does he just do battle ropes as he watches tv or what

love love peace peace (and a little revenge)

… in which Killian does Eurovision. Because the Eurovision was on, and @ofshipsandswans and @killiancygnus and @captainswanandclintasha and @swanandapirate are a terrible influence.

It’s all Ruby’s fault.

That’s Emma’s tale, and she’s sticking to it. She still isn’t entirely sure how writing a song turned into, well, this. She was going to just watch it on the TV. She wanted to stay in the background. But here she is, sitting backstage with Ruby and the rest of the Norway team, blinking in the flashing lights and trying not to look overwhelmed by the ridiculousness all around her.

Because Eurovision is ridiculous. There’s a guy on stage right now singing a high-pitched song about bread or something, while five other men dressed as rain drops dance around him. Or maybe they’re tear drops; Emma isn’t sure.

The point is, all Emma ever wanted to do was write a song, and yet here she is at the weirdest music event she’s ever attended and wondering about Europe’s collective sanity.

Elsa’s performance goes amazingly well, though, so there’s that. The ice theme was the right choice, as Ruby remarks with satisfaction, complementing the song while being weird enough to leave an impression. Emma was unsure about the robotic snow man whizzing around the stage, before, but she understands the reasoning now. It’s probably the next meme already.

The crowd loves it, anyway.

Emma suffers through another ballad, this one sung by a German lady who could really do with a bucket or something to help her carry the tune. She’s only half-paying attention, most of her mind on Elsa and Ruby and trying to look calm and relaxed for the cameras, in case any show up.

“Next up is the UK—let’s meet their candidate!” one of the hosts (Emma keeps mixing them up) calls.

There are screens everywhere, showing the little clip that plays before each country takes the stage. Emma pays no attention, because Anna has started talking again, her nerves running away with her.

“… because really everyone says neighbours vote for each other, but we don’t have that many neighbours and I’m not sure Sweden would vote for us anyway, but I think that a lot of people also vote for the song they like best and really Elsa has been the best so far, hasn’t she? And—”

“Anna,” Emma says, reaching over to put a calming hand on the girl’s shoulder before she can drive them all to the brink of nervous collapse again. “Anna. Relax. Elsa did her best, and now we just have to wait and see.”

“I know, but—oh, he’s handsome, isn’t he?” Anna’s eyes have snagged on the stage, where the UK’s candidate is about to begin his song.

Emma follows her gaze, thankful to the UK for distracting Anna—and does a startled double-take.

