#my fic
Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans, since things so seldom go the way I hope they will, even when I’m working hard to make them. March, in this case, featured a lot of health nonsense, and a number of demands on my time—and, as a result, I wasn’t able to write as often as I wanted to. Despite that, I’m proud of the fact that I managed to mostly stay on-track with my biggest goal during March, and make the days I wasable to write really count.
Total wordcount: 9, 046
Highlights:
- I did, in fact, go back to the novel rewrite the way I’d planned to, writing about 4.3k of it, which was about half of the total words I wrote in March
- I finished the short piece I’d started at the end of February—a Steter birthday piece for asarcasticwitch, which can be found here
- I worked a little on the Hanahaki AU
Plans for April:
- Finish either the Hanahaki AU, or chapter 7 of the Kinky Stargent fic
- Post something in April
- Bang out at least 5k of the novel rewrite
Reblogging for the night owls
Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans, since things so seldom go the way I hope they will, even when I’m working hard to make them. March, in this case, featured a lot of health nonsense, and a number of demands on my time—and, as a result, I wasn’t able to write as often as I wanted to. Despite that, I’m proud of the fact that I managed to mostly stay on-track with my biggest goal during March, and make the days I wasable to write really count.
Total wordcount: 9, 046
Highlights:
- I did, in fact, go back to the novel rewrite the way I’d planned to, writing about 4.3k of it, which was about half of the total words I wrote in March
- I finished the short piece I’d started at the end of February—a Steter birthday piece for asarcasticwitch, which can be found here
- I worked a little on the Hanahaki AU
Plans for April:
- Finish either the Hanahaki AU, or chapter 7 of the Kinky Stargent fic
- Post something in April
- Bang out at least 5k of the novel rewrite
Reblogging for the evening crowd
Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans, since things so seldom go the way I hope they will, even when I’m working hard to make them. March, in this case, featured a lot of health nonsense, and a number of demands on my time—and, as a result, I wasn’t able to write as often as I wanted to. Despite that, I’m proud of the fact that I managed to mostly stay on-track with my biggest goal during March, and make the days I wasable to write really count.
Total wordcount: 9, 046
Highlights:
- I did, in fact, go back to the novel rewrite the way I’d planned to, writing about 4.3k of it, which was about half of the total words I wrote in March
- I finished the short piece I’d started at the end of February—a Steter birthday piece for asarcasticwitch, which can be found here
- I worked a little on the Hanahaki AU
Plans for April:
- Finish either the Hanahaki AU, or chapter 7 of the Kinky Stargent fic
- Post something in April
- Bang out at least 5k of the novel rewrite
Reblogging for the afternoon crowd
Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans, since things so seldom go the way I hope they will, even when I’m working hard to make them. March, in this case, featured a lot of health nonsense, and a number of demands on my time—and, as a result, I wasn’t able to write as often as I wanted to. Despite that, I’m proud of the fact that I managed to mostly stay on-track with my biggest goal during March, and make the days I wasable to write really count.
Total wordcount: 9, 046
Highlights:
- I did, in fact, go back to the novel rewrite the way I’d planned to, writing about 4.3k of it, which was about half of the total words I wrote in March
- I finished the short piece I’d started at the end of February—a Steter birthday piece for asarcasticwitch, which can be found here
- I worked a little on the Hanahaki AU
Plans for April:
- Finish either the Hanahaki AU, or chapter 7 of the Kinky Stargent fic
- Post something in April
- Bang out at least 5k of the novel rewrite
Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans, since things so seldom go the way I hope they will, even when I’m working hard to make them. March, in this case, featured a lot of health nonsense, and a number of demands on my time—and, as a result, I wasn’t able to write as often as I wanted to. Despite that, I’m proud of the fact that I managed to mostly stay on-track with my biggest goal during March, and make the days I wasable to write really count.
Total wordcount: 9, 046
Highlights:
- I did, in fact, go back to the novel rewrite the way I’d planned to, writing about 4.3k of it, which was about half of the total words I wrote in March
- I finished the short piece I’d started at the end of February—a Steter birthday piece for asarcasticwitch, which can be found here
- I worked a little on the Hanahaki AU
Plans for April:
- Finish either the Hanahaki AU, or chapter 7 of the Kinky Stargent fic
- Post something in April
- Bang out at least 5k of the novel rewrite
Doesn’t matter if you write in a frequent basis, or once in a blue moon, just how many of us are there?
BatFam Week Theme: Vacation
“Ugh, I need a vacation after this,” Dick huffed.
“You all need vacations, but you never take one,” Babs pointed out. “The only time any of you leave the city is to go fight aliens in outer space.”
“That’s not fair. Sometimes B has business overseas.”
“Still not a vacation, Nightwing.”
Dick opened his mouth to argue, but shuddered instead, breath catching in the back of his throat.
“’Wing?” Babs asked, voice sharp. “You stay with me. They’re on their way, but you have to stay with me until they get there.”
“Y-Yeah.” The word was thready, shaky, like the wiggling feedback of a polygraph machine. Dick cleared his throat and tried again, clenching his teeth to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, of course. You know me, O. Why leave w-when I can make the party come to me, right?”
“Keep moving as best you can,” Babs coaxed.
If Dick closed his eyes, he could see her hunched over her keyboard, fingers flying as she guided the rest of the team to him, eyes fixed on her screen as if she could see through it straight to him. Though really, it didn’t matter if he closed his eyes or not, since he didn’t have so much as a glimmer of light to see by.
“I’ll start hopping again in a s-second,” Dick promised. “Just let me c-catch my breath.”
“Night—”
“Something in m-my leg is broken,” Dick cut her off. He sucked in another steadying breath, trying to keep his voice light even through clenched teeth. The bone-wracking shivers and the pain were making it hard to keep his voice steady. He had to keep it steady. For Babs. “I can’t put a-any weight on it. And even if I could hop around for m-more than a minute, there’s nowhere t’ g-go. I can’t see. I’m in a f-freezer the size of a walk-in closet. N-Not rich people walk-in, either.”
