āWhat If We Just Fallā Chapter 3 snippet
YesāTim did quote Radiohead. (I fixed the Knicks spelling mistake)
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āWhat If We Just Fallā Chapter 3 snippet
YesāTim did quote Radiohead. (I fixed the Knicks spelling mistake)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
hehe hereās some snippets of āRun, Little Spider, Runā chapter 2
Purposely not showing the good parts, but here are some of my fave so far.
Just a bit of retelling/summarizing Jasonās past
I think I wanna write Bruce Banner and Peter Parker both being sent to Gotham
Cause like Peter has a wholesome relationship with the Hulk and I think it would be great to see Bruce Banner and Hulk in Gotham. Theyāll be like Peterās paternal figure.
And why not make it a Bruce Banner x Bruce Wayne šššš
Havenāt decided if itāll be Peter Parker x someone or if itāll fall under the Dick Grayson and Richard Parker are the same person/Dick Grayson is Peter Parkerās Biological Father tag
But thatāll be a fun little future project where they think Bruce Banner is a terrible guardian for one reckless (spider) teen.
Iām testing this skin out and I like it :D (gonna save it on my ellipsus, just wanted to see if I did it right)
I guess thatās a little sneak peek for chapter 3 of What If We Just Fall
One Piece x Batman
š broooooooo
I started imagining Tony Tony Chopper and Damian Wayne
Like their friendship would be so adorable
Chopper, seen as a monster, and wanting to be the āCure Allā, a damn great doctor with a kind heart
Damian Wayne who wants to be a doctor, loves animals (he would love Chopper), was seen as a demon spawn for how he was raised.
Like dude
Does anyone else see it??

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
HELP
I wanna write a fic with SLIGHT A/B/O, nothing too crazy, with Morlun being the big bad who is hunting Peter Parker down across the multiverse and Peter Parker (obviously) lands in Gotham, very injured, but I need to figure out if it would be Peter Parker/Jason Todd or Peter Parker/Damian Wayne
I have the plot semi planned out, the title is picked too. I just need to be sure on the pairing. Originally it was gonna be Damian but I kinda like the idea for Jason too? Or maybe I want to sure if anyone would be interested in Damian/Peter
What If We Just Fall
Tim Drake/Peter Parker | Soulmate AU
Chapter 1
(donāt mind the double spaces, I copied this from my Ellipsus and Iām too lazy to fix it here)
No one is born in this world to be alone.
Bright yellows, blaring reds, brilliant greens fought for space at every surface, posters on the wall were a chaotic sea of cheerful pastels, the morning light filtered in through the window planes expanding along the wall. "Settle down, children!" Ms. Stewart's voice, warm as melting chocolate, lifted higher than the series of giggles and shuffles. "Or else, I won't talk about Soulmates."
Immediately, a wave of wounded gasps bounced off the colorful walls, tiny feet thudding against plush carpet, little chairs scraping, crayons collectively dropping in a soft thump. The most eager of all, with wide, deep, ocean blue eyes, sat five year old Tim Drake, on the edge of his radiant yellow chair, knuckles growing white from the pressure, excitement practically vibrating in his blood.
Soulmates. A best friend but better. Someone to spend your whole life with, a bond woven in destiny itself, someone to love, to cherish, to have.
And Tim Drake wanted that, wanted love, wanted it so, so desperately. He wanted to feel wanted, feel important, feel like he actually mattered.
Ms. Stewart stood in front of her white board, a stick figure drawn in a blazing blue marker. "Who can tell me what happens when you fall during recess and scrape your knee?"
Overly excited hands shot up in the air; Tim almost stood out of his seat, stretching his muscles as humanly possible, thinking for a second if he can raise his hand higher than the rest, he'll get picked. Pick me, please!
"Anna," Ms. Stewart called on instead, a swell of disappointed sighs and whines filled the space, as a sinking feeling as old as time settled in Tim's chest.
Hands dropped from the air like flies, but Tim hesitated, frozen for a moment, gripping the edge of his table, barely registering the way it creaked.
Then he let his hand fall.
"Nothing!" Anna laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
"That's right! You feel nothing, because you haven't touched your soulmate, yet! You're protected by what we call a 'Shield'." Ms. Steward turned to the white board, adding another stick figure. "When you touch your soulmate, you'll feel a shock, or something warm," She drew the stick figures holding hands, happy smiles in their circle faces. "It's different for most, but once you touch, you'll be able to feel pain."
That's when uncertainty, perhaps frightened gasp rolled through the classroom like a thunder cloud. Another kid raised his hand, "But, Ms. Stewart, why? Isn't that bad?"
Gently, Ms. Stewart shook her head. "I like to think that it means loving someone so, so much that it just means getting hurt is worth all the risk, the pain. Someone worth being careful for."
Tim swallowed, glancing down at his hand, a curiosity eating him from the inside out. What does pain feel like? Did it feel like the ache in his chest? Heavy and complicated? Was it worse? Did it feel worse than being alone? Someone worth being careful for, her words echoed meaningfully in his mind, and Tim smiled, small, but hopeful.
"At eleven years old, you'll start getting your soulmate mark, it'll appear anywhere on your body." Ms. Stewart said and Tim absorbed the information as if feeding it directly into his brain. "See, it'll look something like this," Ms. Stewart pulled her sleeve up, turned her wrist, and showed it to the whole class. "It'll be incomplete, but once you meet, it'll glow and as your bond grows stronger, it'll grow and grow until the mark is complete."
Her mark consisted of a half drawn hummingbird, muted colors reflective like a rainbow under the ceiling lights, shimmering as if it had life of its own. "As you can see, I haven't found my soulmate yet, but I know I will soon. No one is born in this world to be alone."
Those words, it stuck to Tim, branded into his mind, clutched onto it tightly with little fingers. Tim won't be alone.
"Now, why don't we draw what we want our soulmate to look like!"
A tentative smile crawled onto his face, picking up two crayons, red and blue. What would his soulmate look like? To be honest, Tim didn't care, all he wanted was to be chosen. Picked. Nothing else mattered, he already knew his soulmate would be perfect and he giggled.
He just couldn't wait!
****
Tim tried to ignore the hollow absence frosting in his chest, digging his nails into the flesh of his arms, no matter how much he tried, he just couldn't look away, couldn't drag his eyes away from Steph and Cass.
They weren't doing it on purpose, Tim knew that, yet that ugliness bubbled in his throat, his ribs felt more and more like a cage for his lungs, burying a sharp pressure in his chest behind a controlled breath. Why? Tim couldn't help but wonder, watching how effortlessly happy Cass and Steph could be, with every laugh, every smile, every quiet glance at each other, a mirror of what Tim lost. Why me? Tim isn't a bad person, he doesn't think, he helps people, never asks for anything in return, so why, why was his future taken from him?
Tim managed to pull his gaze away from his sister and best friend. Despite the longing, the mourning of what he could never have, Tim was glad, he was glad Cass and Steph and everyone in his family and friends didn't have to go through what he is going through.
Because Tim could live it with. He could live with never being anyone's first choice, not when everyone else had soulmates, he's lived with it for years, that aching loneliness, at home with his parents, it's not so bad here at Wayne Manor, but it's not the same. What's living with it for the rest of his life anyway?
His eyes burned and Tim hid it behind a polite smile, "Imma go work on a case," Tim said, pushing himself off the couch. That should be believable enough, always drowning himself in a case, something he got from Bruce.