Keep reading

Wild Hogs From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Wild Hogs Wild-hogs-poster-750.jpg Theaterical poster Directed by Walt Becker Produced by Kristin Burr Todd Lieberman Brian Robbins Amy Sayres Sharla Sumpter Michael Tollin Written by Brad Copeland Starring Tim Allen John Travolta Martin Lawrence William H. Macy Ray Liotta Marisa Tomei Music by Teddy Castellucci Cinematography Robbie Greenberg Edited by Christopher Greenbury Production company Touchstone Pictures Tollin/Robbins Productions Distributed by Buena Vista Pictures Release date March 2, 2007 Running time 100 minutes Country United States Language English Budget $60 million Box office $253.6 million[1] Wild Hogs is a 2007 American biker comedy road film directed by Walt Becker and starring Tim Allen, John Travolta, Martin Lawrence and William H. Macy. It was released nationwide in the United States and Canada on March 2, 2007. Contents  [hide] 1 Plot 2 Cast 3 Production 4 Motorcycles 5 Reception 5.1 Critical response 5.2 Box office 5.3 Lawsuit 6 DVD release 7 Cancelled sequel 8 Awards and nominations 9 References 10 External links Plot[edit] Doug Madsen (Tim Allen), Woody Stevens (John Travolta), Bobby Davis (Martin Lawrence), and Dudley Frank (William H. Macy) are four middle-aged suburban men living in a Cincinnati area suburb who find themselves frustrated with the pace of daily life and lack of adventure. Doug is a dentist who has trouble relating to his son Billy (Dominic Janes), Dudley is a single clumsy computer programmer who is afraid to talk to women. Bobby is a henpecked plumber whose wife has made him return to work after having taken a year off to unsuccessfully write a book, and Woody is a rich lawyer married to a supermodel. They find escape from their daily routines on weekends by riding motorcycles together posing as a biker gang called the "Wild Hogs". One day, when Woody finds out his wife is divorcing him and leaving him bankrupt, he and his friends go on a road trip on their bikes to California. After encountering several misadventures, they end up at a local bar, where they meet a much larger biker gang called the Del Fuegos, headed by Jack Blade (Ray Liotta). Jack calls the Wild Hogs "posers" and has his gang take Dudley's bike after a bogus deal to exchange Dudley's bike for a new bike that is in fact old and derelict, forcing the men to leave with Dudley in a sidecar attached to Woody's bike. Outraged at their actions, Woody returns to the Del Fuegos bar and retrieves Dudley's bike, cuts off their bikes' fuel supplies in the process and fabricates a story to the other Wild Hogs of how he "negotiated" with them to return the bike. When the Del Fuegos hear the Wild Hogs riding back past the bar, they attempt to pursue them, only for the bikes to stall. Jack inadvertently drops his lit cigarette onto the ground, igniting the fuel leaking from the bikes which then causes the bar to explode. Woody, after witnessing the explosion from afar, convinces the others to keep riding. Eventually, the Wild Hogs run out of gas and end up in Madrid, New Mexico, where they stumble into a diner and help themselves to water and beer without first paying for the beer. As a result, the townspeople first mistake them for Del Fuegos. When the Wild Hogs explain their actions, they learn that the Del Fuegos have been terrorizing the town frequently, while the local police force are unable to do anything to protect the town. Although Woody is still antsy about the Del Fuegos, the others convince him to stay in the town overnight. During their stay in the town, Dudley falls in love with Maggie (Marisa Tomei), the diner's owner. While out searching for the Wild Hogs, Jack's closest biker members Red & Murdock spot the group and report their location to Jack. Jack tells the pair not to hurt the Wild Hogs until he gets there, leaving them unable to fight back when Bobby spots and confronts the pair by splashing beer and spraying ketchup and mustard on their clothes before finally laying two uppercuts to them. The Wild Hogs are hailed as heroes amongst the town's residents and celebrate well into the night with the townspeople. The next day, Woody persuades the others that they must leave, but their departure is ruined when the Del Fuegos arrive. Jack threatens to attack the town unless the Wild Hogs pay for the damage done to their bar. Woody admits to the Wild Hogs what he really did to get Dudley's bike back as well as the real reason for the trip, upsetting the others. Jack and the rest of the Del Fuegos take over Maggie's diner, but when he threatens to burn it, Dudley confronts them and is captured and tied from a rope against a tree. The others attempt to rescue Dudley but fail. They then decide to fight the Del Fuego gang letting Jack, Red, Murdock and a member trained in martial arts battle the group in a 4 on 4 fight but the Wild Hogs are repeatedly beaten down. The townspeople band together to battle the Del Fuegos, but just as Jack threatens to take on the rest of the town, Damien Blade (Peter Fonda), Jack's father and the founder of the Del Fuegos, arrives and stops the fight. Damien lectures Jack for letting four "posers" hold off an entire biker gang, questioning aloud just which side was the "posers". He also adds that the bar was merely an insurance scam and therefore was glad that the Wild Hogs destroyed it. Damien tells the Del Fuegos to leave town and ride the open road until they remember what riding is really about, mentioning as he leaves that Jack "takes after his mother." He then acknowledges the Wild Hogs by telling them his motto: "Ride hard, or go home." Doug and Bobby's wives arrive, and Doug reconciles with his son. Bobby's wife orders him to return with her, but he refuses and convinces her to let him finish the ride. The Wild Hogs leave and arrive in California, where everyone except for Dudley crashes into a surfboard while he laughs. During the credits, it is revealed that the Wild Hogs called Extreme Makeover: Home Edition to give the Del Fuegos a new bar. The Del Fuegos react in joy at their new bar while the Wild Hogs watch the event on TV. Cast[edit] Tim Allen as Doug Madsen John Travolta as Woody Stevens Martin Lawrence as Bobby Davis William H. Macy as Dudley Frank Ray Liotta as Jack Blade Marisa Tomei as Maggie Kevin Durand as Red M. C. Gainey as Murdock Tichina Arnold as Karen Davis Stephen Tobolowsky as Sheriff Charley Jason Sklar as Deputy Earl Dooble Randy Sklar as Deputy Buck Dooble John C. McGinley as Highway Patrolman Peter Fonda as Damien Blade Production[edit] This section does not cite any sources. Please help improve this section by adding citations to reliable sources. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed. (March 2014) (Learn how and when to remove this template message) Travolta and Macy had previously worked together in the 1998 drama, A Civil Action where they originally came up with the idea for Wild Hogs. Liotta and Durand had previously appeared together in the 2006 action thriller Smokin' Aces. Lawrence and McGinley appeared in the 1997 comedy Nothing to Lose. Lawrence and Arnold had previously worked together on the television series Martin; many fans of the series found their pairing in this film humorous, as well as ironic, as in the series, their characters hated each other, while in the film they were husband and wife.[citation needed] Though the film takes place in various places throughout the U.S., the entire movie was actually filmed in New Mexico (except the beach on the West Coast at the end).[citation needed] The opening scenes that supposedly take place in Cincinnati were actually filmed in and around Albuquerque; the final scenes said to depict Madrid were actually shot there.[citation needed] Motorcycles[edit] Harley-Davidson provided the motorcycles for the making of this film.[citation needed] XL1200C Sportster Custom for Dudley. FXSTS Springer Softail for Bobby. Black Fatboy with a chrome front wheel for Doug. Screamin' Eagle Fatboy for Woody. Many of the motorcycles utilized by the Del Fuego gang were customized choppers. The motorcycle used by Jack featured the logo for Orange County Choppers, run by Paul Teutul, Sr. with design work by Paul Teutul, Jr.. Both Teutuls have cameo appearances at the beginning of the film.[citation needed] Tim Allen, a noted automotive designer and hobbyist, gave input to the design of his motorcycle. Of the bikes used in the film by the four main characters, his is the most customized model.[citation needed] Reception[edit] Critical response[edit] Wild Hogs opened on March 2, 2007 to mostly negative reviews. The film holds an average rating of 3.8/10 on Rotten Tomatoes, with a 14% approval rating based on 141 reviews. The site's consensus says "Wild Hogs is a dreadful combination of fish-out-of-water jokes, slapstick, and lazy stereotypes".[2] Ty Burr of The Boston Globe compared the film's merits to its titular motorcycles, believing it to be "a bumptious weekend ride... the engine could use tuning and the plugs are shot, but it gets you most of the way there." Although writing a negative review, Burr offered praise for the film's final act, believing it "takes a satisfying turn" and that, with the exception of Allen, each of the film's primary cast members "earned his designated chuckle." He also favorably compared the film to RV, another comedy film focusing on a road trip.[3] Box office[edit] Despite negative reviews, the film grossed $39.7 million on its opening weekend, ranking #1 in box office sales and nearly tripling the debut of fellow opener Zodiac.[4] The film performed well throughout its entire run, falling just 30.5% in its second weekend[5] and ultimately grossing $168.2 million domestically and $253.6 million worldwide,[1] becoming Travolta's first film since The General's Daughter in 1999 to gross over $100 million domestically.[citation needed] Lawsuit[edit] In March 2007, the Hells Angels filed suit against Walt Disney Motion Pictures Group alleging that the film used both the name and distinctive logo of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Corporation without permission.[6] That suit resulted in voluntary dismissal.[7] DVD release[edit] Wild Hogs was released on standard DVD and Blu-ray Disc on August 14, 2007.[citation needed] Cancelled sequel[edit] Because of the movie's strong box office performance, Disney announced that a sequel, Wild Hogs 2: Bachelor Ride, would be released in 2010. However, after Disney's next comedy starring John Travolta, Old Dogs (which co-starred Robin Williams) was a box office failure, Disney canceled both Wild Hogs 2: Bachelor Ride and Wedding Banned, a comedy that was to star Williams and Anna Faris.[8] Awards and nominations[edit] People's Choice Awards 2008 Nominated- Favorite Movie Comedy[citation needed] References[edit] ^ Jump up to: a b Jump up ^ "Wild Hogs". Rotten Tomatoes. Retrieved February 22, 2016. Jump up ^ Wild Hogs Movie Review – Wild Hogs Movie Trailer – The Boston Globe Jump up ^ Weekend Box Office Results for March 2–4, 2007 Jump up ^ Wild Hogs (2007) – Weekend Box Office Results Jump up ^ 'Litigation against movie release' (March 8, 2006) and they rule., HAMC vs Walt Disney Jump up ^ 'Hells Angels file suit against Alexander McQueen' (October 27, 2010) [1] Jump up ^ McKittrick, Christopher (2 March 2016). "Why Disney Put the Brakes on 'Wild Hogs 2'". Retrieved 8 May 2017. External links[edit] Wikiquote has quotations related to: Wild Hogs Official website Wild Hogs on Internet Movie Database Wild Hogs at AllMovie Wild Hogs at Rotten Tomatoes Wild Hogs at Metacritic Wild Hogs at Box Office Mojo The Times Film Review: Wild Hogs [hide] v t e Films directed by Walt Becker Buying the Cow (2000) Van Wilder (2002) Wild Hogs (2007) Old Dogs (2009) Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Road Chip (2015) Categories: 2007 filmsEnglish-language filmsAmerican films2000s comedy filmsAmerican comedy filmsAmerican buddy filmsFilms directed by Walt BeckerFilms set in New MexicoFilms shot in New MexicoMidlife crisis filmsMotorcycling films2000s road moviesAmerican road moviesTouchstone Pictures filmsOutlaw biker films Navigation menu Not logged inTalkContributionsCreate accountLog inArticleTalkReadEditView historySearch Search Wikipedia Go Main page Contents Featured content Current events Random article Donate to Wikipedia Wikipedia store Interaction Help About Wikipedia Community portal Recent changes Contact page Tools What links here Related changes Upload file Special pages Permanent link Page information Wikidata item Cite this page Print/export Create a book Download as PDF Printable version In other projects Wikiquote Languages العربية Čeština Dansk Deutsch Español فارسی Français Galego Italiano Magyar Bahasa Melayu Nederlands 日本語 Norsk bokmål Polski Português Русский Suomi Svenska Türkçe Українська Edit links This page was last edited on 21 June 2017, at 17:12. 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anonymous asked:

mcspirk in the time while the uss enterprise is rebuild and they do lots of stuff together like visiting museums, sightseeing or long movie nights?

  • All three of them want to do different things. They have plenty of time to do literally everything they want to do, but that doesn’t mean they don’t bicker about who gets to drag the others out first. “Let’s go to the tallest skyscraper and jump out,” Jim says. “Why would we ever want to do that?” Bones counters. “The gravity will just make us float to the next building, it’ll be fun.” Jim says, and he’s mostly joking, of course. Bones rubs his temples nonetheless. “You have learned absolutely nothing from the times you’ve almost died.” He says, and Jim laughs. He throws his arms around Bones’ shoulders, hands sliding up over his neck to Bones’ face and he pulls him in for a kiss. “The tallest skyscraper’s supposed to have a restaurant and a casino. It’ll be fun,” Jim says. "Casino sounds okay,“ Bones agrees, “but the more you say ‘it’ll be fun’ the less I believe it will be.” "Actually, I would like to suggest an alternative use of our afternoon,” Spock says, and Bones watches him walk out of the bathroom. Shirtless, towel around his waist, and right there and then - Bones doesn’t really care what it is Spock wants, he just agrees to it before Jim has a chance to convince him otherwise.
  • He regrets that decision almost immediately afterwards, because Spock has found the most boring museum in the entire station. Nothing wrong with a bit of history, but Bones is bored after the first movie of how York Town came to be. Jim’s following Spock, mostly playing games on his PADD. Clearly bored out of his mind after having read most things once briefly. Spock takes two hours to read every detail, watch every screen, and look at every nook and every corner.
  • Mostly, though, they’re actually just working. Even though they’re not out on their new year-long mission just yet, they’re kept busy by the Federation. Jim spends a lot of time with high admirals, going through his older logs, writing reports and analyzing potential threats for York Town and the federation as a whole. It’s a good way for Jim to really find out what his admiral’s job would have been like, and he’s happy he has turned it down to stay with his crew. By the end of the day Jim slumps down on the couch and spends time with his boyfriends until the artificial sunrise makes them go through the same routine all over again.
  • Spock joins a research team based here. He’s just collecting, sampling, and analyzing materials they receive and he finds it fascinating. He even joins on a full week expedition to a nearby planet to research fossils found there. When he’s not doing that, the Federation keeps him busy in a similar fashion to Jim.
  • Bones teaches. He’s some honorary guest lecturer who scares the crap out of the medical students because of his angry and intimidating demeanor. Bones is also in charge of updating all of the crew’s medical records and making sure all medical supplies are ordered, stocked, and ready for departure.
  • The next time they have a day off together, Jim is in charge and it’s a wild ride. They visit an old arcade and Jim kicks their asses on all shooting games, but Bones is surprisingly skillful on those old fashioned arcades. Jim shouldn’t be surprised. He watches Bones stand behind Spock, one arm around Spock’s waist and the other hand holding Spock’s, and he’s showing him the ropes with these games in the cheesiest way possible. Jim loves seeing Spock and Bones bicker and flirt - and this is a sight he does not mind at all. After the arcade, Jim first takes them out to a delicious fast food diner, and he’s made sure there’s a vegan option for Spock available before taking them there. Then, they go up to the roof of the tallest skyscraper and spend most of the night and a lot of their salary in the casino. All of them lose most games, but Jim considers his night a big win when Bones gets in a fight with some guy who’s supposedly cheating. They get kicked out after Spock joins in to defend him, and then Jim does, too.
  • Jim expects Bones to take them to the medical museum - or whatever. He has mentioned it a couple of times but Jim’s always groaned at the suggestion. Now that it’s Bones’ time to take them out, though, he fully expects that to happen. Instead, Bones takes them to a small space museum that fascinates both Spock and Jim alike. There’s a newly opened exhibit on the USS Franklin, the Battle for York Town, and the Enterprise crew. “Look at that, my outfit’s here,” Jim says, pointing at the blue survival suits. “I can’t believe I have my own section in a museum,” Jim adds, just looking curiously (and somewhat smugly) at his own hologram. “Yeah, the hero of York Town. Not like we helped in any way, or saved your life multiple times doing so.” Bones points out with a grin, and Jim smiles. “Green’s not a good color on you, babe.” “I’m not jealous, I’m just saying.” Bones replies, and Jim kisses his cheek. “What’s next, medical museum?”
  • It’s not. Bones takes them to a cozy restaurant, and then to Jim’s favorite bar. They spend most of the night just talking, laughing, and being in each other’s company. And rather than taking a teleporter back to their quarters, Spock suggests a walk back. They watch the artificial skies turn from their blues into a darkness that allows the stars around them to be visible. “Why didn’t you choose the medical museum and take us to watch the old fashioned movies you enjoy so much?” Spock asks curiously. “Yeah, the ones who are so old most of our TVs can’t even play them anymore,” Jim agrees with a grin. Bones shrugs. “I didn’t really care about the things we did, I just wanted to do something. So I looked up things you’d both enjoy.”  
  • They catch up on movies most nights, and Jim mostly falls asleep in between the two of them when he does. He never really remembers making it back to bed but he’s always there in the morning when they leave for work. And most of the time during breakfast Spock just informs him on what happened in the movie after he nodded off. Bones isn’t so much a morning person and he’s not often there to join them in for breakfast. Spock has to lure him in with coffee after he’s finished with his own breakfast, but after Bones has woken up mentally too, they spend a quiet 20 minutes just getting ready to leave. It’s so mundane, but it’s also the nicest thing in the world.
  • And by the time the Enterprise is ready, the three of them feel so rested. Despite the work hours put in by the federation, and despite some sleepless nights where they watch Bones’ favorite movies, or go to a bar Jim wanted to go to, or that one night they get locked into a museum because Spock kept them on the upper floor too long with his reading habits. They are rested, and they’re ready for the journey ahead of them. Jim sits down in the captain’s chair and Spock takes his position at his station. Bones stands just next to Jim’s chair, as always, and Jim smiles widely. “Ready?” Bones asks, and Jim nods. “With you guys, always.”

anonymous asked:

Hey! I just finished my finals and I need something to lift me up. Your stories always manage to accomplish that. Can you please take up this prompt: soul-mates AU where you can see colors for the first time once you meet your soulmate. Of course, one of the main people has to be Tim Drake. Whether the POV is the other soulmate, or his, your pick. Please and thank you for all your awesomeness!!!

Soulmate au? Ah, I’ve never done anything like that, babe, but for you I’ll try, okay? And I couldn’t decide on a pairing, so kind of not sorry, right? ;) Oh, and it’s a little heavier on DickTim but meh. Couldn’t help it.

** Maybe a 3 + 1? Three Times Tim Drake Found a Soulmate and the one Time his Soulmate found him? Something like that.**


That day two things happened:

The Flying Graysons fell to their deaths on the trapeze.

Tim Drake saw in color for the first time, staring up at the young boy holding him, in awe.

After the picture, se’s pulled away from Dick’s arms, Dick’s smile, and he hears the promise, the I’ll do a quadruple summer sault just for you, Timmy!

And Dick’s eyes had been blue. The real thing, he just knew it, but Mom and Dad were too busy, arguing in that scary, quiet way—they would need to go on separate trips this time. Six months and they’d be back together, off again.

While in the audience, enrapt with the young acrobat sailing through the air, he could only try to catch his breath.

Until the rope snapped, and there was no net.

The fragile bond darkened, grew heavy enough to make the child ache with it, made him move, but he had only a few minutes sitting beside the weeping acrobat, offering a handkerchief, helpless to do anything but grip and hold on. The police were the ones to pull him away, back to his parents, back to a silent house and empty rooms, not to see his soulmate for eight more years.


By nine, he has enough of a handle on the world to put together his own esthetic: thou shalt be the ultimate fanboy. The Batman and his sidekick, Robin, were only natural to start with considering close to home, combined with the fact his hero is in that yellow cape and pixie boots. It causes a strange surge of pride and fear when he stays hidden on fire escapes, in alley ways, behind dumpsters, ducking in trees and under bushes, when he sees Robin in action, throwing himself around the scary supervillains, usually laughing and quipping.

He doesn’t understand why he has these feelings, isn’t old enough to really get it. Soulmates were so rare, and so what if he could see color? Maybe someone else at the circus—

And he takes another picture: the Dark Knight with his Robin taking off into the darkness.


At twelve, he’s gathered every ounce of courage—and goes to find him and maybe, hopefully bring him back.