He leaned his head back against freezer wall and winced as the frost settled in his hair. “I n-need to catch my breath,” Dick repeated softly. But she was right. He needed to stay alert. “Talk to me?”
“About what?” Babs’s response was immediate, unhesitating. Good ol’ Babs.
For a moment, Dick’s mind was blank. He blinked against the darkness, making the squiggling flashes of phantom lights in his eyes dance. God, he was so tired.
He rallied. “V-Vacation. Where sh-should we go?”
“We?”
Dick, to his own delight, managed a chuckle. “S-Sure. You th-think we’re bad? W-When was the last time y-you left that tower, O? A-At least I leave the h-house every now and th-then.”
He sighed, thinking of Babs high above Gotham, locked in a dark room and lit by the glow of screens on all sides. “Rapunzel, R-Rapunzel, let d-down your hair.”
Dick didn’t realize he had breathed out that last thought until Babs snorted in his ear.
“Sure. A vacation sounds nice.” Her voice was warm and eased down his throat like a cup of Alfred’s honey tea. “Someplace far from Gotham. Out of the country. Preferably not reachable by phone, I think.”
“S-S-Someplace warm,” Dick added. His smile glinted in the dark as he was rewarded with a laugh from Babs.
“Definitely. Someplace warm.”
“A b-beach.” Dick was getting into the fantasy now. He kept his eyes closed, his busted leg stretched out against the ice-slicked floor, and tried to picture the perfect place. “Somep-place remote. Not deserted. B-But quiet. N-No crowds. Clear w-w-water. Warm s-sand. You in a-a-a bikini.”
Sun on his face, on his chest, on his hands. Wind in his hair. The scent of salt spray and coconut sunscreen in the air. If he concentrated hard enough, Dick could pretend he was there. The pain in his hands dulled, receded. He sighed again.
“Sand and wheelchairs don’t mix,” Babs was saying, warm laughter still rippling in her voice. “And my bikini days are long gone.”
“You’d l-look good in a poncho to me.” Dick was crossing a line somewhere, he knew. He and Babs weren’t… what they were wasn’t what they had been. He knew that. But keeping the words in his head was like trying to hold onto fistfuls of sand. They would slip and stream out before he could stop them.
Dick rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to push the pain out of a body that felt as tight and as brittle as an old rubber band. His breathing was too loud. He needed to keep Babs away from her worry and away from his careless words. She’d said something about… about… sand. Yeah. Sand and her wheels.
“W-We’ll hire a… a…” Dick shifted against the unyielding floor and gasped as pain shot bright as a lightning bolt up his nearly numbed leg.
“Dick?” Babs’s voice was hot and needling with concern, but it sounded further away. Easier to ignore. Dick knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t remember why exactly.
“One ‘those chairs,” he breathed, waiting until the pain pulled back again and left his body feeling numb and empty once more. “W’ll hire g-guys t’lift it. Y’ll b-b-be a… princess.”
God, he was so tired. Dick wanted to sleep. He wanted it more than anything in the entire world. But Babs kept saying his name. Why wouldn’t she let him sleep?
Blurry visions of an empty beach shimmered in his head again, and he felt a heat spread through his body. It was too much, too hot. Dick whined low in his throat and tugged at the neck of his suit with clumsy, unbending fingers. After a few seconds of struggling, he tired himself out and let his hand fall back into his lap.
Babs was still talking, he realized. She sounded upset. He didn’t like Babs upset. “B’s almost there, Nightwing. You stay with me. You promised you’d stay with me.”
“S’kay,” Dick whispered. His teeth had stopped chattering, but he hadn’t noticed. “S’kay, Babs. ‘m j’s g’na sleep f’r bit.”
Babs was yelling now, but that was okay. He didn’t mind. It wouldn’t keep him awake.
A/N: Now on AO3 if you feel moved to give some love: https://archiveofourown. org/works/15476685
Chapter One: lurkinglurkerwholurks.tumblr. com/post/185293293554/much-that-once-was-is-lost
Chapter Two: lurkinglurkerwholurks.tumblr. com/post/185450418502/mtowil-chapter-two
Chapter Three: lurkinglurkerwholurks.tumblr. com/post/185608593907/mtowil-chapter-three
Chapter Four: lurkinglurkerwholurks.tumblr. com/post/185777913642/mtowil-chapter-four
AO3: archiveofourown. org/works/14322486
Wanting things he couldn’t get was a reoccurring theme of Tim Drake’s life. One might argue that it was a part of everyone’s life, but Tim believed that it repeated itself often enough in his life to be elevated to that of motif or possibly even TV Trope entry.
When he was a boy, Tim had wanted siblings, a brother or sister be friends with. He had wanted a pet to fill the emptiness of the house. He had wanted parents who acknowledged his existence. He had wanted someone around to just give him a hug every now and then.
Then he had grown and had wanted nothing more than to be a part of the mysterious family next door. To swing across rooftops with them. To make a difference with them. To help relieve some of the reckless, self-destructive pain he saw. And those wants had been granted for a time, only to now be ripped away again, and Tim found himself wanting fiercely to stay stay stay stay stay let me stay. That seemed about as likely as Jack and Janet Drake rising from their graves and scooping him up into a warm group hug. So, ever the pragmatist, Tim had wrapped that wish up and tucked it deep with all of his other deferred hopes and dreams.
But that didn’t mean that he stopped wishing entirely. Even when his big dreams faltered and collapsed, Tim kept himself buoyed with little desires, like narrow sandbars that lifted him just enough above the current to save him from being dragged under. He never stopped hoping. Never stoped dreaming. Never stopped wanting even though his life was nothing more than an unbroken string of denials and setbacks.
