the kind of touch you do.”
Y/N laughed softly, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “Thanks. I don’t know... I just feel like plants make sense, you know? They’re honest. They tell you exactly what they need if you know how to listen.”
Jason paused, staring at him for a moment. “Hozier,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a grin.
Y/N tilted his head curiously. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jason said, waving it off.
“What about you? You’re pretty good at this car stuff. Is it your job, or just a side thing?”
Jason shrugged, tightening a bolt on the engine. “A little of both, I guess. I’ve been messing with cars since I was a kid, started out fixing up junkers to make a little cash. These days, I’ll take on a side job here and there if someone needs help. It’s not my main gig, though.”
“What is your main gig?” Y/N asked with a tilt of his head.
Jason hesitated for half a second before coming up with something believable. “Security work. Mainly doing some bouncer work. Occasionally other stuff if Tim has clients he wants to have a security escort ”
Y/N nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. You seem like the kind of guy who’d be good in a tough spot.”
Jason smirked. “You’d be surprised.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze and the occasional clink of Jason’s tools.
“So,” Y/N said after a pause, “what about Tim?”
Jason glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“Well,” Y/N said, shifting slightly, “he mentioned you were his brother, and you mentioned doing some work for him with clients and I was just curious. He seems... very Businessman esk. I mean, he was in a suit earlier, so I figured he does something, uh... corporate?”
Jason chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that. Tim’s the smart one in the family, real tech-savvy. He works in business.”
Y/N tilted his head. “What kind of business?”
Jason shrugged, keeping his answer deliberately vague. “Big-picture stuff. He’s one of those guys who’s always on his phone or a laptop, juggling a million things at once. Honestly, I don’t know how he does it.”
Y/N smiled, his expression thoughtful. “He seems nice. Kind of quiet, but... nice.”
Jason smirked, resisting the urge to tease Y/N about this little observation. “Yeah, that’s Tim. Quiet, but sharp. Don’t let the suit fool you.”
Y/N nodded, seeming to file that away. “I guess you guys are pretty close, huh?”
Jason paused. “Yeah. We might bicker sometimes, but we’ve got each other’s backs. That’s just how family works, im closer with him then our older brother, he's a smart ass and pain somedays.”
Y/N smiled at that, his hands cradling his glass. “That’s nice. I don’t really have family nearby, so it’s cool to see how close you guys are. I mean, Tim’s already helped me out more than he needed to, and now you’re here fixing my car... I really appreciate it.”
Jason waved him off, though there was a faint warmth in his chest at Y/N’s sincerity. “Don’t mention it.”
Y/N chuckled softly, glancing at the car. “Well, if you ever need plants or snacks or, like, anything, let me know. I owe you one.”
Jason grinned, picking up his tools again. “I’ll hold you to that, man. Now, let’s see if we can get this thing running.”
---
[Wayne's World Orphans, organs and Morgue]
Jason: Update: Y/N is officially the most wholesome human I’ve ever met. He’s asking about Tim now. Wants to know what Tim does for work.
Tim: What did you tell him?
Jason: Relax, Corpo, I didn’t out you as Tim Drake-Wayne of WE. Just said you’re in business. Which, you know, isn’t a lie.
Steph: Aw, he’s curious about Tim! That’s adorable.
Duke: Bet Tim’s blushing right now. Hiding behind a coffee cup and a laptop.
Tim: I’m not blushing.
Jason: Oh, totally is.
______
“She lives!!” Jason shouts once he gets the car running. It has Y/N holding his chest in relief over the car not being totally ruined.
“Thank you again for this,” Y/N said, his voice warm. “I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise. Guess I owe Tim, too, for calling you in the first place.”
Jason waved him off with a smirk. “Nah, don’t sweat it. This kind of stuff’s easy for me. But yeah, you might wanna give Tim some baked goods. hes got a bit of a sweet-tooth”
Y/N laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I will. I should probably thank him properly. And, uh... here.” He gestured to the paper in Jason’s hand. “If you ever want more random snacks. because, fair warning, I cook way too much, just let me know.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, grinning as he slipped the paper into his pocket. “Careful, man. I might take you up on that. You’ve already ruined me with these sandwiches.”
Y/N laughed again, the sound light and genuine. “Well, now you know where to find me. Thanks again, Jason. Really.”
Jason gave a casual wave as Y/N headed back toward the building, glancing down at the paper and shaking his head with a small smile.
As soon as Y/N was out of sight, Jason pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture of the alternator he’d just replaced before typing out another update in the family group chat.