Duke lifts his gaze from his notebook from beside Tim, a pinch between his brows portraying concern, like he could see right through his lies. But Tim just slipped his headphones from around his neck back onto his head, blasting music to ignore any questions, and pretended not to notice the eyes on him as he left.
None of it mattered anyway.
They didn't, couldn't, understand his pain. They never had to wake up every birthday morning, like him, standing in front of the mirror, only in his briefs, wide eyed, untainted by the truth, enthusiastically searching for a mark, pleading for it with his whole heart, with his whole soul. They didn't have to see their soulmate mark appear, like Tim did; dull, faded like one scrub, one wipe, would forever erase his mark like it never existed in the first place, an incomplete shape, almost like an hourglass, branded cruelly on the back of his left shoulder blade.
A permanent reminder of what he could never have.
They didn't have to go to the doctors, like Tim had to, all alone, just because his parents were on a long business trip. Again. They didn't have to sit there in the incredibly large, white room, each tick of the clock booming louder by the second, his heart beating too fast, too scared, too worried, too alone. His nanny might've been there, somewhere outside the room, but she wasn't his parents. His parents that were supposed to be here with him. They didn't have to sit there as the doctor tried to explain to an eleven year old boy why his mark looked so sickly, so wrong.
They didn't have to put on a brave face, like Tim, hiding the tremor in his chin, in his smile, in the way his eyes shone with unshed tears. They didn't have to go home that night, like him, crying into his pillows, too quiet to be heard. Not that it mattered, no one was home to hear his cries anyways.
They didn't have to sit in school, watch kids his age find their soulmate early. They didn't have to pretend like Tim did, pretending he couldn't hear the adults gossiping about his condition with pity, like he was some poor, wounded animal.
They didn't have to go through any of that.
And he hope they never do.
Tim blinked out of his daze, finding himself in his room, sitting on his bed beside his nightstand. His eyes drifted to the drawer, trying not to think about it, he really did, it was just harder not not to think of it. His hand moved before his mind could stop it, pulling the drawer open, caressing what was inside with his eyes.
He remembered that day vividly.
He, with the upmost care, achingly gentle, lifted the years old drawing onto his open palm. He grazed the side of the paper as if it was a delicate flower petal, something precious to the touch.
His parents had returned home from one of their trips and Tim had ran up to his mother, a huge grin eating at his cheeks, hiding the drawing behind his back. They drew their soulmates in class that day, what they think they would look like at least. Tim was too excited, so much so, he didn't react to the light reprimand from his mother about running inside the manor.
"Mother, we drew our soulmates." He tried to keep that politeness, even as his voice wavered, holding up his drawing with bright eyes.
Her mother quirked an eyebrow, taking the paper from Tim with grace, her eyes roaming the drawing before a low laugh escaped her. "Silly boy, your soulmate can't be a boy." She waved her hand in the air, his drawing swishing along, her other hand placed over her heart, amused.
Tim furrowed his eyebrows, canting his head in an innocence only a five year old boy could carry. "It can't?" Did his soulmate being a boy or girl really matter? Shouldn't it matter if they're kind and good, instead?
"Tim, you can't have babies with boys." She said it almost condescendingly, "The Drake family will need a blood heir. You should get rid of these ludicrous ideas, it'll confuse you from right from wrong."
Was having a boy soulmate as a boy really wrong?
Tim watched with wide eyes as his mother threw his drawing into the trash.
"No more of this nonsense, alright?"
Back then, all five year old little Timmy could do was clench his hands into fists that he hid behind his back, showing his practiced smile. "Of course, mother."
Later that night, Tim had searched the trash for his drawing before it got thrown out and he kept it hidden.
What was so wrong about a boy soulmate? Tim didn't care, hugging the dirty drawing close to his chest, boy or girl, he'll cherish his soulmate no matter what.
But that was a merely a dream, a reality that could never be his.
Tim placed his old drawing back inside his drawer, taking in the poorly drawn version of himself, smiling, holding hands with an impossible dream, brown hair, brown eyes, red hoodie and blue pants, and dead. Tim had to drag his eyes away, closing the drawer. His mind just loved torturing himself.
Sighing, Tim leaned back on his hands, rolling his head to the side just to see Bruce standing there, knuckles hovering on Tim's wide opened door. His heart spiked, then Tim smiled, small, pulling his headphones down to his neck. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"I'm aware," Bruce glanced at the headphones still pulsing with music, then shifted to the nightstand, before meeting Tim's eyes with a steadiness, not cold, but not warm either, an odd in between.
There was a pause, then retreating his knuckles from the door, Bruce asked, "May I come in?"
Tim meekly shrugged, tucking one knee under his chin, slouching.
Taking his acceptance, Bruce quietly closed the door behind him, then in controlled, deliberate steps, approached Tim's bed. The mattress dipped under the added weight as Bruce sat beside Tim, silence once again consuming the space around them. It wasn't awkward, per say, definitely not comfortable either. An odd in between, just like everything with Bruce.
"Tim," his name came out soft, softer in a way it made Tim's chest tighten, "You do not need to act okay all the time," Bruce glanced at Tim, blue eyes steady, edges gentling. "It's okay⦠to not be okay."
Tim inhaledāsharp, releasing a rattling sigh. Jeez, he was this close to just breaking and wouldn't that be embarrassing? Instead, Tim loosely wrapped an arm around his leg, tugging it closer to himself as his foot languidly swung off the bed. "Yeah, says the poster boy for emotional stability," Tim couldn't help the little curve of his lips. "No offense."
Bruce quirked an eyebrow, a quiet huff of a laugh, not quite, rumbled in his chest. "Fair point. However, I'm still the adult here." A pause then with a smirk, "And I am qualified to recognize train wreck."
This time the smile reached Tim's eyes, "Well, you did adopt Dick and Jason. Got a whole station full of them."
It was nice, these little moments, ones Tim would forever cherish, it doesn't occur often. For a moment, his chest felt lighter, his mind a little clearer, just for a moment, until the part of him that loves suffering, slipped through.
Would he have had moments like this with his soulmate? That was enough for him to suck in a harsh breath, turning his head away, biting on his lip. It wasn't fairāimagining it, thinking about it like it could become a possibility. Late night talks, morning cuddles, silly back and forth, someone to share the most vulnerable part of himself to. Tim wanted it. That connection. He wanted, needed, it badly. Someone to make him feel seen. Someone, Tim wanted to take care of, to protect.
It wasn't fair.
"Tim," It wasn't harsh, but it was firm, a strong hand gripping his shoulder, bringing Tim back to the present. Tim looked at Bruce, saw how his eyes, dark and displeased, focused on Tim's lips, then Tim felt it, something pressed on his lower lip. Blinking, Tim noticed the handkerchief. "You're bleeding." Bruce muttered with a frown.
Tim took hold of the handkerchief, "Sorry," He looked away, dabbing the cut on his lip, treating it like a minor inconvenience. No pain, after all. Another reminder of his loneliness.
Thenā
Bruce curled an arm around Tim's shoulders, tucking him under his chin, Tim's eyes probably widen comedically so, muscles locked. "I am here for you, Tim. I may not be ideal, but I am here."
Warmth pooled in his chest, heat burned behind Tim's eyes, and his lips trembled, a shaky hand reaching up to hold onto Bruce's shirt. Suddenly, Tim felt like that scared little boy sitting alone in that too big of a room, while a stranger, the doctor, told him about his mark. "I-It's not fair," Tim blurted, a strangled sob refusing, fighting, to not be heard, burying his face in the collar of Bruce's shirt.