Over the past week and a half, Tim had kept himself afloat by daydreaming about pushing Charles Drake out a window. Or maybe stamping “I support industrialized logging” onto his forehead and dropping him off on Pamela Isley’s doorstep. Tim did his best not to be picky.
He had done his best to avoid his uncle over the past week and a half, a difficult task since Charles was ostensibly in town for him. Not that Charles was at all interested in being a supportive, caring uncle. He kept in nearly constant contact with Tim, but there were no words of condolence, no apologies for being absent for literally Tim’s entire life, no gestures of comfort. No, Charles Drake didn’t seem capable of that sort of emotional labor. What he was very capable at was giving orders.
Timothy, you’ll be sitting with me at the service. Timothy, we’ll see to getting your father a proper headstone. Timothy, you will return to my hotel after the burial; no need to impose on Mr. Wayne any longer. Timothy, send my secretary your vital statistics for the custody arrangement. Timothy, Timothy, Timothy—
It was enough to make Tim consider changing his own name. Not that that would completely help. Charles had called him Tom the first time they had met inside the church, and Tim could only thank the stars that none of the team had been in earshot. He was used to being insignificant, but to be so insignificant that your closest living relative didn’t even know your own name? Pathetic.
Well, Charles was more than making up for the name swap now. Timothy, Timothy, Timothy…
A few years ago, Tim might have immediately folded under the barrage of orders. But after a few years withstanding the gauntlet of Bruce, Dick, and Damian, he at least managed to sink at a slow enough speed that it looked like his own choice. Rather than abandoning Wayne Manor entirely, for example, Tim moved back into his own house to devote his full attention to cataloguing its contents for the estate sale. He had resisted the little commands Charles gave as best he could when he thought they were wrong or unhelpful. He had avoided all talk of custody and had “forgotten” to contact Charles’s secretary.
But he was so tired, and every time Tim resisted Charles’s domineering ways, he had a little less to give. Now, after eleven days of text and phone calls, Charles had bestirred himself to come to the Drake family home. Tim still wasn’t sure why. Between his inability to concentrate and Charles’s propensity to drone on, he had only caught every third word.
Tim leaned against the edge of the dining table and fiddled with a teaspoon, watching mesmerized as the sunlight flashed off the silver. For kicks, he made it flash out SOS, which tempted a tiny smile to his lips, but the expression was gone almost as soon as it appeared. The part of his brain that was monitoring his uncle relayed that Charles was telling some unnecessary anecdote about a horse race and a dog-faced woman. Or a dog race and a horse-faced woman? Whatever.
Tim carefully placed the teaspoon in the box next to him and rubbed at his eyes. Moving back to the mansion had been a mistake. Wayne Manor was no party central, but its veins still thrummed with living, breathing people. The Drake estate was nothing more than a shrouded corpse, Tim a virus clinging to a life source that had gone dark. He spent his days packing and cataloguing and trying not to run face first into the memories that crowded the halls. He spent his nights clinging unabashedly to the stuffed bear he had brought from Cass’s pile and trying not to suffocate under the layer of ghosts and dust entombing his bed.
“I still don’t understand why you insist on doing this unnecessary work yourself.”
Tim choked back a sigh. What was unnecessary about saying goodbye to the last pieces of his entire life? The house needed to be sold. He and Charles both agreed on that. What did the man care if Tim was the one to prepare it?
“This is my house,” Tim explained for what felt like the tenth time. “These are my parents’ things. I want to do it.”
Mine. MY house. MY parents. I have so few things left to me, so let me do with them what I want.
Tim’s brow creased as Charles picked up the teapot he had been polishing, scraping its foot against the lacquered tabletop in the process. For a moment, he pictured… No. He was too tired to even summon up a satisfying fantasy scenario. All he could enjoy was a momentary homicidal fizzle, and then he was left with the cold hunk of ice in his chest.
“As long as this mess is wrapped up quickly,” Charles drawled as he checked his teeth in the reflection of the teapot.
Another fizzle of rage, and Tim’s jaw clenched. Maybe this was the moment when he would finally put his foot down, tell Charles to clear out and go home, that rats weren’t welcome under this roof.
“We have tickets on the 10 AM flight back to the West Coast on Sunday. Anything you haven’t finished by then can be taken care of by someone else. I have a board meeting Monday morning that I will not miss.”
We?
Had Charles managed to wrangle custody from a judge, then? Even as Tim wondered, he knew what a foolish question that was. Charles Drake didn’t need Tim’s permission or cooperation to take over. He was a close relative, didn’t have an egregious criminal record, and he had the means to take in a stray. What judge would say no?
Tim’s hand gripped the edge of the table as his knees quivered. Leave Gotham? Leave the Waynes? Even though he had told Damian that was the most likely outcome, he had thought… he had hoped…
“I can’t leave.” Even to his own ears, Tim’s voice sounded strained and so very young. “My… my life is here. I live here. In Gotham.”
My home is here. My family is here. EVERYTHING is HERE.
“Don’t be silly,” came Charles’s immediate reply. “There’s nothing for you here. Your parents are dead. Your belongings are being sold. I’ve arranged a buyer for the house, and your father’s assets will be liquidated and held in trust for you until you come of age, with me as your legal trustee and guardian. What could you possibly have to keep you in this dismal little city?”
Batman! Batman needs me! HE was the one who had saved Bruce from himself after Jason had died. HE was the one who had pulled Bruce from the time vortex. Tim had spent the last few years doing everything he could to be indispensable to Bruce, and if he had to have faith in anything, he would have faith in that.
In his anger and panic, Tim only barely managed to catch himself from saying just that to Charles. Instead, he choked back Batman’s name and instead countered, “What about Bruce and the Waynes?”
Tim knew Charles hated Bruce the way a tall man hates a taller man. He wasn’t used to being cast in someone else’s shadow. But he also knew Charles knew to fear Bruce in Bruce’s own city. So Tim expected some consideration at best, annoyance at worst.