---
[Wayne's World Orphans, organs and Morgue]
Jason: Alright, job’s done. The car's running, and Plant Guy gave me his number. Said I could hit him up for snacks anytime.
Steph: Jason. You’re in too deep.
Jason: Relax, I’m not marrying him. Tim, though...
Duke: He gave you his number?? That’s practically a marriage proposal in Gotham.
Tim: Stop it.
Jason: Anyway, he’s 100% just some dude trying to live his life the best he can in Gotham. If he’s a meta, he’s keeping it low-key. Doesn’t seem like he’s involved with anything shady.
Steph: Tim, he’s gonna bake for you, and you’re gonna melt.
Tim: I’m going to ignore you Steph
Damian: This obsession with the man is unbecoming.
Duke: Damian, you're not old enough to understand.
Damian: Nonsense. The man cooks, gardens, and appears to be harmless. That’s more than most of Gotham can say. Timothy is a pale, sickly creature who needs someone competent by his side.
Jason: OH MY GOD. TIM, DAMIAN SAID YOU’RE A VICTORIAN CHILD.
Cass: He’s not wrong. Plague Walker.
Tim: I hate all of you.
Steph: Tim is like one of those pale kids who coughs dramatically in their family’s drawing room. “Fetch the smelling salts!”.
Jason: “Will the spring air cure my consumption, Father?” looking MF.
Tim: I’m blocking all of you.
Damian: Timothy, I expect you to take this matter seriously. Propose with dignity or leave the man alone.
Jason: Tim, if you don’t lock it down, I will. The guy’s a walking TikTok aesthetic. You’re not gonna do better than that.
Cass: Timothy has no game.
Tim: I HAVE GAME.
---
Jason was laughing so hard he almost dropped his phone. He could practically hear Tim’s exasperation through the screen, and it only made the whole thing funnier.
Jason: I heard sunlight is fatal for Victorian children. Careful out there, Timmy.
Dick: Don’t forget the handkerchief. Nothing says “I’m dying of tuberculosis” like coughing into a lacy handkerchief dramatically.
Tim: You’re all awful. I’m WORKING.
Duke: How’s the office, Tim? Do they let you bring your emotional support coffee filled with Dayquil?
Damian: Perhaps he writes his reports by candlelight, as pale invalids are likely afraid of electricity.
Jason: Damian’s right, though. Tim’s out here looking like he’s one bad flu away from a Bridgerton death scene.
Dick: “He cannot be saved, my lord. The fever has taken him.”
Tim: Okay, GREAT. Now that you’ve all had your fun, can we move on
Tim: You know, Jason, when Ra’s dragged your sorry ass back to life, I hope he stood there, looming over and said: “You sleep rather soundly for a murderer. Good, you’ll need a clear conscience for what I’m about to propose.”
Jason: LMAO WHAT—
Tim: Don’t act surprised. You wish you could pull off the sickly Victorian aesthetic. If you were in a Jane Austen book, you’d be the local stable boy who dies in chapter three.
Steph: OH MY GOD.
Duke: THE STABLE BOY.
Jason: What? No, I’m not!
Cass: You are.
Dick: You totally are.
Jason: Shut up, Grayson. You’re just mad because you’ve got Eldest Daughter Syndrome.
Dick: What?? I do NOT!
Jason: “I have to take care of everyone. I’m the responsible one. I have to hold the family together.” Yeah, okay, Eldest Daughter.
Steph: Oh my god, that’s so true.
Duke: Explains why he keeps trying to parent me.
Dick: I DO NOT HAVE ELDEST DAUGHTER SYNDROME!!!
Tim: Are you all done? I’m on a call with the board right now and can’t mute fast enough to deal with this.
Jason: Why are you even in this chat? Go talk about stocks or whatever it is CEOs do.
Steph: “Hello, Mr. Drake-Wayne, we’ve noticed an uptick in your family bullying you over sandwiches. Thoughts?”
Duke: “Timothy, the shareholders are concerned about your delicate constitution.”
Tim: Can we talk about literally anything else this meeting is rotting my brain and you lot arent much better with yuor entertainment.
Jason: Sure, let’s talk about how Dick’s a cop.
Dick: Oh my god, not this again.
Jason: ACAB includes you, Grayson.
Steph: Jason, you literally kill people and Bruce lets you get away with it.
Jason: And? That’s justice, Steph. You wouldn’t get it.
Duke: Eat the rich, Jason says, while eating Bruce’s money for breakfast.
Jason: Bruce is exempt. He funds my habits.
Tim threw his phone onto his desk, muttering under his breath about annoying siblings.