"No. It's not."
Words, am I not enough?, snagged sharply in his throat, like the jagged curve of a rock, did I do something wrong?, everything bubbled, crawling, hot and bitter, but he couldn't let any of it out. Its embarrassing enough he was crying in the embrace of his adoptive father. He couldn't spew any more nonsense, show any more weakness than he ready is. But god, did it feel nice to be hugged.
Tim just wished it could've been by his soulmate instead.
Tim wanted to die.
The last thing he remembered was Bruce's cologne, sophisticated, expensive. Remembered the pitiful sobs that left him as Tim cried, cried, in Bruce's embrace.
Then nothing.
Shit. Tim totally fell asleep and Bruce totally tucked him into bed. He threw his blanket over his head, groaning loudly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
It's not too late to make a new identity and move countries. He heard Switzerland is pretty this time 'round.
A knock sounded at his door, before it pried opened, followed by. "Good morning, Master Tim. How are you feeling?"
Tim could only groan, exasperatedly long, "Alfred, I was tucked in! Like a child! A child, Alfred! I have suffered a catastrophe, my dignity has collapsed. I don't think I can ever face Bruce again." His voice sounded faintly muffled from under the blanket, face burning as the memory haunted his mind.
"Well, that explains it. No wonder, Master Bruce seemed to be in such an uncharacteristically pleasant mood this morning. He hummed a tune, sir, truly a terrifying display."
That only seemed to make Tim prolonge another dramatic groan.
"This day can't get any worse."
"I was wrong. It can get worse."
"Oh, yeah, a total nightmare." Duke leaned against Tim, arm draped over his shoulder. "Look at them," Duke sighed, sounding like a disappointed father finding out their child had been eating all the cookies from the cookie jar. "No tragic backstory, just pure unadulterated cringe. It makes me sick."
Despite the old ache thudding beneath his ribs, Tim cracked a small smile, even as the longing itched under his skin. The hallway consisted of the usual melodrama of the day, kids their age who already found their soulmate, are idling by lockers, sharing secret exchanges, flashing smiles that made that ache spread.
Shoes squeaked against the polished tile, pristine lockers lined the wall, club posters plaster all across, desperate to invite more members.
In the middle, stood Tim Drake, hands gripping his backpack straps more tightly than he should. He didn't belong here, around people with soulmates, he didn't belong anywhere. It's rare, a soulmate dying before you could meet them. But it was possible and it happened to him. Tim would spend hours researching, hours spending on finding a miracle. Maybe it was fluke, he had thought once, forcing himself to ignore the hard proof facts for some false hope, clutching onto a childish dream.
He didn't matter how many hours he spent trained on his laptop screen, didn't matter how many times he would refresh the page, it couldn't change his fate, couldn't give back what's his.
No one in this world is born to be alone.
What a load of shit.
"Sup, bitches!" Another arm joined Tim's unoccupied shoulder, "So, what are we silently judging today?"
"Hey, Steph!" Duke lazily waved his hand, both of Tim's closest friends using Tim as as a coat racket but for their arms instead, then realization knock both boys into alertness, springing away from Steph as if she carried the plague.
"Are you trying to infect us?" Tim asked, nose buried in the soft joint of his elbow, accusingly narrowing his eyes at her.
Duke followed suit, whipping out a disinfectant spray from⦠wait, where did he get that from? Tim mentally shoved that thought aside. Point is, Duke sprayed the air, using it as a barrier.
Steph made a sound of offense, "Bruh, you're literally acting like I got the zombie virus or something like that."
"Same thing," Duke shrugged.
Steph rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I literally just got a fever. I got better like two days ago?"
"That's such a small window, Stephanie. Duke and I may not feel physical pain, but we can feel the emotional exhaustion of it." Tim stepped behind Duke, using him as his shield despite Duke's 'Hey!'. "Keep your distance, I don't want to be in your squeezing radius."
Before Steph could say anything, the bell rang, and Tim took that opportunity to dip. His body is a temple and he sure isn't going to let himself feel more exhaustion to the exhaustion he already has! He had cases to solve, he needed his energy somewhere, on anything but bed rest, otherwise his mind would wonder.
He'll think of his soulmate, the same one dead in the ground, rotting somewhere, a life taken too young. Imagine a future he could've had.
Shit.
That stupid ache settled in place of his heart, his heart pulsing in a way it was dragging against his rib cage, heavy, slow, and painful in a way he couldn't explain. Would physical pain feel this bad? You'll never know, that stupid voice in his head said and that was all it took for Tim to come crashing down into reality.
Literally.
Trapped in the hollowness if his mind and chest, Tim accidentally walked face first into a door that conveniently swung open at the same time he crossed its path. His vision clouded at the edges in inky darkness, stumbling back as his hand slapped against something solid, something cold, the ringing slowly bleeding out his ears.
Tim blinked his eyes into focus and tilted his head at the horror being thrown at him. The teacher looked pale as if she had committed the greatest sin of her career; injuring a rich kid.
Tim smiled, polite even if it didn't reach his eyes. "My bad, I wasn't paying attention."
"M-Mr. Drake!" The teacher squeaked, horrified, hand hovering over her mouth as if to silence her gasp. "You're bleeding!"
That's when Tim felt it, something wet and warm tickling down his nose. Well, shit. Tim lifted his school tie and used it to absorb the red liquid steadily staining his skin. "Just a little."
The teacher let the door shut behind her, standing anxiously in front of Tim, smile trembling. "Y-You won't tell Mr. Wayne, will you? I-It was an accident, I swear."
Tim blinked, angling his head as he studied the woman, her soft curls bundled in a loose bun, few wild tendrils framing her face. Her eyes were dark, dilated from fear, Tim noticed, like he noticed the way her pulse jumped in her throat. It was good, the concern, but it wasn't for Tim. It was for herself.
That familiar ache twisted something inside of Tim, an almost defeated smile showing. "Of course not, Miss."
A grateful smile lit up her features, eyes clear from relief, no sign of any concern for his well being at all. Tim's unoccupied hand reached and grabbed at his elbow, feeling a dull pressure, not painful, not in the slightest, just present. A cruel reminder.
Tim was born to be alone.
"I am so happy to hear. Please, escort yourself to the nurse's office." The teacher smiled, any fake care thrown out the window, leaving Tim alone, he'll always be alone, with that ache that'll never leave him.
Tim tipped his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling above, his tie pressed firmly against his nose. Any emotion on his face gone, drained.
Tim felt⦠tired.
The day kinda just went by, the world spinning as if everything was okay, but Tim didn't have a soulmate, or rather he did but they died, left Tim, unintentionally or not, they left Tim.
Tim was angry, not at his soulmate, but at himself.
"What's wrong with me?" Tim muttered, an arm folded across his knees tucked almost protectively to his chest, resting his cheek against the curve of his arm. Idly, he sparked the lighter.
Tim doesn't smoke.
He doesn't remember when he got the lighter. He just⦠saw it one day, brilliant red, vibrant blue, colors drawing him in like a siren song he couldn't quite explain. It wasn't necessarily his favorite colors, but it called to Tim, stood out like a beacon in darkness amongst every other color.
Tim had a free period and not wanting to deal with anyone, not with their soulmates alive and breathing, not even with Duke or Steph, Tim had escaped to the roof, sitting on tile, watch the spark flare then die.