Tim hadn’t expected Charles to laugh right in his face.
“Don’t be silly.” Charles waved the teapot dismissively, then set it down on the table. Tim immediately snatched it back up and placed it in the box where it belonged. “Your internship can be transferred to my company. I’m sure we can find a place for you at Drake Holdings.”
Tim tried to explain that he couldn’t just leave. He owed them more than that. Surely Charles would understand the concept of that debt? They were his family. Family wasn’t supposed to just leave.
“They’ll be happy to be rid of you, I’m sure.”
Tim’s breath stuttered as his uncle spoke into the dust-flecked air the words that had wallpapered his nightmares for as long as he could remember. It almost would have been easier to take if Charles had spoken angrily, but he didn’t even look at Tim. His gaze was off somewhere over Tim’s shoulder, as if Tim wasn’t worth the effort of eye contact. As if they were two awkward acquaintances at a dinner party neither had wanted to attend.
“Bruce Wayne is a powerful and busy man, and as one myself, you can take my word that he will not mind in the slightest. Do you honestly think he’ll be sorry to no longer have you underfoot? You were a nuisance that he took in—well, come to think of it, I don’t know why. Charity, perhaps. Or a rich man’s whim. Whatever the case, he will be pleased to have his home free of interlopers.”
Once, on patrol, Tim had gotten separated from the other birds in a fight. It had gone pretty well, considering how badly he’d been outnumbered, until his foot had hit some loose asphalt chunks and he’d gone sprawling. The breath had been knocked out of him, and before he could struggle back to his feet, he’d been encircled by three thugs who then proceeded to kick the living snot out of him. It had been terrifying and painful. He’d been bedridden for days. Had had nightmares for weeks.
This was a hundred times worse, each of Charles’s words more painful than any steel-toed boot to the ribs. At least then he had known he just had to hold out for Batman to rescue him. Now, he was alone.
Bruce Wayne won’t mind.
Would he? Would Bruce mind? Or would Tim’s disappearance cause not so much as a ripple on the surface of Wayne Manor?
Underfoot… a nuisance… a charity case… a rich man’s whim…
Tim’s shoulders curled in under the verbal blows, and he pressed his palm against his rib cage. He pictured the team sprawled on the couch in the den for movie night, happily taking up the extra space he’d left behind. He pictured Bruce’s sigh of relief at the peace his absence left. No more fights with Damian. No more tension with Dick. No more surprise attacks from Jason. He pictured his room at Wayne Manor empty. Or worse, filled by another boy. Someone smarter, funnier, stronger, better.
Tim’s chest heaved with panic. He was down and he was trapped and no one was coming for him and no one would miss him and Charles was calling him an interloper and hearing someone else use Damian’s pet slur was like taking an uppercut when he already couldn’t breathe and—
“I had no idea we were so close that you could presume to know my wishes, Charlie.” Both Charles and Tim jumped as Bruce’s well-cultured voice spoke from the previously empty space near the kitchen.
Charles turned to answer, his embarrassment already smoothed over by a phony smile, and Tim tried to use the moment to regain his composure. How much had Bruce heard? Enough, by the low growl under his words, but what did he object to? What Charles had said or that he had been crass enough to say it? Tim swallowed hard against the rising sick in the back of his throat, only to nearly startle again when Bruce stepped around Charles and placed a tray on the table next to Tim.
“Alfred sent me with lunch and instructions to extract a promise that you’ll be over at five for dinner. He wants your opinion on the sauce for the pasta puttanesca.” The words were gentle, not pitying, but kind, but Tim couldn’t meet Bruce’s eyes.
Tim nodded, gaze on his feet, then froze as a large hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed. He could count on one hand the number of times Bruce had touched him in a non-emergency situation, and half of those had happened since Jack’s initial illness. Bruce Wayne did not do physical affection. Sitting with Tim on his dead father’s bed or holding his hand as he cried himself to sleep was one thing. But Tim wasn’t crying. Charles was here watching. And Bruce was two days shy of being free of Tim for good.
Bruce kept his hand on Tim’s shoulder even as he pivoted to talk to Charles. Tim was deaf to their argument, his focus on the warmth spreading through his shoulder by that inexplicable hand. Or, not entirely deaf. He heard what they were saying—what Bruce was saying—but the words didn’t make sense.
Brightened my home… a comfort… happy to keep… never been in my way… leave him…
Was he dreaming? Or dead? Had he died instead of Jack? Because that was the only explanation for those words coming out of Bruce Wayne’s mouth about anyone, but especially about Tim. But Tim could still feel Bruce’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from Charles and behind Bruce’s broad back, sheltering him from view. Then Bruce let go to step toward Charles, and the sudden absence snapped Tim back into focus.
“What’s Tim’s favorite brand of coffee?”
What? Tim thought even as Charles echoed the question aloud.
“Coffee,” Bruce snapped. “Favorite brand. Come on, that’s an easy one. Something any family of Tim’s would know. No? What about his favorite movie?”
“Bruce?” Tim took a small step forward, ready to reel Bruce back in. But Bruce was just getting started, and for every question he asked, he took another step forward, driving Charles back and away from Tim.
“What does he want to do with his life? Where does he want to go to college? What’s his favorite flavor Skittle? Come on!”
Bruce’s shoulders were tight with rage, making Tim’s eyes go wide. What was this? Bruce didn’t lose control. It wasn’t part of his persona. Heck, he hadn’t seen Batman lose control since Jason, and that was only because Bruce had thought he’d lost his son.
“Bruce?” Tim tried again, louder this time, only to jerk backward as Bruce drove one powerful forearm against Charles’s chest and pinned the other man to the wall.
“What’s his middle name?” Bruce demanded, nearly shouting now. “WHAT’S YOUR NEPHEW’S MIDDLE NAME, CHARLES?”