It’s bad, so, so bad, and he has all the necessary proof in hand.

Dick has to come back. Has to be Robin again.

The whole sordid story ended with a legacy, a legacy he didn’t want no matter how much he watched and learned. The name was Dick’s first, and he couldn’t take that away, couldn’t be in that shadow, but he’s managed to trap himself. Dick won’t, can’t be what the Batman needs to keep him from the abyss—too many years, too much pain over Jason for them to go back to the partners they used to be. They’d need help to get there, and if he could only survive as Robin long enough to bring them back together—

And that, he decides, the first time Bruce brings him down into the Cave (and Dick just left, just went back to New York, back his life, without even saying good-bye…), to start training him, is going to be the plan.


His teenage years are the best in existence. Dick is always around, playing big brother. They train surf, play stupid board games, patch each other up after a hard night, and celebrate when everything is right with the world. It doesn’t take too much to actually think Dick has figured it out.

Then the downfall.

Everyone around his starts dying. Dick apartment explodes, obliterates his memories and precious things.

And then…


The Battle for the Cowl.

Dick as the Bat, and it’s not like that time when the mantel was taken from Jean-Paul Valley, when he and Dick started to be partners.

No, it’s very, very different.


Red Robin stays the hell away from Gotham City. He’s done his part, saved a shit ton of people, lost a semi-important body part, and proved he wasn’t insane by bringing B back from somewhere in space/time.

At some point, a year or so after Dick took up N in Gotham, the phone calls started coming, going to his voicemail.

*It’s been a while! We should hang out, like, you know, the old days. I miss you, Timmy. Call me back.*

He doesn’t call.

Apparently he doesn’t call long enough that Nightwing shows up in Titan’s Tower, tired of being ignored.

“What intel do you need?”

Seriously? You think I’m here because of that? Dammit, Timmy—“

“Don’t you have a city to go back to?”


“It would be better if you go, Dick, really. We aren’t whatever this is anymore.”

Tim, what the hell does that mean?!”

The argument hadn’t been pretty, but Red gives himself all the kudos for standing firm, staying aloof and away, giving himself the needed space for old hurts and rejections to breathe, to give him strength, to send his soulmate back into the world where he obviously needed to be.

Dick doesn’t make it easy but finally gives in to leave the Tower, looking lost and…worried.

But Red had his moments, they had their opportunities.

It’s time to move on.


In less than six months, things have taken a 180.

Dick returned shortly after their fight and pretty much claimed total dibs to the Communal Floor couch while he worked on getting Tim back.

The volumes of unspoken things (I never wanted to hurt you; I made the best choices, but I could have done it so differently) lie between them, making the Titans rally behind their bird and the Tower always tense. Red takes off enough to keep himself sane, running away from his damn soulmate to fight Ra’s or spy on the Brotherhood, go undercover into an underground fight club or an arm’s deal in crummy warehouses.

In each scenario, no matter how well he covers his tracks—

Nightwing always makes an eventual appearance, making him re-learn how to fight with a Bat.

He hates it at the same moment some piece of his soul craves.


In another six months, Dick has become terribly clingy, calling Red back to Gotham every other damn week with a new case, a new bad guy, a new batch of intel, and just c’mon, Timmy, it’s me here. Come home for a while. I miss you.

And damn him.

He goes.


Another few months fly by, and he’s breaking into Dick’s apartment to order pizza, change into baggy t-shirts and too-long sweats, taking a nap on Dick’s couch while something inane plays on the television in the background.

When he manages to open his eyes again, he’s laying half in Dick’s lap, the older vigilante leaving Officer Grayson outside, while fingers run through his hair, blunt nails scratch soothingly against his scalp.

It’s Dick, blue eyes (that deep, dark blue) looking down at him softly, “go back to sleep. You’ve been working too hard again, haven’t you, Timmy?”

He doesn’t need to answer, just relax back down, and lets go—


And it’s taken so much to see what he’d almost let happen. How he’d almost let Tim just fade away.

He’d been so fucking wrong at the time, not being able to see past the immediate problems; he hadn’t been able to see the pain, the long row of trials and tribulations laying at Tim’s weary feet.

Tim was seventeen at the time.


Once Dick started to realize he didn’t know who Red Robin was anymore, that Gotham was suspiciously empty, he pulled out the detective card and started looking for the answers to his many, many questions.

He traced the whole year of Tim’s journey to find proof Bruce was alive, horrified when he found damaged footage of the Cradle, watching Tim come to on a slab right by the Lazarus Pit, fighting after major surgery to remove his spleen. Sick when he watched the former Robin taking on the Council of Spiders on his own. Tracked down reports from the Tower’s mainframe to place all the cases filling in the gaps between major Titan battles.

His defining moment, when he pulled Red Robin out of the way of a bomb (that blew them right the hell up anyway), and followed the team into their medical floor to treat the unconscious bird.

The armor and undersuit came off and—

“Good God,” was the only thing he could formulate while the angry Titans ignored him and went about what was obviously rote for them.

Plan: Bring Timmy Back to the Bats was a go from then on.

And the time it took to slowly wiggle his way back into Red Robin’s life was worth every second.

He’d forgotten how calm Tim made him, how at ease in his own skin. And a year and a half after the plan was set in motion, he held a sleeping nineteen year old on his lap while some asinine something plays on his television. It soothes him to run his fingers through the too-long hair, to scratch at his scalp, to get hugs that make him warm and somehow satisfied.

He unabashedly nuzzles against the top of Tim’s head, seeing the flicker of light against the dark hair and doesn’t think much of anything else than how nice it is to have this weight on him, against him. How much he’s come to need Tim back in his life, to snark with him, to be regular civilians together, to work the night job, to watch stupid movie and throw popcorn at the screen, to be able to call him and make sure he’s sleeping and eating, to let Tim do the same.

