#dc#dc comics#batman#dick grayson#tim drake#dc fanart#bruce wayne#batfamily#batfam
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✉ / YES U REBLOGGED THIS IN MAY MY BAD
deleted text: i need help deleted text: it was a shapeshifter that k- deleted text: fojck hyou for yleavignh deleted text: consider your conscious clear, i don't need any more of your hel- deleted text: i'm injure-
text: going to visit mom's grave today.
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@roadravaged | call
— ❝ Hey, man - pretty sure this is private property. ❞
@roadravaged liked for a starter! and got one with Quinn! // gif came from here. // maybe the serial killer is actually something supernatural?
Nostrils are flaring as she glares at him and sweat beads at her brows. "This is my case! You can't just swoop in and take it out from under me! Do you know how long I've been trying to hunt down this serial killer? Three months!" she shouts in a shaking voice, that raises slightly with each word. Her heartbeat pounds loudly in her chest.
Normally, Quinn isn't one to get angry like this, but this is a case she's pored her blood, sweat, and tears into. She's not about to give it up because some cocky FBI Agent from another town wanted to take over.
Sweeping arms gesture in the air as she rants at the other FBI Agent. "I'm this close to catching him! I know it!" she declares. "Unless my boss tells me otherwise, I'm going to keep working this case!"
i've been dead before. i got over it.
sentence starters / " cool — considering the current circumstances of us being interlinked, how about we avoid that this time around? "
" there's no line i wouldn't cross for you. don't you realize that? "
she feels like she has said this before to dean until she's blue in the face: i'm a big girl, dean. i don't need protecting. each time she says it, there's flashes of memories that clambers in her head. the hellhounds and the claws digging into her abdomen, the explosion that was meant to help save the world, her brother selling his soul, her climbing out of her casket. she never quite understood what it was back then that made dean ensure that there was distance between them, especially after he visited hell; like a soldier who went to war and brought the nightmares home with him. a tether that calls to him, whether he knows the tune of the siren or not.
the harvelle woman understands hell now, more intimately than she did before. the hunt tonight was a close call, an unknown second werewolf jumping from the shadows of their fight and pounced joanna down to the ground, knocking away her readied rifle loaded with a silver bullet with the same claws that looked as though it was going to come slashing down on her. it felt all too familiar, the sound of her rolling limbs, the snarls that huffs in her face, but this time she can see the monster. it's not this invisible, unknown thing; it was pinning her to the ground that night, and she used her father's knife to slice into the sensitive spot between the monster's ladder of ribs.
the hunt feels more like a warning cry than it did a regular case that they can seal close, and move on. it feels like a haunting reminder of where they have been before, and how close it can be for them to end up in the same spot. memories of her warm blood seeping between her fingers press to the forefront of the harvelle's mind, but when she puts a hand to her stomach now, she's greeted with the cool touch of cotton from her shirt. she's safe, she's alive; they won their fights, and they got to lick their wounds about it and drink in silence until one of them cracked. tonight it was dean. "yeah i know," she whispers, almost seldom before she brings the glass bottle of beer to her lips and takes a swig. there's something unspoken that hangs to the air now, thick like an tangible thing to hold, that remains tucked in the cave of her mouth: there's no line i wouldn't cross for you, dean winchester. not even death itself.
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when ben came to dean needing medical assistance, he expected it to come with some questions: what did this, what happened, what were you thinking? the ones that naturally come when there's as much blood as there is, red blossoming on the top of his thigh, a red sea engulfing the blue of ben's denim before he rips a hole big enough to gauge the wound. "does it matter? i need help." ... @roadravaged
" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "
sentence starters / his upper lip curled in disdain. " shut up. " he commanded, as if he were coming from a place where he reclaimed authority over this bizarre exchange. this was a dream ; what else would it have been? he only thought he'd been awoken, but it must have been an illusion. and he had no interest in entertaining more of his mind's tricks. " y'er not real, motherfucker. " he snapped his fingers with confidence as he anticipated his double to vanish before his eyes.
❝ woah— what the hell happened there? ❞
𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔰 !
she feels her shirt riding up, but there is hope within her that dean is looking away, isn't in a position to notice──well, fuck. . . allison pulls at the shirt to hide her lower back again. the burn marks are definitely the ones she feels the weirdest about. just as painful and prominent as they others that litter a lot of her body, they are among those not collected in battle, and for some reason, that makes them shameful to allison. " i crashed my bike a year ago. landing on hot pipes? not fun. "