Tim couldn’t let him hurt Charles. Not because he cared about Charles, but because he cared about Bruce, and attacking another person was not something Bruce Wayne did out of the cowl.
“Bruce!” Tim cried, springing forward. “Bruce, stop! Let him go! Bruce! BRUCE!”
He managed to get ahold of Bruce’s other arm and used his full body weight to yank the older man backward. Geez, Bruce was shaking. Tim pulled him back to the table, as far away as he could from Charles, letting go only when Bruce’s broad shoulders deflated and slumped.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” Bruce said, his voice no louder than a whisper now. “I told myself that this had to be your decision and no one else’s. I don’t want to make it for you.”
Tim held perfectly still as Bruce reached out and cradled the side of his face with his hand. One large, calloused thumb rubbed against Tim’s cheekbone gently, as if wiping away tears that weren’t there. Not now, anyways.
Bruce, don’t. Don’t be nice to me then send me away. I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I—
“I’d fight for you.”
Tim’s eyes flew up to meet Bruce’s. Bruce’s blue gaze was steady and clear and… Soft. Almost sad, the way he looked sometimes when Dick would fall asleep in the living room after a long night of patrol. If he thought no one was looking, Bruce would stand at the end of the couch and gaze down at his eldest like he thought Dick would disappear at any moment. Or had disappeared, only to come back as someone new. Like he was proud and resigned all at the same time. But that made sense. That was Dick, a boy Bruce loved more than his own life, a boy he had watch grow up from a gap-toothed circus orphan to a full-grown man. Tim… wasn’t. He was just Tim. Why would Bruce look at him that way?
“If you wanted to stay, I’d fight for you, and I promise you that I’d win. But this is your life and your choice. And he is your uncle.”
He’s your family, Tim’s brain supplied. That’s what Bruce meant. But also, I could be your family, too.
Tim could have basked in that moment for a lifetime, but Charles had found his tongue, so Tim cut him off before he could draw Bruce’s attention away again.
“He’s a douchebag.” Tim’s voice wobbled, but he swallowed and kept going. Look at me, Bruce. Pay attention to me.
“My dad didn’t even like him. Always said he was an opportunistic parasite with bad taste in opera and worse taste in wives. They hadn’t even talked in years.”
Tim bit out each word with spiteful glee, deepening his voice just enough to echo Jack’s disdain, and then delighting in the whisper of a smile on Bruce’s lips.
Bruce’s hand was still on his face, so Tim reached up and placed his own hand atop Bruce’s. Don’t go. Don’t let me go.
He wasn’t too proud to beg. “Can I really stay, Bruce? I want to stay. I never wanted to go, but I thought I had to. Please let me stay.”
Please don’t let me be alone. I want to stay. I need to stay. You’re my family, please please please, Bruce, don’t leave me, too.
Tim choked back a sob as Bruce moved his hand, but instead of releasing him as Tim had feared, instead Bruce pulled Tim into a tight hug. “Of course you can. You will always have a home with me.”
Entire body shaking with silent tears, Tim threw his arms around Bruce and buried his face in Bruce’s chest. Bruce’s arms enveloped him, and Tim sobbed in earnest. His nose filled with Bruce’s subtle aftershave, the laundry detergent Alfred used to make everything feel soft and clean, the faint hint of diesel fuel and leather. This was right. This was home.
Tim had thought finding his place would feel different somehow. Like in the moment he took Bruce’s hand and they strode out of the Drake estate toward the Manor, there would be this great rending of reality, forever hewing his life into Before and After.
And he was right. Because no matter what happened now, he knew Bruce would never let him go. He had a family. A place to belong. A home. He was not alone.
——-
Thanks for reading! Please see the AO3 version’s end notes for the little Jason snippet I couldn’t make fit into the final fic.
Slave!Shiro was revealed in my fic Like A Man Possessed
he’s yet to spoilers but I wanted to finally post these!
Post link
I see a lot of stuff about young Julieta and Pepa fiercely protecting Bruno when people are giving him a hard time about his prophecies or his mannerisms and you know what that’s amazing and wonderful and stupendous but may I also propose
young Bruno finds out someone made one of his sisters cry and just. he just goes to their house and stands outside their window, eyes glowing, sand swirling around him, and the second they make eye contact with him he just points at them and says “seven days…”
I wrote a similar scenario to this for one of my fics, My Real Gift Is ‘Acting’!
Scenario: Pepa has a bad date with a guy who acts creepy towards her, and Bruno shows up as Hernando to make him back off. It’s in Chapter 3, but each of the chapters are pretty standalone so you don’t have to read them in order!
Raven
Eames’ ink is a history of him, the story of him, but as Arthur knows, it’s never simple.
The bird is not quite healed, so he avoids it as he runs the soapy washcloth across Eames’ skin. Eames looks over his shoulder at Arthur, pushing his hair – grown long – off his forehead.
“Do you want to know?” he says.
My third contribution to Advent Oddments.
Read it on AO3 here: Raven
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Wrote the shadow fam Embrace fic for Amicia! This is just a possible interpretation of how Amicia’s Embrace might have gone and isn’t @nightingaletrash’s canon unless they say otherwise.
Snip:
Sullivan shuddered and skipped out of arm’s reach. He looked down at the fledgling. “If I help you up, are you going to try to kill me again?”
A brief look of puzzlement flashed on the fledgling’s face, before her expression returned to Murder Mode.
“Yeah, she’s gonna try to kill me again.”
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Shiro/Lance
Rating: Teen Audiences (for language)
Additional Tags: Marriage Proposals, Anniversary
Fic Summary: Shiro had just wanted one thing. He had wanted his fourth anniversary with his boyfriend to go off perfectly. It wasn’t asking that much, really. Was it? Just one perfect day. He’d planned everything, right down to the detail. But the more that went wrong, the more that continued to go wrong and things had quickly gone from bad to worse.