Flicker at the tip of Tim’s nose when Dick leans down to press their foreheads together without waking the younger bird, and he gasps gently when he realizes Tim’s eyebrows are dark against pale skin—not in shades of black or white. Not—

Oh God.

His own hand is darker against Tim’s cheek, his Romani background, the tan mesmerizing him for long, agonizing moments.

The empty Zesti can on the end table reads Grape and he associates purple, with a blink he knows what that means.

And the slight pink (pink) to Tim’s mouth is the next fixation, his eyes staying right on that perfect, pert mouth when the fullness is accentuated with color.

His hands are holding too tight, too close, and Tim wakes up, groggy and mumbling, trying to pull away and sit up with some half-coherent madness about killer robots and the quantum mechanics behind the multiverses.

But Dick can’t let him go an inch, can do anything but desperately hold on.



And he comes rising out of the water, reborn.

He comes into the world screaming, for a third time.

The red hot searing in his brain, his hand and feet, his throat and chest, brings him to life. (“The monster is not in my face, but in my soul.”)

Broken pieces flit through his half-functioning brain while his body works on auto-pilot, sloshing through the burning waters, and the hazy film, the rage is right there for every synapsis to take hold

“Take my hand,” and the masked boy reaches out from above the water’s edge. “Jason. You are Jason Peter Todd.”

And the growl from his chest, the noise of warning, of danger echoes in the shadowy cave, reverberates, his eyes wide, jade, hands curling into claw shapes for renting and tearing—

“Jay…Jay, come back. Come the fuck back.”

But he’s already stalking, jumping up, closing in to the red and black clad—


“You’re my Robin,” the mouth moves and he can’t focus enough to get the words, just watch it move because red and pink and pale are things his brain, his eyes register, cutting through the haze.

“Jason, you were and still are my Robin.”

The purpose is different now, more important. He moves to grip and pull, to hold his colorful body against his own, hands clutching the hips too tight, forming bruises that would hurt like a bitch later.

And the name Jason has no effect, there isn’t enough there to register anything other than bare instincts and controls.

Even if he’s soaked in the waters of the Pit, he still holds the masked boy hard against him and interrupts that talking mouth to bring them together, to eat at those pink lips, rub his tongue against the red one, to draw out a noise from the chest pressed against his own, thread his fingers in too-long hair and just hold on.



“Stop, don’t move.”

He did not listen.

Rather, he chose to move forward, to give chase to the criminals running out of Gotham National Bank. It is instinct bred into his bones.

The resounding explosion when he trips the obvious trap is, of course, two-fold. Harvey Dent would do no less.

When he comes to, his hearing is scattered, blinking blood and debris out of his eyes.

It takes him a moment longer than necessary to realize the blood is not his own, and also—

The blood is red. A sickeningly vibrant color, making him more nauseous, enough to turn his head and vomit bile.

Gasping, chest stuttering, he isn’t certain how long he’s been breathing in the smoke and dust from the explosion, he know, however, the unconscious vigilante bleeding out on top of him should not be there, could not have been thrown this way by the ignited charges.

Robin grips Red by the harness, pulls, inches them both along slowly, painfully, already activating the tracking device in his utility belt.

Stupidly, he stares at the disappearing line of freckles going up into the cowl, talking while waiting on someone to come for them. He’s managed to brace himself against the intact wall of the bank with Red Robin in his lap, sluggishly bleeding out while Robin babbles on about impossibilities and statistics about how idiotic he is for throwing himself in the line of danger, how utterly self-sacrificing is not a desirable trait in a mate. His ranting eases in to painful admissions and missed opportunities, to demands because no, you cannot die, do not leave me now.

And Robin doesn’t release him, even when the Batman does come for them, carrying both out of the wreckage just as the GCPD manage to break through the debris to look for any survivors—he can only pray and hold on.


Robin Pile FTW

And the three of them can only stare.

The soft beeping of the heart monitor echoes in the Cave, bats screeching and flapping of wings above—a soothing thing, familiar.

Hood is the first. Eyes never leaving the unconscious body on the gurney, he shoves off a glove and reaches out with slightly shaky fingers, lets the pads skim over the raised white lines scrawling across Red’s bare back like a message. A breath shudders out of the second Robin when his palm lights down, presses against a cluster of freckles on Red’s shoulder blade.

N is next. He rips off the domino, rubs his eyes just—just because while his brain works with some other way to explain everything (Batman), but the tights are still so bright it hurts to even look at, the word crimson makes sense now and he’s touching the mass of fine lines along the small of Red’s back, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek.

Robin, only newly eighteen, is the last. With his gauntleted forearm over his mouth, looking at the battered, beaten bird laying out under them, he can swallow back the bile rising up his throat, can breathe slowly through his nose. And he leans down slowly, pressing his palm and forehead to Red’s other shoulder blade, whispering Arabic into that broken skin, eyes hot because what has he done?

What have they all done?

None of them need to say it, not buried deep in recriminations with the abrupt revelation, with the shocking array of color at this juncture of their lives, and with the only Robin still running away from Gotham like his life depended on it.

Now they all have a frame of reference as to why.

Dick Grayson believed his own soulmate was insane with grief, let him leave the family without bothering to make sure he had a safety net.

Jason Todd allowed the Pit’s influence to rule him, ride him hard enough to almost kill his own soulmate—more than once.

Damian Wayne drove his own soulmate away, was filled with disdain, petty jealousy, and hatred at the mere mention of his own other half’s name.

O’s voice cracks once before the Cave’s superior comm system picks up, “so? Did you get to him in time?”

B, typing away at the big computer, manages a raised brow because, well, Batman and shit.

“He’s…down for the count. He’ll live.” Is the short, sweet answer while B is hacking into the old Batwing (and dammit Tim, your backdoors are a pain in the ass) for the details on how Red Robin came to be in this state.

