#;tips

that one torture meme || not accepting

Floating. Drifting through vague thoughts, none sticking in his head long enough to make an impact. Miles better than the pain that licked at his veins for days on end. Pressure, on his wrists. Not enough to bother him, to penetrate the thick haze. His eyes fluttered open to see dark stone walls, the same he’d seen every other time. He let his eyes drift shut again, head dropping to his chest. 

Distantly, he heard a familiar sound. A sort of clattering, paired with yells. Gunfire? 

He blinked and shook his head dazedly. 

More indistinct shouting and heavy thuds, closer this time. The door to his cell rattled and he rolled his head toward the sound. Light spilled in, shrouding the person in the door from his sight.

Words, ones he couldn’t quite understand. But he knew that voice. 

[insert witty title here] || not accepting My muse is surrounded by thugs up to no good and yours happens upon this. 

Dick laughed as he spun, bringing his escrima stick up to crack across a thug’s jaw. “Playtime’s over, kiddies. Time to settle down-” A kick to another thug’s face. “and take a nap.” 

A sound caught his attention and he spared just enough to glance up at a fire escape a few yards away. He could see a familiar face lounging against the railing, looking as bored as a man in a full face helmet could possibly look. 

[ insert witty title here ] || not accepting My muse is sick and continues daily routine even though they seem on the verge of passing out.

Dizzy. Not a good thing to be when flying through the streets of Gotham with nothing but a grappling hook and his wits. He skidded to a stop on a rooftop, pressing a hand to his forehead. Hot. Also not good. 

Dick shook his head sharply. Three more hours. Three hours and he could go home and down painkillers. And sleep. He rubbed his forehead before pushing his hair out of his face. His suit felt too hot, itchy on his skin. 

Chatter on the radio caught his interest and he turned on one boot, his grapple gun already in hand. He shot toward the next building over, wind whipping his hair back from his face. Just before he landed, another wave of dizziness hit him. He knew before he landed that he wasn’t going to make it. 

r u d e || accepting selectively 

The second Dick saw Damian, he had an inkling of what the other man had in mind. He narrowed his eyes as Damian walked closer. Dick held up a hand. 

“No. No, don’t you even-”

Damian’s eyes glinted before he scooped Dick up and slung  him over his shoulder. Dick could have evaded the grab but he didn’t, an amused smile curling at his lips. His fingers curled in the back of Damian’s soft shirt. 

tracing scars || not accepting

Dick tipped his head back against the back of the couch, sighing tiredly. He could hear the sounds of Jason moving around his kitchen but it didn’t bother him. And even if it did, he was too tired to do anything about it.

His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed again. The sound of a slightly creaky floorboard alerted him to Jason coming up behind him. He didn’t react except to sink a little further in to the cushions. 

He expected a snarky comment. Or even for Jason to leave. He didn’t expect a finger to trail up the side of his neck. It took him a moment to realize Jason was tracing a particular scar, a vertical scar, running from the juncture of neck and shoulder up to just behind his ear. He tipped his head to the side a bit more, exposing more of the scar to Jason’s touch.

tfln (aka pls send these) || accepting