______
Tim was exhausted by the time he got home. Between juggling endless board meetings and enduring the chaos in the group chat, he was ready to collapse into bed with the faint hope that he could actually sleep more then 4 hours tonight.
He’d barely dropped his bag on the floor when he heard a soft knock at the door.
Tim froze.
It wasn’t often that people knocked on his door unannounced. His mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. Maybe it was one of Ra’s assassins looking to make a point. Or worse, a rogue who had somehow tracked him down. He grabbed a batarang from the hidden compartment in the wall, moving toward the door as quietly as possible.
Heart pounding, he eased the door open, ready to react and found himself staring at Y/N, standing there with a small plate wrapped neatly in clear plastic.
“Uh, hey,” Y/N said, looking a little sheepish. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Tim blinked, his brain short-circuiting for a moment. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”
Y/N shifted awkwardly, holding up the plate. “I, uh... I realized I never really got to thank you properly for calling Jason to help me out earlier. So I figured I’d drop this by. It’s nothing fancy, just some cookies, a slice of cake, and tiramisu.”
Tim stared at him, completely caught off guard. and now here was Y/N, standing at his door with baked goods like some kind of domestic angel.
“Oh,” Tim said, finally finding his voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I wanted to. You really helped me out today, and I appreciated it. I figured this was the least I could do.”
Tim hesitated, then stepped aside to let Y/N in. “Uh, yeah, sure. Come in.”
Y/N stepped inside, looking around the apartment. It was clean and modern, though the faint smell of coffee and the scattered stacks of papers gave away Tim’s workaholic tendencies. Y/N’s eyes landed on a sleek espresso machine on the counter.
“Wow,” Y/N said with a small laugh. “I was right. You are a coffee guy.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck, feeling oddly self-conscious. “Yeah, it’s kind of a necessity. Long nights, you know?”
Y/N set the plate down on the counter. Tim stared at the plate, his usual guarded composure slipping just a little. He wasn’t used to people doing things like this for him. Sure, Alfred made sure he ate, and his siblings occasionally forced him to take breaks, but this... this was different. This was thoughtful in a way that caught him completely off guard.
“Thanks,” Tim said softly, picking up one of the cookies. “This is... really nice of you.”
Y/N shrugged, leaning against the counter. “It’s no big deal. And, well, after everything today, I figured you could probably use a little pick-me-up.”
Tim took a bite of the cookie, and his eyes widened slightly. It was good. Like, really good. “These are amazing,” Tim said, and he meant it.
“I’m glad you like them.”
For a moment, the two stood there in comfortable silence, the tension that had been building in Tim all day finally starting to ease. Y/N had a calming presence, like the kind of person who could make even the worst day feel a little brighter.
“So,” Y/N said after a moment, “do you always work this late? Or is today just an exception?”
Tim smirked faintly. “I wish I could say it’s an exception, but... no. This is pretty normal for me.”
Y/N shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “Man, you need to take better care of yourself. You’re gonna burn out at this rate.”
Tim huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You sound like my siblings.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe they’re right. You can’t exactly run on coffee and spite forever.”
Tim opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Y/N pushed off the counter. “Well, I should probably let you get back to whatever corporate stuff you’re working on. But seriously, thanks again for today. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Tim said, watching as Y/N headed for the door.
Y/N paused, glancing back at Tim with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?.”
Tim nodded, his fingers brushing the edge of the plate Y/N had left behind. “Yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim stood there for a moment, staring at the plate of cookies and cake. He could still taste the cookie he’d eaten, For the first time all day, he felt... calm.
No because he really is a yearner and a loverboy beneath a grumpy facade, the persona that grew like armor on him through years and years of constant rejection and fighting for his right to live. He really is capable of wanting to give love and care despite all the hatered that this world has been throwing at him since his birth and for his whole life.
Hi hi! I'm just wondering if you would be able to do Bob reynolds with
🆘️☎️
Please and thank you! I'm rather excited to try the Ask game and look forward to more if you make more of them.
Hahahah I'm glad people are enjoy the ask game. These two kinda tie into
Learning How link
🆘️ - who's their emergency contact
Robert has a lot of people he would call in an emergency but his main emergency Contact is John Walker. He doesn't really remember how that had become the case but it was who he called when things got bad and he needed help.
_____
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the cramped room. The lights had already made Robert's head hurt from how bright they were.
He sat on the bench, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. The smell of stale coffee and urine filled the air, and the faint sound of murmured voices and shuffling paperwork echoed from beyond the door. He hated this, hated every second of it.