“…Boss. Please tell me you took him to his Perch. I gave you his address for a reason—“

“I’ve got better medical equipment here,” he counters, “I’ll explain it to him when he wakes up. Besides, I think it’s time we had a talk.”

O groans over the line, “please promise you aren’t going to start with that.”

“Like I don’t know my own kids?”

“It’s…been a while for Tim, Bruce,” and yes, shit has apparently gotten real if O is using the real names. “Just keep that in mind, okay?”

“I have every intention of doing so. Thanks again for the heads up.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Understood. Cave out.”

Before B turns around, the Robins have gathered themselves enough to look not so guilty (but definitely are because, you know, World’s Greatest Detective, but he understands since they all had a hand in where Red has come to be). Hood and Robin are spreading a warm blanket over Red, maneuvering around IVs and medical equipment, to eliminate the fine spread of gooseflesh over his back and shoulders. N makes sure none of the lines come loose (and if he shifts his bare hand through Tim’s hair, watching the different shades of black flow through his fingers—)

And B finally stands, worry obvious on his de-cowled face as he approaches his sons, trying to remember the last time all of them had been together, all of them home. (Tim the last few years, Damian when he died, Jason before that, and Dick when he had to become Nightwing instead of Robin.)

“All right,” he gently butts into the silence, “I’m taking him upstairs. You three need to get cleaned up, leave the suits down here for the night, and try to get some sleep. We’re going to need it if we’re keeping up with Red Robin once he comes to.”

Robin is the first to turn, “we will take him upstairs, Father.”

“I’ll get first shift,” Hood grunts out, jaw tight.

“I don’t think we’ll need shifts tonight,” N interjects, arms crossed, gripping his own biceps hard enough to leave marks.

“Agreed,” Robin bites out, ramrod straight with a vein in his temple throbbing.

B blinks as his three sons and slowly, his eyes go down to Red’s still, silent form (and yes, it had been too long, he’d waited too damn long this time—with Jason he could just tell when it was time to break the wall between them, to hold his second Robin in a hard hug, tell him all the truths), and even with the blankets over him, B can see each new injury, knows the large majority were treated by Red Robin himself.

Another Robin he’d abandoned.

But B supervises as Nightwing and Robin hold the IV bags aloft, still attached, while Hood eases Red over and up in his arms with a kind of gentleness he’s never been known for. All three of them looking at Red Robin’s slack face slumped against Hood’s shoulder while they carefully make their way up the steps to the Manor proper, completely ignoring Alfred’s no suits outside the Cave rule.


And in the morning—

He comes to staring up

At the tape still on the ceiling.

He feels like absolute ass, immediately recognizing the aches and pains of a little thing called septic shock.

It’s nice to wake up.


When it’s in the Manor (not his place anymore), the last thought is stricken from the record in place of oh shit why?

Slowly, Tim turns his head, takes in the sprawl of Robins around the bed in his old room in Wayne Manor (and why, why is it still here? Why isn’t it a guest room or some shit?); his thought processes settle, gather weight, when he has an abrupt moment of dread, the instinct to run.

He’s silent and stealthy even with the residual owfuck, pulling his calf out from under Dami’s hand, easing his hip away from Jason Todd’s heavy arm, and maneuvering his head away to pull back from Dick’s fingers in his hair. He ends up with his back against the wall, as far away on the bed from them as he can realistically get.

Luckily, just above his head is the main window, a whole lot of winning right there.

All he needs to do is—

The hand on his ankle stops him mid-reach, and like one of those stupid horror movies, he turns enough to look over his shoulder with wide eyes. All three of them are awake and staring at him.

Jason Todd’s hand on his ankle tightens, and Tim waits for it. The feel of bone snapping under the strength in those hands.

When it doesn’t happen, suspicion is the next logical step.

“Don’t even think about it, Timmy.” Is Jason’s low, growling command.

And if his brows furrow, it’s because he’s never heard Jason say his real name. Pretender, Replacement, Stand-In, sure. Those were all what he’d become accustomed to hearing.

Like Jason comes to the same conclusion in the same moment, his brows also furrow, but he pulls slightly to make a point.

“I appreciate the pick-up,” he deadpans (because not really), filling in the space and those expressions, “and I’m good to be out of your hair. Give me a bike and I’ll be on my merry way—“

But Dami snarls, cutting him off abruptly, “when did you last eat, Drake?”

And just what now?

His mouth works a few seconds, no sound coming out.

“Before we found you,” and Dick looks like he’s vibrating in his seat, a whole lot of pissed off former Batman right there, “when was the last time you slept?”

Tim’s mouth closes with a sharp clack of teeth, his eyes narrow in calculation at exactly what the fuck is going on.

“How much motherfucking damage what got done ta ya ta make ya hit septic shock, asshole?” Is Jason Todd, lip curled in an angry sneer, setting off all the warning alarms.

Slowly, he sits up straighter, mouth a narrow line of get fucked, but whatever inner power animates the bond, creates the connections between people, the pulls and tugs he’s ignored for so fucking long, sparks somewhere in his grey matter.

Shit,” falls out of his mouth because now they all know.

For the first time, they were all seeing his eyes in color—like he’d seen theirs for years, and a hard hit of utter fucking panic.

“Dunno if that covers it, Timmers,” Jason smirks at him, his eyes lighter, the same blue from the paintings downstairs. The one’s Tim Drake has always seen while the rest of the landscape remained cold, hard, uncompromising shades of monochrome. With each of them, he’d gained pieces of the true vision—full color, the shades of joy.

None of them had gained shit after meeting him, fighting next to or with him, bleeding, being stitched back together, fighting the good fight whenever he happened to be in Gotham and the full call went out—any and all Bats on full alert for the inevitable oh shit. You know, standard vigilante wanted signs.

It hadn’t taken him long to figure out distance, however, made everyone less crazy.