This fic was written as a gift for kipect on Twitter for the @shance-cafe@shancesupportsquad Shance valentines! Hey, Kip, sorry this is late! I wound up going with your proposal prompt! I hope you enjoy this little piece of fluff!
Shiro had just wanted one thing. He had wanted his fourth anniversary with his boyfriend to go off perfectly.It wasn’t asking that much, really. Was it? Just oneperfect day. He’d planned everything , right down to the detail. But the more that went wrong, the more that continued to go wrong and things had quickly gone from bad to worse.
It was supposed to be a nice day spent together, a matinee movie at the little cinema where they had their first date, followed by a picnic lunch at the edge of the lake in the spot where Shiro had asked Lance to move in with him. After that, they were supposed to go to the arcade that Lance had told him once was the place where he first realized he had a crush on him. And then the evening would finish at one of the more exclusive rooftop restaurants in the city, a sunset reservation that Shiro had paid handsomely to have some extra embellishments added to in preparation for his plan for how to peak the evening, the small box pressing against his chest a daunting and thrilling presence.
Instead, the day had been an absolute clusterfuck. The movie had run into technical difficulties partway through, resulting in the theatre sending everyone home with vouchers. Their picnic had been interrupted by a very grumpy goose deciding it needed that spot exactly and getting aggressive when Shiro tried to chase it off, leading to the pair making a break for it as they were chased by angry honking. Shiro hadn’t known that geese could hiss. Next, the arcade was closed due to some incident earlier in the day involving the skeeball machines and some dumb kid. Then they’d been caught in a freak rainstorm on the way back across the park to their car. Shiro had slipped in the mud and taken Lance in with them, ending up with both men muddy and rainy and generally disgusting. Lance had offered to call the evening quits at that point. But Shiro couldn’t just… He couldn’t just give up his plan…
Title: Shells by the Seashore
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Gen
Rating: General Audiences
Additional Tags: Day at the beach, Walks on the beach, Tide pools, Friendship
Fic Summary: Shiro just needed a moment away from the crowd of the beach party. Thankfully, he has Allura’s help to find some reflection among the tide pools.
This fic was written as a gift for @elegance-and-power for the @paladinsecretsanta2k18 ! Hey, Cloud, sorry this is late! I wound up scrapping it a few times but the end result is something I really enjoy! I hope you enjoy this little piece of beachside bonding!
Too much. It was all too much noise and sound and cheering… He just needed to get some air… Or… whatever it was you excused yourself to go find when you were at a beach party in the middle of the afternoon.
Shiro sighed, giving another glance at the party before turning and heading for the rocky outcropping covered by small, tidal pools. He let himself get lost in the sound of the rolling waves and the small patches of frothy seafoam sighing their last breaths as they faded back into the water.
“Everything alright, Shiro…?” a soft voice came from behind him.
Shiro startled, losing his footing and narrowly avoiding landing on his butt as his foot went straight into the nearest pool. A hand gripped his bicep suddenly and firmly, holding him upright.
“O-oh… Allura… I… didn’t see you…” Shiro offered with a nervous chuckle, standing properly and trying to shake some of the water out of his shoe. “I… yeah, just… needed to catch some air, y’know?”
“Catch the… that seems… kind of a futile thing to do. We’re surrounded by air…” Allura remarked, frowning.
Shiro laughed, shaking his head as the warmth of laughter filled him. Oh… that felt nice. “No… no, it’s just an expression… It just means… I had a lot of my mind and I needed to get away a little bit… To think…”
Allura nodded in understanding, giving a small hum. Shiro was constantly thankful for the way his friends usually managed to know when to speak and when he just needed silent companionship.
“Is… there anything I can do to help?” Allura asked gently.
“Mn… I think I just needed to be away from… crowds for a while? All the bustle… It’s nice out here… calm.”
“I see…” Allura nodded. “Did you want me to leave?”
“…No. No, you can stay,” Shiro said with a smile.
Allura nodded, settling beside Shiro as they wandered between the tide pools.
A while later, Allura spoke up. “Oh! Look at that one!” she said, gesturing to something in the tide pool before scooping up a shiny, curved shell. “Look how shiny it is…”
Shiro blinked at the shell before chuckling with a small smile. “Lance mentioned that you like shiny things…”
“O-oh… he did?” Allura asked, blinking.
“Yeah… He really wants to impress you,” Shiro offered with a smile. “He likes you a lot, you know…”
Allura smiled, picking up another shimmering seashell. “He’s… very sweet… We could get a collection of shells for the castle, you know… decoration?”
“Lance kind of grew on you, huh?” Shiro asked with a knowing smile, fishing out a shell that was a glistening pure black and staring at it with fascination.
“I… I suppose he did…” Allura agreed. “That one looks like Keith… Black and with rather… rough edges…”
Shiro blinked at the shell before barking out a laugh. “I guess it does… He’s not all rough edges, you know… Once you get to know him, he’s… he’s really a sweet person who…”
“Who loves deeper than it seems on the surface?” Allura finished for him, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
“…Yeah,” Shiro nodded with a sheepish smile. “He definitely does do that.”
“…Perhaps we should try to find shells for everyone, ones that remind us of them?” Allura suggested. “Then we can bring them back for everyone?”
Shiro hopped across to another outcropping and paused before nodding, offering a hand out to Allura. “That sounds… that sounds like a really good idea.”
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Title: All I Want for Christmas Is Two
Fandom:Voltron
Ship:Shklance
Rating:Teen
Additional Tags: Keith/Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Eve, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Mistletoe, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Crushes
Fic Summary: Being hopelessly in love with your best friend was enough of a problem. Being hopelessly in love with both of your best friends, on the other hand? Well, that was just fucking tragic. Or at least… That was what Keith thought. But maybe, just maybe, Christmas miracles weren’t just the stuff of stories.