Sometimes, Tim had thoughts. He brought the lighter close to his face, holding the flint wheel. Bad thoughts, probably, but it was his. His tongue lolled out, hovering dangerously close to the flickering flame. It's not like Tim felt any pain, physical at least. It was warm, the flame kissing under his tongue, but it didn't hurt. I want to feel pain. Tim flicked the cap close, slipping his tongue inside. He never does more than needed, never to get caught or leave evidence.
Then he flipped the cap opened, igniting another little flame. Lifting his head, he held his palm over the heat, leaning in closely, not touching but Tim felt it. A ghost of a warmth. He knew he wouldn't be able to feel burn. He knew he wouldn't feel a thing at all.
He wanted to, he wanted to press his skin down, watch his skin burn.
Tim flicked the cap shut again, letting out a long sigh, slipping the lighter back inside his pants pocket. Those thoughts, the bad, it got worse sometimes. Tim peered over the edge of the roof, the gentle breeze blowing through his hair.
It wouldn't hurt. He had thought one time. It'd be so easy. But Tim never went through with it. It was just thoughts, his family wouldn't understand if he told them. They'll think he's serious, would probably want to lock him up or have him seek professional help.
It was just bad thoughts.
By the time school ended, Tim was walking down the hall, Duke by his side and Steph trailing a couple of feet behind because Duke and Tim were serious about not getting sick.
Steph vocally complained about it, but she obeyed.
"How about we walk to Bat Burgers?" suggested Duke, "I could use some greasy delight."
Tim half shrugged. "Sure," he glanced at his blood soaked tie, then looked at Duke, wanting to focus on anything but the googly eyes two couples were giving each other. His grip on his backpack strap tightened.
Tim didn't pay attention, he usually didn't, stuck in an in between, half alert, half asleep. Words spilled form his mouth, Tim just wouldn't be able to say what exactly he was saying. He was responding to whatever Duke was saying and threw comments back at Steph. The world felt⦠far, underwater would be a better way of explaining. Physical, Tim was present. Mentally, emotionally, he was curled up in the gave beside his soulmate.
They were walking down the busy streets of Gotham, shoulders bumping into his despite his mindless efforts to avoid. It didn't matter anyway, it was just something to be easily forgotten.
Then someone brushed against him, shoulders almost touching, a gentle caress of a finger brushed against Tim's, a warm tingly zing shooting up his arm, immediately locking his muscles in place, stealing his breath away.
Somehow, among the impatient honks, roars of engines, screeching of tires, thumping of footstepsādespite the city breathing, Tim heard it, clear as day, a quiet, too quiet, a hurried, almost muffled, "Sorry," and when Tim turned to look, he only saw a crowd of unfamiliar faces.
His brows pitched tightly, peeking down at his hand, more specifically at his pinkie finger, the warmth fleeting, gone as soon as it came. The thing was⦠it didn't hurt. Tim knew it wasn't pain. But it was weird.
Damn it, Steph. Tim sighed. He swears, if Steph ends up getting him sick, he'll definitely get back at her.
****
It was the first crime of the night, Tim leaned against his extended bo staff, having a lazy smirk that dipped into that shit eating category. "You know," the collective inhale of sharp breaths did not go unnoticed, "There are easier ways to get energy. Ever tried espresso? Not really my thing, but boy, it works wonders! And it involves significantly less jail time. Who would've thought?"
It was three of them, considerably taller, bulkier than Tim, fun, standing around a car, hood pitched up, crowbars resting by the car bumper. Oh, Jason would have a field day.
"Shitāit's the bird!" The shorter of the three staggered a step back, growing whiter than a sheet, short of bolting. Good choiceāfor once.
"Calm down!" The man who was attempting to steal the car battery, hair slicked back by grease, pastier than the dude wanting to flee, turned to face Tim with a cocky grin. "It's just the baby bird, I don't see the Bat."
Tim rolled his shoulders back casually, straightening his back. "Baby bird? Oh, that's cute. Really cute. I wonder what that makes you guys," Tim kicked his bo staff and twirled it easily, before letting it rest on his shoulder. "I think I'll be nice, why don't you leave the car battery alone and I won't kick your ass so hard you'll be drinking out of a straw for months, like the last guy I dealt with."
The third guy, Quiet, Tim will call him, cause well, he hasn't spoken at all, snatched up a crowbar on his way to charge at Tim.
Tim just sighed, sounding older than he is, disappointed by the youth. "I mean it's your medical bills." He could practically see the attack from the future, predictable. Tim faked a yawn, side stepping and hitting his staff against Quiet's back, hearing him tumble into a cluster of small metal trash cans, essentially knocking himself out. "Oh, I was kinda expecting, I don't know, a fight?"
Greasy hair moved to stick, Tim easily blocking with his Bo staff, directing his knee straight into the guy's side. Hard. Tim laughed, enjoying the adrenaline of the fight, with no real stakes at, well, at stake. Greasy hair didn't really put much of a fight, but Tim sure did took his time with him, probably bullying him more than he should've, but in Tim's defense, he did give them the option to walk away.
It's seriously on their hands for any broken ribs.
Thenā
A sharp, an agonizing intrusion, alien, so wrong, so blinding, Tim didn't even hear his own cries, not until he was down on his knees, trembling fingers clutching his side. A static unlike any other jolted in his blood, white-hot and wrong, so, so wrong. His cries doesn't quiet, its ripping out from his very soul, tears freely falling from his eyes, barely concealed behind his mask.
His world blur, colors bleeding into each other, figures disappearing into nothing, distant, so distant voices calling out him. His brain scrambles desperately to interpret the damage, wild eyes zoning in on the knife sticking out of his side.
Fuck.
He forgot about the skittish guy.
Tim muted a cry, biting hard on his lip until he could taste metallic, feel a sting, sharp and real.
"Robin!"
It almost sounded like Bruce. He sounded so, so far away.
"Robin! Report! What happened!"
Tim hears them, faintly, but he doesn't see them. Bruce, where are you? He wanted to say, mouth opening just to spill more choked sobs.
Tim hears static in his ears, followed by a voice⦠Barbara? But Tim doesn't see her? Where is she? Where everywhere? Why won't this feeling go away? What's happening?
"ālocationāBatman!ālosing himā" then sweet, sweet silence. Only, he's still crying, gripping the handle of the knife and with gritted teeth, he pulled it out, feeling something hot gush out immediately, feeling it fill his throat. The knife clattered painfully loud against the asphalt, as Tim tried to seal the red river pooling out of him.
Was this⦠pain? Real physical pain? Tim's been stabbed before and it has never, ever felt like this. Like his whole body was⦠was on fire. Just too hot, hotter than anything he's ever felt. Hotter than he can ever imagine.
But how?
It's impossible.
His soulmate is dead.
Tim couldn't have met themāthey're dead. Dead. Rotten down to the bones, somewhere. This can't be⦠can it?
Tim smiled. He actually, genuinely smile, feeling a laugh roll out of his heaving chest as his tears wouldn't stop falling, and then he sobbed, whimpering alone in an alleyway, his location lost, of course it would be, and now that he felt pain, actual searing, excruciating pain.
Tim felt happy.
With his vision spotting, he caught a glimpse of beautiful red and blue, then darkness.
I think I will write a Soulmate AU RedSpider [Tim Drake/Peter Parker]
Iām thinking of the āfeeling no pain until touchā route, along with a mark. Still debating on what it should be.