He’d been minding his own damn business, doing nothing more than grabbing himself a burger. A burger of all things. But of course, the second the cops saw him, they’d decided he looked suspicious. They’d pulled him aside, run his record, and the moment his history popped up, they’d made their decision. He was guilty by default.
Bob exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to keep himself calm. Getting angry wouldn’t help him, not now. But it was hard not to feel the frustration bubbling under his skin, hard not to feel the sting of humiliation tightening his chest.
He wasn’t that guy anymore. He’d worked so hard to clean himself up, to leave that life behind. But to system, he’d always be the junkie, the fuck-up, the guy who used to trade his body for a hit.
The door creaked open, and a stocky officer stepped inside, clipboard in hand. The badge on his chest gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his expression was unreadable as he closed the door behind him.
“Robert Reynolds, you're a long way from Florida ” the man said, his voice flat and uninterested.
Bob looked up, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, I moved here” he said, his voice low but steady.
The officer glanced at the clipboard, then back at Bob. “You know why you’re here?”
Bob let out a sharp breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m here because you think I did something,” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “I was just getting a burger, man.”
The officer raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “A burger, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “And you just happened to be in the area of a known drug hotspot?”
Bob’s hands clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palms, he wasn’t going to yell or shout or try and put up a fight because he wasn't going to give them any reason to get physical. “I wasn’t there to buy drugs,” he said, his voice firm. “I was at the diner on Green Street. It’s a burger joint.”
The officer shrugged, flipping through a few pages on the clipboard. “You’ve got a history, Reynolds,” he said, his tone casual but pointed. “Multiple arrests, aggravated assault, drug charges”
Bob’s chest tightened, a mix of anger and shame twisting in his gut. “Yes, I’ve got a record,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m not denying that. But that was years ago. I’m not using anymore. I’ve been clean. I’ve been working to stay clean. You can’t just drag me in here because of something I did back then.”
The officer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you haven’t touched anything? No meth, no pills, nothing?”
“Nothing,” Bob said firmly. “I don’t do that anymore.”
The officer studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp and probing. “You got any proof of that?”
Bob blinked, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Proof?” he repeated. “What, you want me to carry around a certificate or something? You want me to piss in a cup right now? I'll do it. I’m clean. I can also get my shrink on the phone, all the medications im on are perception and documented”
The officer didn’t move, his expression unreadable. “You seem pretty defensive,” he said after a moment, writing something down on the clipboard. “That’s usually a red flag.”
“You dragged me in here for no reason. You didn’t do a drug test, you didn’t see me using. How am I supposed to act?” He's doing his best to keep the shadows from creeping up his arms, honestly he's holding himself better than he ever has while in a cell.
The officer didn’t respond right away, his gaze still locked on Bob. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth. Let’s say you’re clean. Why were you in that area in the first place?”
Bob exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. “I already told you,” he said. “I was getting a burger. That diner on Green Street? It’s one of the only places open late, and I was hungry. I was ordering food and I also have a receipt for my meal. I wasn’t buying drugs, I wasn’t meeting anyone. I was just getting myself food.”
The officer tilted his head slightly, his expression skeptical. The room is silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Getting worked up wouldn’t help. He needed to keep his cool.
Finally, the officer stood, picking up the clipboard and tucking it under his arm. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll run a test. If you’re clean, you’re free to go. But if you’re not—”
“I am,” Bob cut in, his voice firm. “Run the test. But I want my call first.”
The officer’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he nodded and turned toward the door. “fine,” he said, his tone neutral as he stepped out of the room.
As the door closed behind him, Bob leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow, shaky breath.
His hands were still shaking with frustration and leftover adrenaline as he picked up the phone, the pressing mobile against his ear. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, and glanced at the keypad. There were so many people he could have called, but only one person he knew would be there in a heart beat, wouldn’t ask too many questions, and would move heaven and earth if Bob needed him to.
John Walker.
The two men may have gotten off to a rocky start but John had become somewhat of an older brother figure to Bob, neither of them had their lives quite in order but John had made sure Bob had some sort of support and was one of the more stable of the Thunderbolts.
His fingers moved quickly, punching in the number he knew by heart. The phone rang once, twice, and Bob’s stomach twisted with anxiety as he waited. What if John didn’t pick up? What if he was in the middle of something important? What if.
“Yo, Bobby,” John’s familiar voice crackled through the line, calm but with that edge of curiosity that always came with John answering an unexpected call. “What’s up, man? You okay, how's the burger joint?”
Bob let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him at the sound of John’s voice. “John,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I... I need your help.”
There was a pause on the other end, and Bob could almost hear the shift in John’s demeanor, the concern settling in. “What happened?” John asked, his tone serious now. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the NY precinct,” Bob admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “They... they pulled me in. Said I looked suspicious, ran my record, and decided to detain me.”