Ahhhhh I’m so sorry this is late! Here’s my late @shklance-exchange for @fa-la-la-lance ! (it won’t let me @ you?) You asked for Christmas, three-way pining, fluff, and just a dash of angst. Hopefully you enjoy this! Have a very happy 2019!
Being hopelessly in love with your best friend was enough of a problem. Being hopelessly in love with both of your best friends was just fucking tragic.
Unfortunately for Keith, that was exactly the situation he’d managed to find himself in. To make matters worse, said best friends were also currently his roommates and that was just territory he was never going to cross into.
Besides that… It wasn’t like either of them felt the same way about him, after all. Shiro was the funny, handsome, guiding hand. Lance was the outgoing, goofball, daredevil. Keith was… Keith, the weird cryptid who’d only started coming out of his introverted shell around these two very specific people largely because they’d been cohabitating six hundred square feet for two years. You kind of learned to be less awkward around someone sometime at or around the twentieth time having to return a pair of their underwear that wound up in your wash somehow.
And Keith had managed to fall hopelessly head over heels for not one but both of them. As the holiday season approached, Lance went into overdrive with his holiday preparations. Christmas was a big deal for him and Lance loved to host a good party or four. It meant the tree had to be up on time every time for the tree decorating party. Which also meant Shiro and Keith going to the storage unit for their apartment to go drag the tree out and get it upstairs into their apartment despite the snow falling down outside.
“…Is it just me or does this tree feel like it gets heavier every year?” Keith groaned, tugging the plastic-wrapped green thing out from behind an assortment of boxes of crap they’d collected throughout the year. They would go through their storage unit the week after Christmas, like they always did, and organize and sort and get rid of crap they didn’t really need, but for the moment it was just a mess.
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Title:Lick It Good
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Sheith
Rating:Mature (Subject to change)
Additional Tags: Drag Queen Keith (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Professor Shiro (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drag Queens
Fic Summary:‘Come and see what I do.’ That was the entirely innocuous request Keith had presented his boyfriend with when Shiro finally reached the end of his first semester as a professor at Altea University. Little did Shiro know he was in for the show of his life when he turned up to watch his boyfriend’s performance.
Hello hello! Hey, Icy, sorry this took so long to get to you, but here’s my @sheithsecretsanta gift for @icyblueroses ! This was a really fun piece to write! (Oh please let this post this time, tumblr..)
Excerpt:
‘Come and see what I do.’
That was the entirely innocuous request Keith had presented his boyfriend with when Shiro finally reached the end of his first semester as a professor at Altea University. They’d been dating for nearly two months and Keith had extended the invitation more than once already but Shiro’s workload trying to survive grading coursework for the first time had gotten the best of him every time.
Keith hadn’t faulted him for it, of course. Shiro was busy and Keith himself was still up to his eyeballs trying to finish studying for his GED so that he could take it in time to submit the application for Altea.
But now the semester had come to a close and the students were on break which meant that—aside from meetings about his upcoming semester’s classes—Shiro was free until the new semester started. Keith had every intention of making the absolute most of that.
So he had decided it was finally time for Shiro to meet Cherry Bomb, Keith’s drag personality for the club he worked at. He’d broached the topic as he draped on Shiro’s bed, head hanging upside down over the edge as he watched his boyfriend grading final exams.
It had taken a bit of discussion and finally climbing into Shiro’s lap to convince the man that he deserved a break and a night off. In the end, it had been decided that Shiro would finish grading his finals and then come see Keith that Saturday night.
Saturday seemed to come ringing in at a doubletime pace. Sitting backstage and doing his makeup, Keith couldn’t tell if he was nervous, excited, or just nauseous.
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Title:Unforgettable
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Shance
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Additional Tags: Shance Flower Exchange, Wartime AU, Battlefield nurse Lance, Wounded Shiro, Happy endings
Fic Summary: When Shiro showed up on Lance’s ward, Lance didn’t expect him to be anything other than just another patient. He never dreamed he would miss him so much when he left.
Hi there, @sasuhinasno1fan ! I’m your gifter for the @shanceflowerexchange ! You asked for a prompt involving the flower forget-me-nots and this cheesy little bit of heartstrings-tugging shance popped into my head. Forget-me-nots are an interesting flower because of all the different stories associated with their symbolism and meaning but the one common thread is that they speak of love and longing.
Shiro was gone, just a dream, just a sweet memory that Lance could feel warm his heart sometimes when the sun kissed his lips like Shiro had, just that once.
Lance just needed to accept that and move on. Well, now that he was home, at least, he could start going out to bars and clubs again and trying to meet people. He wondered how things had changed in the time he’d been away from home. Had things become more open for people like him? Had things become less open? Was his favourite queer bar still in business or had they succumbed to the pressures of the wartime economy?
Lost in his head, Lance lost track of where he was going, stumbling as he stepped up onto the ramp down from the ship. Catching himself, Lance closed his eyes to try to ground himself, taking in the feeling of being home for the first time in a long time. He breathed in the clean, fresh air, damp with the freshly fallen rain that still lingered in scattered puddles on the ground.
It smelled like home.
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Title: Photographic Evidence
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Pidge/Allura
Rating:Explicit
Trigger Warnings:None
Additional Tags: Pidge Big Bang, Age Difference, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, College Student Pidge
Fic Summary:Pidge has been crushing on her brother’s friend Allura for a solid four years now. But she never expected that the older woman would find out, much less that she might reciprocate. If Pidge only has a month to convince her to stay… Well, she’s going to make herself irresistible. Or at least, that’s the plan.
Well, here it is, my piece for the @pidgebigbang Pidge Big Bang event! This piece is a long time coming and I’m really glad to finally be able to get it out there. For those of you who’ve read my shance piece Elbow Grease, this piece is set in that universe and you’ll be seeing ties to it happening along the Elbow Grease plotline. For those of you who haven’t read that, I’m sure this piece stands solidly on its own but if shance is your thing, go check that out too!