Like one day, while walking, encountering many people, some who brush against Tim accidentally, committing none to memory, only to later find out he can feel pain?? So Tim has to go into detective mode to try to find his soulmate, who he thought was dead (cause Peter is from another universe and realistically, that boy has died a few times but who hasnāt)
Peter comes from a universe where soulmates arenāt a thing, but because he is part spider, he has a weird smell kink? Or something, like his spider really likes the way Tim smells and he has no idea why. Peter is just extra spidery, maybe leaving Tim snacks (or a dead pigeon), like a secret admirer kind of thing? (He also has to resist trying to dance for Tim)
Peter can be conflicted, but always wants to push anyone he cares about in that Peter Parker fashion. Maybe heāll weird Tim out, maybe Tim would be flustered and doesnāt know why.
I kinda want Stalker Tim with equally freaky Peter Parker.
I mean itās not fully flushed out yet, clearly, but part of a thought process. Trying to work out the kinks.
Or do I do omegaverse (still researching it) and have Peter as an enigma (thatās a thing in A/B/O right?), I mean still gotta do my research for it.
Or do I save that for my SpideyHood future fic?
nothing says girlhood like your best friend spontaneously calling to tell you that at 2am youāre both going on a roadtrip to a different city.
Do I wanna go? No, I wanna suffer with period cramps and write fanfiction. Am I going to let her go by herself? Also no, if she gets kidnapped, I get kidnapped too, we locked in.
She promised me ice cream.
Little Snippets of This Is Why You Donāt Play With Magic
š I thought the call back to the giant portrait of Dick would be hilarious.
:,) yeah Iām going there for Jason and Peterās relationship

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I was working on my spideytorch fic when an idea came to mind
This could be a Tim Drake/Peter, or another member of the Batfam/Peter, but whoever I decide for it to be (probably Tim), theyāll end up coming to the Marvel Universe instead of Peter going to DC and if it is Tim (most likely), I have some ideas.
(Tim and Peter could be 18, or maybe Iāll make them young adults)
Like Peter Parker, either as himself or as Spider-Man found Tim unconscious and decided to take the mysterious handsome stranger home, ignoring all stranger danger cause this guy might just need help, and Peter thinks TIM is homeless and tries to help him.
Tim obviously doesnāt know where he is and when heās confused, Peter thinks, āOh no! He lost his memory too!ā And Tim just plays along cause what else he is supposed to do? Tell this random (cute) guy that brought him home (he probably should have survival instincts) that heās not actually from here?
I could probably have Tim work part time with Peter at the Daily Bugle, maybe they can bond and skate together, maybe they can both volunteer at FEAST, who knows maybe Red Robin makes a debut in New York, and eventually needs Spider-Manās help to get back home.
Itāll probably be angsty as itāll always be lol
I have an angsty plot for Aunt May and Peter (sheās alive), that I may or may not have (sheās not dying).
Tim is MIA back at his universe and Bruce, who always monitors his kids vitals, suddenly breaks in his silent, self destructive ways when Timās vitals stop showing. Another Death in the Family.
Meanwhile, Tim, very much alive, is nervous and crushing on Peter.
Just another thought, not fully planned out, but I thought it would be fun.
And if not Tim, who would you think should be sent instead?
guys, I lowkey wanna write SpideyHood, with a splash of Soulmate AU. š would people want to read that?
Theyāll be in their 20s
I already know how itās gonna start; Peter Parker, single and broke, alone in his small, crampy apartment, watching a romcom, secretly wishing he could have that, while eating cold Chinese/thai leftovers just for his spider sense to go off and BAM! his apartment gets crashed into, and I wonāt spoil it too much, so gonna skip over to that little encounter resulting in leaving Peter Parker stranded in Gotham.
In his universe, thereās no soulmate mark or anything like that, unlike in Gothamānow I could go with the soulmate AU or do I go with the omegaverse? (not too familiar, but I will do my research š«” I will not blindly write it), either can be fun.
The next thing Iām unsure of is, do I make Aunt May alive or dead? Sheād be the only thing really tying Peter to his universe; his close friend MJ got married (should it be to Harry? Or just someone random? Or maybe I do a fun little twist and have her marry Gwen Stacy, the two girls Peter has dated, which would be funny but Peter would be really supportive), point his all his friends are happy and have their life together. Peter Parker has Spider-Man and he has Aunt May.
I could let her live, have Peter Parker desperately try to find his way back to his aunt while dealing with this new weird universe and their soulmates and/or smells (if omegaverse), and then later on, Jason Todd would be like fuck it, Iām coming with and bam theyāre back to Peterās universe, in his New York, in his Queens, and goes to Aunt May and just says, āSurprise! I brought home a husband!ā
just little ramblings lol
Maybe I wonāt add the whole soulmate or omegaverse bits, not sure, what do you guys think? I just wanna write boys in love (and girls in love in the future: Spiderverse Gwen Stacy x Stephanie Brown or Spiderverse Gwen Stacy x Cassandra Cain, or maybe all three can be happy together OR maybe MCU MJ x Steph, or maybe MCU MJ x Damian Wayne or maybe Miles Morales x Stephanie Brownāokay rambling again, I know at the end itās straight ships but itās so fun to multiship it.)
Had that in my mind
š gosh I canāt commit to ONE fanfic, I just have to start more. I swear imma end up burning myself out but omg I have so many ideas
Dude.
30 something year old Peter Parker (he will have his magnificent beard) x 30 or 40 something year old Bruce Wayne.
Okay Iām getting distracted.
WAIT, HEAR ME OUT
Do I add Peter getting revived by the Pit, cause the blast/attack could end up deadly (trying to protect a kid), and Peter could have green eyes or maybe one green eye (I do like heterochromia) and he has a few white streaks in his hair
I mean traditionally itās only one tuff of white (I believe) but I think it would be cool if it affected Peter slightly differently, have multiple white streaks in his hair (idk maybe 4, nothing too crazy)
Just a thought, nothing is set in stone, YET!
guys, I lowkey wanna write SpideyHood, with a splash of Soulmate AU. š would people want to read that?
Theyāll be in their 20s
I already know how itās gonna start; Peter Parker, single and broke, alone in his small, crampy apartment, watching a romcom, secretly wishing he could have that, while eating cold Chinese/thai leftovers just for his spider sense to go off and BAM! his apartment gets crashed into, and I wonāt spoil it too much, so gonna skip over to that little encounter resulting in leaving Peter Parker stranded in Gotham.
In his universe, thereās no soulmate mark or anything like that, unlike in Gothamānow I could go with the soulmate AU or do I go with the omegaverse? (not too familiar, but I will do my research š«” I will not blindly write it), either can be fun.
The next thing Iām unsure of is, do I make Aunt May alive or dead? Sheād be the only thing really tying Peter to his universe; his close friend MJ got married (should it be to Harry? Or just someone random? Or maybe I do a fun little twist and have her marry Gwen Stacy, the two girls Peter has dated, which would be funny but Peter would be really supportive), point his all his friends are happy and have their life together. Peter Parker has Spider-Man and he has Aunt May.
I could let her live, have Peter Parker desperately try to find his way back to his aunt while dealing with this new weird universe and their soulmates and/or smells (if omegaverse), and then later on, Jason Todd would be like fuck it, Iām coming with and bam theyāre back to Peterās universe, in his New York, in his Queens, and goes to Aunt May and just says, āSurprise! I brought home a husband!ā
just little ramblings lol
Maybe I wonāt add the whole soulmate or omegaverse bits, not sure, what do you guys think? I just wanna write boys in love (and girls in love in the future: Spiderverse Gwen Stacy x Stephanie Brown or Spiderverse Gwen Stacy x Cassandra Cain, or maybe all three can be happy together OR maybe MCU MJ x Steph, or maybe MCU MJ x Damian Wayne or maybe Miles Morales x Stephanie Brownāokay rambling again, I know at the end itās straight ships but itās so fun to multiship it.)
