#dc#dc comics#batman#bruce wayne#dc fanart#dick grayson#batfamily#batfam#tim drake
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what's it like bein' that close to the ground
‘ whats it like being that close to brain dead. ’
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Have a pat on the shoulder
“take your hand off my shoulder, or lose it.”
IS TODAY RANDOMLY LOVE KELS DAY ? UH, BC SIGN ME TF UP. what could i possibly say that hasn't been said before ? your entire blog is *chef's kiss. that writing, them ideas, that gorgeous drop dead sexy passion you have when it comes to five and all the little peppered details you sprike like confetti makes it very spicy. we stan hard in this household. MUAH =* ! LOVE U BETCH XO
u guys can’t keep getting away with th—stop carmen this is so kind ily 😭💖🥺 that means a lot though rly...! but god gdsGFSD thank u legend i feel the exact same about ur blog and U! u are wonderful! if im stanning u and ur stanning me WHO is flying the plane
🌑 @shallowcuts ╱ ❝ you almost missed and hit me instead. ❞ his words are mumbled as he brushes past diego back to the mansion, arriving home after their latest mission. he’s lying, diego wasn’t going to hit him with the knife he threw, nor did luther actually doubt him in the moment ( he rarely ever doubts him on missions —— but what he says out loud, especially to diego, is always a different story. ) it’s just that the mission went as it always did: ridiculous quips passed back and forth between luther and diego, both stubborn as always despite what was really at stake. there’s no real reason for them to fight —- other than the way their father pushes them in that direction ( something luther doesn’t quite understand, only acts on ) and luther has no place bringing the fight home with them —- but he can’t help it. it feels like they could have done more. and that always feels like a failure rested on his own shoulders, as their leader; but if he can deflect and push that blame on diego, that makes him feel better —- even if only for a moment.
❝ there’s dart boards all over this house. maybe you need more practice, ❞ he scoffs, looking back at him as his head tilts upwards. ❝ or are you just trying to take me out? oh, i bet you’d love that. ❞
I heard a really good time travel joke tomorrow.
why are we still here just to suffer. every day carmen says a dad joke or makes snakes manifest physically in my home--IS THAT TWO MORE MESSAGES IN MY INBOX
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❛ that mask doesn't cover up much, does it? ❜
: // 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐴𝐶𝑇 / @shallowcuts / 𝐶𝐴𝐿𝐿
@shallowcuts said: “that looks broken.”
she’s picked pretty competent ones this time—just about noteworthy—as one blonde goon throws his frankly inconsequential weight, repeatedly, into gaudy wallpaper. blink too-confident lets his swedish adversary catch him at the wrist--no hesitation--twist swift and violent. sound that can be nothing else, tears yelp from his throat. surprised, maybe, at the lack of hesitation--( or the ugly creak of bone ). blindsiding is the radiating pain and the sharp taste of adrenaline--blinks from firm grasp, lands near diego in time to dodge a hail of gunshots over the furniture. half glance around to walls decorated in throwing knives and bullet holes. elliott would probably be understanding.
last sputtering burst of his energy and he’s curling good hand in diego’s sleeve, forcing the fizzle of void to his fingertips. in a blink, they’re gone—landing gracelessly in familiar alleyway. he barely catches himself, shoes skittering on impact with the pavement. instinct sends quick glance over his shoulder--until he’s sure they have a minute to spare. and then, only then does battered frame bend and consider collapse. stubborn, he still goes to flex wrist--finds fingers can only twitch weakly. it’s the sort of twinging ache that soon gives way to a prickling numbness down his wrist. it’s broken. no shit. cuts a frosty look up at his brother.
“i’m aware, you idiot.” tone comes out spitting, positively livid with the circumstances, or this setback, or himself. it’s a sort of unconvincing sway on his feet, something dizzying he has to blink back in order to compose. you’re fine. there are other things--there are always other things. maybe diego hadn’t, for once, deserved his wrath—but maybe it was worse to admit that this was about to limit him, in the middle of their very time-sensitive problems. it was stupid to think they’d play under the handler’s radar without her constant, irritating interventions.
jaw sets, fury finding the pinch in his brow, and hisses; “don’t--touch it. i’m fine.” it’s certainly his intention to walk, but knees buckle slightly—cage of wiry, knotted up threads finally undoing. “...spare me your diagnoses and just— move, we don’t have time.” a less-than-careful cradling of injured arm, and then a quick once-over of his brother to identify any injuries. even his concern sits stiff against his teeth; “...are you hurt?”