I’d like to thank my betas @backupmakeshiftlifeinwaiting & @c0cunt for listening to me scream and cry about this fic.
I’d also like to thank my artist @crafty-scrafty for your eternal patience.
“Lance, if you’re gonna be a smartass and text me, at least don’t do it right before you ring the—” Pidge gulped as she opened the door, blinking up at Allura herself standing in her doorway. “…doorbell,” she finished lamely.
Well fuck.
“U-uh… Allura… H-hey. What… what brings you here…?” Pidge asked, stumbling back in her scramble to let her in.
“Mm… I think we both know why I’m here, Pidge…” Allura said simply, tone disapproving and stern. “Why don’t we both have a seat.” It wasn’t a question.
Nodding mutely, Pidge headed for the kitchen table, the closest sitting space that wasn’t the intimacy of the absurdly plush couch Hunk had gotten from his mother.
They sat. Allura sat. And the silence stretched between them.
“So. I hear you’ve been inquiring about certain… pictures of me?” Allura’s question broke the silence of the room after what felt like hours and Pidge looked away with a flinch. She was just… getting right to it then.
This was it this was the part where Allura was going to tell Pidge off and dismiss any interest and it wasn’t like Pidge didn’t know Allura wasn’t interested, but knowing it and hearing it were two very different things and that was going to hurt. Pidge couldn’t help but fidget under Allura’s watchful gaze, not finding the words to respond. How did you even go about saying ‘hey yeah I asked my friend to get me pictures of you in a bikini so I could perv on them like a total creep’? There was no good way to say that.
“Pidge. Look at me,” Allura said, tone serious.
Pidge couldn’t help but comply, forcing a halting laugh. “I think looking at you is what got me into this mess…”
“Those photos… I’m guessing your reasons for asking for them weren't… especially platonic?” Oh, that was a… tactful way to put it, even if the answer was obvious. How could her interest be platonic? It wasn’t like you asked for the ability to to ogle someone platonically.
“…Not especially. …Not remotely. …No.” There was no point in beating around the bush. It wasn’t like Allura didn’t already know now.
“…Oh.” That was it? Just 'oh’? What did that mean? Was she trying to figure out how to best chew her out?
“…Yeah.”
Featuring super cute art by Crafty-scrafty, check it out here!
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Title:Inked
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Sheith
Rating:Explicit
Additional Tags: Getting Together, Tattoos, Magical Tattoos, Vampire AU, Online Dating
Fic Summary:Keith was certain of one thing: With his first paycheck, after his rent was paid, he was going to get a tattoo. What he hadn’t counted on was becoming a snack for a vampire only a few days before that day came.
Hey@noartnova I’m your gifter for the @sheithlentines exchange and I am so sorry this is so horribly late. Things have been… Well chaotic is a good short summary for it. Long story short, my house is half demolished at the moment and things have been… a bit difficult to keep track of.
Anyway, enough about me. Long story short, you asked for tattoos and vampires and I’ve had this idea scrapped and rewritten three times so hopefully you like the end result!
Keith had always been fascinated by tattoos and had desperately wanted one. But his adoptive parents, a kind but rather… devout couple, had objected to the idea adamantly. They’d objected to a lot of things about Keith, actually, although the others they were more willing to turn a blind eye to. Not the least of which was how very very gay he was. As long as he didn’t bring any boys home and wasn’t ‘visibly’ gay, they just pretended that it wasn’t as important an aspect of his personality as it was. Whatever, he could deal. Other kids had it worse. That was just life being… different. Everyone else always just seemed… stuck in the past.
But having ink or metal in his skin was the one thing they couldn’t overlook, apparently. They said it was a sign of hooliganism, that people shouldn’t be tattooed like cattle. Keith wasn’t even entirely sure who still used the word 'hooliganism’ outside of his household. Still, he was fascinated by tattoos and body modifications in general.
By the time Keith was ready to move out when he turned 18, he was certain of one thing: With his first paycheck, after his rent was paid, he was going to get a tattoo.
What he hadn’t counted on was becoming a snack for a vampire only a few days before that day came.
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Title: A Drop Of Relaxation
Fandom:Voltron
Pairing:Shklance
Rating:Explicit
Words:4600
Additional Tags: Shiro Birthday Exchange 2018, Shiro (Voltron) is overworked, Stress Relief, Pampering, Hot Tub Sex, Massage, Explicit Sexual Content, Aromatherapy
Fic Summary: Calling Shiro overworked would have been the most drastic understatement ever uttered. His boyfriends decide it’s their mission to have Shiro start his birthday on a high note and bring in his year with a bit of much needed relaxation.
Hey there, @lulusensei I’m your gifter for the @vldexchange Shiro Birthday Exchange! So originally this was going to be a SFW piece with just the first chapter but then the NSFW portion of this popped into my head tonight and… I had to expand on it so this is a little late. You asked for Shiro getting pampered in kinky ways and lucky for him he’s got two adoring boyfriends ready to deliver. I hope you enjoy this! And here’s to S5 in a couple of days being as good as we all hope it will be!
It probably didn’t help Shiro’s mood that it had been a long day as well. No, that was an understatement and an insult to long days. Shiro felt like he’d been working non-stop for days rather than just since the Castle’s ‘day’ cycle had started, more or less at 0600 Earth Time.
Looking at attack plan after attack plan and strategy after strategy had the words blurring together on his tablet screen after a while. It was 2100 by the time he was finally able to head back to his room. While it was still early for his usual evening hours, he just wanted to collapse onto his bed and sleep.
Opening the door to his room, Shiro paused at the swim trunks sitting laid out on his bed with a carefully folded note on top of them. Stepping over to pick up the note, he recognized Lance’s scrawl across the paper immediately.
’Put these on & come find us, we’re waiting. <3’
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