Had that in my mind
š gosh I canāt commit to ONE fanfic, I just have to start more. I swear imma end up burning myself out but omg I have so many ideas
Dude.
30 something year old Peter Parker (he will have his magnificent beard) x 30 or 40 something year old Bruce Wayne.
Okay Iām getting distracted.
And Then There Was You | Peter Parker/Tim Drake [Angst]
Patrol was particularly slow tonight, Tim perched on the edge of a tall building, accompanied by one of Gotham's friendly stone gargoyles, bo staff resting between his knees, pressing the side of his cheek on the cool alloy. Eyes, concealed behind a domino mask, stared beyond the city of his home, a cold draft shifting past his face with the weight of his thoughts taking physcial form, a phantom itch rippling through his muscles from a secret just out of reach.
It was quiet.
Not the normal kind of quiet where not even a peep could be heard. No. This was different. Worse. Gotham still held its breath as it always did, waiting, lurking for the next disaster. Police sirens, not as frequent tonight, wailed distantly, almost mockingly like it knew something Tim didn't. No. It was quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, like there was a noise, a sound, something, that was missing.
His jaw worked, the inside of his cheek rolling between his teeth. There was just⦠something wrong, something wrong Tim Drake just couldn't place.
When did this feeling start?
Tim let out a long sigh from deep in his chest, the mental exhaustion racking his bones in a way it ached and throbbed. He tipped his head back, rolling his cheek against his bo staff when wide, bug shaped lenses abruptly met his.
"Brooding with the gargoyles again? I thought that was like Batman's whole shtick."
Tim's breath, for a traitorous second, hitched, heart jumping out of line, a squeak almost, almost, escaping. He could never hear him coming. That's right, Tim thought, controlling his heart and filing away how his chest suddenly felt lighter, it started a little after meeting him. Spider-Man, secret identity unknown much to Tim's annoyance.
Spider-Man tilted his head, hanging upside down, his signature drop-bys Tim's gathered, at eye level. "Bad time?" he asked in that optimistic, too upbeat for Gotham, more sunny than Nightwing believe it or not, voice of his. Tim swears he could hear his little smile, what do you look like under there?, as if he heard how his heart stuttered. He can't be that much younger than me.
It'd been a few months since the arrival of Spider-Man and it wasn't too long that Spider-Man earned respect, maybe even a little trust, from everyone. Batman should've been the hardest, same with Robin, somehow Spider-Man did it.
"He's⦠adequate," Damian had said, arms crossed and eyes focused elsewhere. "He is⦠different." That was a compliment in Damian talk if Tim has ever heard.
Different, that's definitely one way of describing Spider-Man, with an accent Tim has never heard before, with a personality more befitting of Metropolis than for Gotham, but the people love him, albeit warily at first. But now? They whisper about Spider-Man like the people of Metropolis do for Superman, smiles on their face and hope in their eyes, aspiring as Nightwing, as Superman.
"Maybe I'm taking a page from Batman's How to Brood 101 book," Tim said, the corners of his lips naturally curving into a small, easy smile. Warmth spilled in his chest, like taking a sip of tea, the one Alfred prepares for him, the best kind, when the soft sound, more of a giggle than laugh, slipped from Spider-Man. It was short, but it was sweet. Really, really sweet.
Tim didn't like how it curled around his heart. Close to painful, close to relief. Complicated. Complicated like the feeling of something important being taken from him. Tim just didn't know what that important thing was. All he knew was that he felt a little lighter, a little happier in moments like this, when Spider-Man comes looking for Tim specifically.
Statistically speaking, yes, he charted it, Spider-Man has sought out Red Robin, AKA Tim, the most, like by a ridiculous amount, no one else comes close. And Tim couldn't help but feel a little good, a little proud about that. It's stupid, he knows. None of this makes sense.
"Glad you were just brooding and not taking a nap so dangerously close to the edge," Spider-Man's light heartedness almost made Tim skip over the tiny detail. "Again." Spider-Man added.
Wait.
Tim blinked, "Whenā"
But Spider-Man quickly pipped in, flipping off his webstring and gracefully, silently, he perched himself beside Tim, clearing his throat as he turned his head away. Tim's eyes fell to the can Spider-Man held out, pulled seemingly from nowhere. Zesti Cola, Tim's favorite soda brand. "I, uh, thought you'd be thirstyā¦. y'know, patrolling and now the whole brooding thing you got going on lately. Serious throat parch-y stuff."
Tim tracked the way Spider-Man's shoulders tensed as if he was embarrassed by the words spilling out of his mouth. Tim's eyes flickered between the offering and the way Spider-Man refused to look back at Tim. Look at me, please, Tim bit back the words, that heavy tightness returning to his chest, gripping his bo staff tighter than necessary. Why? he wanted to say, How'd you know?
Instead, "Yeah," Tim huffed an almost laugh, a breath coming in too sharp, too quick. "Very serious throat parch-y stuff. Um, th⦠thank you, for, uh," Tim carefully grabbed the soda, deciding it was better to not acknowledge the way Spider-Man tensed when Tim's fingers, gloved, brushed against his palm, encased as well. Just⦠not right now. Later. In his bedroom. During another mental breakdown.
Spider-Man suddenly sprung onto his feet, causally balancing on the balls of his feet on the edge, jolting Tim.
Tim, eyes slightly wide, peered up at him, an unexpected wave of guilt, of Did I do something wrong? and What did I do?, hit him, hard like waves chipping at a cliff side. His hand acted on its own, reaching out for Spider-Man before his mind knew, but Spider-Man just twisted his waist, evading Tim's hand without making it seem purposeful.
Still. It stung. It stung a lot, it stung a lot more than Tim realized. Or wanted to admit.
"I, uh," Spider-Man jabbed his thumbs over his shoulder, in a random direction, "I gotta goāmy⦠house is on fire?" then, under his breath, Tim just barely caught it, "Stupid, stupid."
Spider-Man just thwiped a web and disappeared into the shadows of Gotham, leaving Tim to stare at the space he once occupied, soda can twisting and turning in his grasp, bo staff lightly tapping against the side of his head.
The thought, to follow, crossed Tim's mind, but he knew better. Chasing Spider-Man was useless for someone, like Tim, who believed in the law of gravity, when Spider-Man can somehow defy all logic, more so than Nightwing. His last attempts ended in disaster, resulting in a whole lot of heckling from Spider-Man.
It was⦠strangely nice, annoying, yes, but not in a bad way.
Tim peeked at the soda in his hand, a wandering question lingering afloat. He never mentioned his favorite drink being Zesti Cola, but deep down, he already knew the answer.
He could feel it, been feeling it for a while, watchful eyes, not hostile, curious, friendly, maybe even safeguarding. It should be alarming, Tim should tell someone, but⦠it kinda made him feel⦠good? Safe? All warm and fuzzy that he can't explain.
Like now, those same watchful eyes lurking in the shadows are on Tim, he could feel it, and instead of feeling scared, paranoid or anxious, Tim smiled, faint, and cracked open his soda.
Nothing made sense.