“Jesus Christ,” John muttered, the sound of things clattering in the background can be heard followed by a faint rustle of movement, like John was already grabbing his keys. “give me like 30 and ill be there”
Bob’s chest tightened at the words, a lump forming in his throat. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I... I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You did the right thing,” John said. “And don’t worry about Val. I’ll handle her. She’ll probably want to wring someone’s neck for this, but you know how she is.”
Bob let out a weak chuckle, the sound shaky and uneven. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured she’d lose it if I wasn’t back at the tower by 11pm.” Bob's doing his best not to pick St his arm from anxiety.
“She’ll lose it anyway,” John said with a faint chuckle of his own. “But I'll deal with that later. For now, just hang in there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Bob said, his voice barely audible. “Thanks, John. Really.”
“I’ll see you soon, Just sit tight.” John states. The line went dead, and Bob hung up the phone, leaning back against the wall as he exhaled slowly.
☎️How long are you on call when one of you is away on business
Depending on the day and how long you have been away it can range from short calls of half an hour to 2 up to him falling asleep on video calls that last hours if you have been away for a long while.
Bob lay on his side, curled up in the cocoon of his blankets, the dim light of his phone screen casting a faint glow across his tired face. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight to block out the gray, overcast sky outside. He hadn’t bothered to get up today. What was the point? He felt like shit, like the weight of the world had decided to settle on his chest and wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon. And Void was overly loud.
His thumb brushed idly across the screen of his phone, refreshing the same notifications he’d already checked ten times in the last hour. Nothing new. No messages, no calls. Just the quiet, gnawing ache of loneliness wrapping itself tighter around him.
He stared at the top of his screen, where Y/N’s name sat pinned to his favourites. The last text Y/N had sent was still there, a simple “heya Handsome call me whenever, okay?.” That had been 15 minutes ago, and Bob had read it so many times that the words were practically burned into his memory.
Y/N was away on business, some conference he couldn’t get out of, and he wouldn’t be back for another week. Normally, Bob could deal with the distance. He’d been on his own for most of his life But today, it felt like too much.
He let out a shaky sigh, his thumb hovering over Y/N’s contact. He didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to seem clingy or needy. He probably had a long day, and the last thing he wanted was his boyfriend dealing with him while he was in the dumps and dealing with a depressive episode.
But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to hear Y/n's voice, to feel that small sense of comfort he always seemed to bring. It was stupid, really, how much he missed him.
Before he could overthink it any further, his phone buzzed in his hand, the familiar ringtone cutting through the quiet. Bob’s heart jumped, and he scrambled to sit up, his chest tightening when he saw Y/N’s name flashing on the screen. Almost like they could tell something was wrong.
He answered on the second ring, his voice coming out a little rough. “Hey.”
“Hey, pretty boy,” Y/N said, his voice warm and familiar, even over the crackle of the line. “How’re you doing, you didn’t reply earlier and I just wanted to make sure you were alright”
Bob hesitated, his fingers tightening around the phone. He wanted to say he was fine, to brush it off and pretend like everything was okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Not to Y/N.
“I’ve been better,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It's… it's a 3 sort of day today, mmm sorry I know you're busy”
Y/N hummed softly, his tone instantly shifting to something gentler. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Talk to me baby,”
Bob sighed, leaning back against the headboard as he stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just... It's been a bad day. One of those days where everything feels wrong, you know? I didn’t even want to get out of bed. I feel gross and i hate that i feel like this” it sounds almost like a whimper
“oh baby,” Y/N said softly. “Have you eaten anything yet today?”
Bob closed his eyes, the sound of Y/N’s voice washing over him like a balm. “I miss you,” he admitted after a moment, his voice cracking slightly. “I know it’s stupid because it’s only been a few days, but... I miss you. A lot.” He states sort of ignoring the question Y/n had asked
“I miss you too, Bobby. I’ve been thinking about you all day, actually. I was gonna call sooner, but things got crazy here. Handsome please eat something, I know when you're trying to evade giving an answer” the other man hums over the call.
Bob felt a small pang of guilt at that. “You’re busy,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother you. And i will eat, i just don't want to move right now”
“Hey,” Y/N said, his tone soft but firm. “You’re never a bother, okay? I don’t care how busy I am. I could order you doordash and ask for them to leave it at the door?”
Bob swallowed hard, his chest tightening. “Thanks, i.. id love that alot” he said softly.
“Of course, what would you like me to order handsome?” Y/N chuckles.