****
One way to describe Tim's bedroom would be that it looks like a crime scene. Red yarn decorated his bedroom walls, yes, walls, mapping and linking grainy photos in its own secret language.
Multi-colored sticky notes, scribbled in ramblings only Tim could comprehend, littered, framing the photos, sometimes overlapping. It's the only way Tim could get his thoughts out here, out of his mind, to stop himself from going insane. Theories of where Spider-Man came from displayed in a beautiful mess before him. Locations, he most frequents. Everything, Tim had on Spider-Man. Here. Plaguing his walls like black mold.
The empty can of Zesti Cola placed carefully by his night stand, acted like evidence, but really, it felt more like a keepsake. Not that he'd admit it to anyone else. They wouldn't understand. They never did.
They acted like everything was okay, that everything was normalācan't they feel it? Feel that there's something wrong, very wrong, something missing, just plucked out of their memories and placed on the highest shelf, fingers shy of reach.
Days blurred together, mornings, Tim would wake up to an empty feeling in his chest, numb and exhausted; nights felt restless, but also felt like a blessing, blessing in little moments with Spider-Man. It was confusing. Everything is.
Dick would check up on him, staying lately in Gotham, in the Manor, to help Bruce with some super secret mission, a tea in hand freshly made by Alfred and Dick would join Tim on the floor during one of Tim's mental episodes where nothing seems to be going right, bracing his back against the bed, starting pointless conversation to keep Tim grounded.
Tim appreciated it, really, he did. It's just⦠Dick didn't understandāhe couldn't. Dick tried but it wasn't enough. It didn't matter what Tim could say, or explain, like he has over and over for what feels like a billion times, none of it mattered when no one, not a single one of his family, not a single one of his friends, could feel what Tim is feeling.
"Am I losing my mind?" Tim said out loud, alone on a rooftop, the moon clouded above. Another night of patrol. Except, Bruce had benched Tim, said, "You need rest." Tim almost scoffed at Bruce then. "It's an order, Tim." Bruce said, sterner, voice blooming in the batcave, silencing Tim's objections, his claims of, "Bruce, I'm fine, seriously."
Tim had agreed, verbally at least, and snuck out later on that night, where he is now, avoiding Bruce and everyone else, hoping, praying, for a run-in with Spider-Man. Like Spider-Man wasn't one of the reasons Tim was going insane.
Would Spider-Man be blonde? Brunette? Maybe a redhead, maybe he has long hair, maybe he has short hair. Tim wondered what his eyes looked like next, as Tim has wondered for these past few months. Blue? Green? Brown? Something exotic? Unique. Maybe something close to the hopefulness Spider-Man brings, like yellow or liquid gold. Could it be orange? Beautiful as a sunset. "I bet you look kind," Tim muttered, a soft curve lifting the corners of his lips.
He shook his head. What is he doing? Imagining what face lies behind that oddly expressive mask of Spider-Man, of a person he knows nothing about. A mystery. An unknown. An oddity. But does Tim really know nothing about Spider-Man?
Spider-Man has a sensitive nose.
Tim learned that when he first met Spider-Man, in the sewer, when Tim had gone in under to chase after Killer Croc, who was on a job for the mob. It was accidental, a miscalution on Tim's part, a job that should've been easy almost ended with Tim in the hospital. That's when he, Spider-Man, showed up, said something stupid, something almost funny. Thinking about it now, Tim would've laughed. Back then? Tim was on edge, an unknown oddity had appeared, but⦠he must've been good.
He had saved Tim after all.
"You goodāoh my God, what is that smell?" Spider-Man harshly buried his nose into his arm, dramatically falling into a low crouch, much more spry, much more limber, much more lithe than Dick, ya know, the professional acrobat.
"Ah, that's the unfortunate smell of human waste, toxic gas probably, and the sweet, sweet smell of disappointment. Really clears the sinuses, huh?" Perhaps, Tim should've asked who this mysterious guy was, however there was just something, something Tim couldn't quite explain, that made him feel⦠safe? Yeah, safe.
Spider-Man paused, body frozen, those wide bug lenses of his staring directly at Tim. Tim should've felt anxious, scared even, but no, instead, heat crept up the back of his neck, threatening to spread to his cheeks. "What�" It might've sounded like a squeak, might've sounded rough, could you blame Tim? He was being stared at by a spider themed dude.
Slowly, almost carefully, like dealing with a deer in the headlights, Spider-Man rose to his full height and approached Tim, slow, very slow, steps quiet, too quiet, but that could've been due to Tim's heart pumping blood to his ears. Spider-Man stretched his neck as humanly possible, sniffing Tim near his collarbone. "It's⦠coming from you," Spider-Man softly mumbled in a way it felt wrong to hear, like Tim wasn't supposed to hear and definitely shouldn't be preening at that. "Smells good, really good."
"Uh⦠thank you?" Tim muttered, unsure and definitely embarrassed.
"CrapāI didn't meanāuh, I gotta go, bye!"
A giggle, sweet, small, escaped from Tim, the memory freely living in his mind. It should be weird. It shouldn't make his stomach swarm with butterflies, shouldn't have warmth, a peaceful warmth pool from his chest to his stomach. He shouldn't feel anything at all.
Spider-Man is kind.
Tim had stalked the CCTVs for a glimpse of Spider-Man post encounter. At night, Tim would search the streets, come across Spider-Man by accident, linger in the shadows as he watched Spider-Man help a kid on the rooftop with her homework. Tim watched, on the weekends, as Spider-Man would bring a mean cat down, gentle as if holding something precious, even as the cat would hiss and claw. Tim watched as Spider-Man helped an old lady with her groceries that fell all over the sidewalk, just to get smacked by her purse. He watched as Spider-Man gave a homeless man his sandwich and Tim wondered if Spider-Man had eaten at all that day. Spider-Man had looked so happy, mask extremely expressive, a bounce in his step, when he had bought that sandwich.
And he just gave it away? Easily. Without a second thought.
Tim watched as much as he could. He watched too frequently, he had fallen asleep on a roof, only to wake up, draped in a blanket, a packet of cookies left beside him with a sticky note that read; 'Enjoy! :)'. Tim wondered if it was Spider-Man.
Spider-Man is efficient.
Spider-Man is smart, surprising Tim during one of his missions, and giving helpful pointers to improve Tim's gabgets, even showing off some of his to Tim's. Sure, the warehouse might've ended in an explosion of webs, but God, did Tim have fun, so much fun. Real fun.
So, Tim guesses maybe he does know a little about Spider-Man. It may not be his secret identity, but it was a start. That, that was important.
Spider-Man is⦠Spider-Man is good.
A rough, smoker voice disturb Tim's thoughts, attention focusing in reality, two guys, below the building Tim was perched on, backed a kid, Tim couldn't get a look at his face from here, into the alley wall. How unlucky for them, thought Tim, noticing the lack of weapons, yet he could never be too careful.
Tim stepped forward, allowing gravity to pull his body back down, landing silently in a crouch behind the two men, his cape quietly fluttering. Standing up, Tim pulled his bo staff out, extending it and twirling it lazily before using it as a support, bracing himself against it. "I'm going to give you ten seconds to run away," rather generous, isn't he? "I'm kinda waiting for someone, would really like to not deal with your poor life choices, right now."
The man, the one with greasy, salt and pepper hair, down to his shoulders, nose crooked and teeth that's shy from falling out, twisted and rotten, let out a scratchy sound, a battle cry? swinging a sloppy punch.
"One," Tim said, easily tilting his head out of the way, "two," he continued, falling a step back, bringing him away from the civilian, bruised knuckles ghosting past Tim's chin, "three, four, five," Tim counted, giving the two time to change their minds as the second joined in. "six, seven, eight," Tim flipped over the second guy. He stumbled into the first guy. Tim almost yawned, "nine, ten. Okay, broken ribs it is. You two really should've run away."
A KRACK! with a capital K, a THAWK! and a POW! Later, Tim had apprehended the wannabes muggers, both men beaten and slumped against the wet, brick wall of the alley, wrists and ankles tied by zip ties. For a job well done, Tim dusted his gloved hands, turning to the civilian who surprisingly decided to stay in the same spot. "Are you alā¦" Blue, concealed, met brown. Not just any brown, oh no, it was sun dappled against a forest floor, a canopy of shifting ambers, warm as a lit fireplace on Christmas day, hot chocolate in hand, the softest blanket draped over his shoulders. Wide, earnest, incredibly kind eyes, almost puppy-like with the way the civilian stared at Tim, red rimmed, that⦠that broke something inside Tim as that complicated feeling came back, stronger, almost too painful now.
Tim breathed in sharp, too sharp, edges cutting into his working throat. His eyes, wide behind his mask, drank in very detail of the boy, roughly Timās age, integrating the soft, brown curls curtaining the boy's face, sharp jaw, softer eyes, to memory. Then his eyes fell to the boy's mouth, chin fighting back a tremble, lips unsure if to commit to a smile.
Tim's heart ached. It hurt and it leaped, and it twirled, and it hurt. It hurt so, so much, and he felt happy. Happy in a way that was cruelly unfair and he felt pain, the same kind of pain when he wakes up in the morning, feeling like something was stolen from him. Conflicted feelings, crashing into each other, his heart thudded too quickly against his chest, threatening to jump out at any given second.
The boy opened his mouth, a weak shudder escaping before the boy tried to speak again, "Th⦠thank you." the words came out too small, too tiny, it twisted something ugly in Tim's gut, instinctively taking a step closer to him, hand lifting, as if to touch, daring to reach.
Tim's lips parted, words almost slipping free, when the boy turned to leave. It was automatic, a desperation that clawed its way out, "Wait!" Tim grimaced, the sound of his own voice bouncing back at him. The boy froze, back facing Tim, shoulders hiked to his ears as a name on the tip of Tim's tongue almost left. "P�"
Slowly as if he was afraid, as if he heard wrong and needed to be sure, the boy turned his head, croaking out a fragile, "What did you say?" as if he heard a ghost, painfully hopeful in the way the boy's kind, wet eyes shone, it shattered Tim's heart. It grabbed his heart, twisted it, and yanked it out, leaving his chest gaping and bleeding.
Tim swallowed, "Iā¦" What did he say? He⦠he can't remember, did he even say anything? He was going too, then⦠then, blank. "Iāuh, I," Tim fought hard, fought through the fog clouding his mind, fought through the sinking coldness surging in his blood, like ice, but nothing. Nothing but this hollowness starting to consume him whole.
That same hope died in the boy's earnest eyes, a brittle smile lifting without reaching his warm, kind, pretty brown eyes. "It's okay," the boy nodded his head, delicate curls bouncing, sounding more like he was trying to comfort himself than anything else. "It's okay." He repeated, firmer, steadier. "I⦠thank you again, Red Robin."
"Who are you?" Tim blurted, taking another desperate step forward, desperate to not lose sight of this.. stranger, that's who he is, someone Tim has never met before so why⦠why can't he let him go?
The boy tilted his head, wobbly smile forced to be a grin, like that was proof he was okay. "Oh, me? I'mā¦" the boy hesitated for a moment, debating something in his head before letting his head fall, gently shaking it in defeat. "I'm nobody important."
"That's notāthat's not true. You are important, you are! Trust me. Please."
The boy just smiled, thin, but real.
"Letā¦" Tim found himself speaking, "let me walk you homeāplease." He pleaded, a whine bubbling in his throat, hand stretched out, too scared to fully touch. What's going on?
"It's okay," the boy refused and it was like Tim was being crushed by a building, blown up, pressing metal wiring and old pipes through flesh. "You're waiting for someone, right?"
"Iā¦"
"Take care, Red Robin⦠see you around."
When that boy left, Tim tried, he really did, he tried to follow that boy home, but along the way, he lost him. Tim didn't even get to see Spider-Man. Tim thought of him, the boy with kind, sad eyes, back at home, in his too big bedāit felt like it at leastāfighting sleep as if he was thrown into war, a war he was losing, Tim fell asleep.
The following day, when Tim opened his eyes, he slapped his hand across his aching heart and just stared at the ceiling, almost catatonic, as the feeling of wrongness, emptiness, of numbness, like something important was taken from him, stolen, same old ache he's been feeling for months, settled in his chest like bone settling wrong.
Tim just couldn't figure out what was stolen from him.
slowly working on chapter 8 of Fly on the Wall. I think this is like⦠the third draft? Yeah. Iām liking this version so much more.
Itās not forgotten! Promise! Just progressing slowly, very slowly.
I think itās been like 2 months since I last updated
Oopsā

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Ahem.
I have been affected with a terrible, terrible disease called LEGO BATMANāit has taken me far, far from my Ellipsus, saved in my Home Screen; opened on a forgotten tab on my laptop. Fanfics, crying in need, begging to be updated, desperate for a touch thatās never to come.
I hear none but the evils whispered in my ear; āPlay Lego Batman,ā and I⦠am only human.
So yuh updates are probably gonna be slowed more so cause of the game š blame this dude
SpideyPool in Gotham Future Project
This idea has been in the works, just been trying to catch up on Deadpool lore and figuring out how to write him. Iāve tested SpideyTorch in Gotham and thatās been fun, so why not dip my toes in another fun Spidey ship?
Itāll probably be antsy, no, definitely will be, with Wadeās depression and knowing heās not good for Peter, and would probably push Peter away once he realizes that Peter actually loves him, Wade, the worldās favorite screw up. (His thoughts)
I am still obsessed with Dick Grayson and Richard Parker being the same person tag, so obviously Iāll have that and of course the Batfam will have their opinions on Wade.
I tend to like the whole de-age tag, I personally think itās fun, bite me. I can imagine a 30-something year old Peter Parker reverting back to a teen and having a crisis about losing his magnificent beard (I forgot the name of the comic š but HE LOOKED SO HOT, Imma see if I can find it again and buy it).
If Wade got de-age heād probably revert back to what he looked like before the whole cancer experimental ātreatmentā, but do I want that? š Iām not sure, cause I think itās beautiful that despite how Wade looks, regardless of how he acts, Peter can see the true Wade, or at least the good in Wade and falls in love despite his better judgment.
Or I could just have them come to Gotham as grown ass men and Dick tries to have bonding moments with his son from another universe thatās older than him. Which is definitely funny, but I also want Peter and Wade to somewhat suffer in Gotham as teens where no one takes them seriously (they would argue no one takes them seriously as adults anyways).
Itās not set in stone yet, but this has been on my mind for WHILE, probably about a year.
Below is the title I have planned, though maybe Iāll stick with, āIām No Goodā instead of, āIām Not Good (For You)ā
(Yes those 20 are all Peter in Gotham fics, most have not been published, though one is a collection of One-Shots so technically itās more than 20)