He closes his eyes and sighs, shoulders slumping because dammit, he’s hurt and tired. He’s been running through a long slew of bad nights and worse impending doom. He’s kept himself going without them, without anyone but the Titans at his back, and now

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” is his quiet response, eyes lighting on one after the other. “Soulmates are a stupid construct. Most people function fine without ever finding one.”

And all three of them just stare, mouth agape.

“How can you even say that—!”

“For fuck’s sake, Tim—”

“Now would be the perfect time to break someone’s face, Drake—”

“All of you wanted me gone,” he snarls, interrupting whatever lip service this shit is. “I fucking got it. Some supposed spiritual connection, a myth, isn’t going to change anything.”

Regardless of owfuck, he’s off the bed, away, eyes moving to the sharp silver of his cell phone on the bureau; he palms it without thought, bare feet silent on the plush carpeting, and his brain must still be somewhat broken because soothing and familiar are things it evokes.

Someone tries to grip his bicep, all of them talking at once, trying to say something life changing or some shit, but Tim shakes the hand off, moves out of the room and down the hall. He clenches his jaw, keeping his gaze straight ahead, but fuck, it all hurts over again.

He’s thumbing the phone, taps a text out one-handed, not even looking while he takes the steps down to the ground level.

His shoulders immediately tense when Dick steps right beside him, pacing him, “say you’re right,” the eldest jumps right in, not giving Tim the time for a good-intentioned fuck off. “Say it is just a myth, why not prove it? Give us a chance here, Tim. We all just found out—”

“You belong with Babs,” he interrupts shortly, absurdly glad Alfred isn’t about because then

“Babs and I could never make it work,” Dick replies, exasperated, “you know that.”


And instead of going to the kitchen for at least one cup of coffee, he goes right through the first floor into the sitting room for the old Grandfather clock.

“Tim, lookit,” and from over his left shoulder, Jason Todd’s eyes cut over the third Robin from the back of his neck and down, watching for the inevitable ticks from injuries, “we back offa ya, yeah? Give ya some time and shit ‘cause, dammit, looks like ya need ta sit the fuck down fa a minute and chill. Ain’t gotta getcha ass ona bike and ride off right now, you feel me, Baby Bird?”

And his whole body gets cold abruptly, the connection strung tight, making it seem like the air is cut off, but when he turns just enough to see Jason Todd over his shoulder, all he can say is, “what the fuck did you call me?”

Beside Todd, over Tim’s other shoulder, Damian Wayne blinks down, wondering at the reaction, sees the hand twitch toward the scar on his thigh.

“Timothy,” he picks up, keeping his voice low and calm, “the point is valid. If it is your preference, we shall leave you alone to rest and heal while you are here in the Manor. Father and Pennyworth—”

“I’m sticking with no, but the offer is appreciated,” is what he can manage because he isn’t this, not with any of them. 

Damian is the first to straighten, narrow his eyes dangerously. Jason catches the kid’s this shit ain’t happening look and grins a little to himself ‘cause demon obviously knows how the story is going to go down—and that ain’t without a fight. Dick, body wound tight because he always should have known

And he grips Tim’s bicep before his can disappear down the steps and into the darkness; he pulls Tim into his chest, shoves his hand into Tim’s hair and scratches lightly at his scalp. Jay steps up to the side, keeping himself in Tim’s line of sight and lays a warm, broad palm right along the back of his neck, fingers working the knots of tension. Dami takes part in the initiative, just steps into Tim’s back, taller than his soulmate, but refuses to hesitated palming Tim’s hips with both hands.

And the three engulf him in their warmth, the color swirling around them in vibrant brightness, the shades of greys and shadows buried in tight niches and corners; the connections flare, making Tim choke with it again for the hundredth time, and the three around him move their hands in easy strokes, refuse to let him hide away now that they know.

And his knees might get a little weak even though he attempts to lock them because, well, things like shock and recovery are still forefront in his brain pan. But some of the fight goes out of him, and years of weariness just seem to take some crazy kind of root with all three of them gripping him, standing in his space without wanting to kill or maim or what the hell else.

Rather, the three of them stay right by him, keep him on his feet when he would have otherwise been on the ground, and it’s something he can’t do, to wrench himself away from this.

Dick, Jason, and Damian are thankful for this moment, of being allowed a foot into Tim’s life again, and they all grip with slight desperations, hands tight so they can just hold on.

ayyy remember like, a month ago i wrote this thing about country Eren/ motorcycle hipster Jean becoming housemates? well haha THERE’S MORE. please enjoy a continuation of this strange erejean AU~


The first week passed, unbelievably, without incident.

Jean spent most of it going back and forth between the house and his old apartment in the city, settling stuff and grabbing whatever he’d left behind. Eren didn’t know much about it, but the whole situation seemed kind of tense, and honestly Eren had to take care of his own shit. Point was, Jean wasn’t around much, came in at odd hours, and Eren might have been doing his absolute damnedest to avoid him.

Avoiding Jean, as well avoiding Jean’s very tight jeans and his fucking manbuns or tiny ponytails—all of the things Eren had once mocked for being staples of the art school dropout crowd suddenly plagued his every waking thought. Not to mention the open-side muscle shirts that any practical person would never wear.. 

Still, Eren had never been more sexually frustrated over a rib cage in his entire life.

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cs fic: i'll hold a lantern, put your heel on the shore

So, lubuliciousness requested Chinese food and Netflix, and BK (bemusedbicycle) was an enabler and sent people knocking at my inbox and I love you all and I love CS and I love Netflix, sooo…this happened.

Summary: Emma needs a new place, and Killian is all at sea. 

cs fic: i’ll hold a lantern, put your heel on the shore

If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’d never thought beyond this point (or to this point, more accurately).

He’d learned to talk bold words of taking and winning, but in reality, Swan was never his to win (he wasn’t a punishment anyone deserved, his loathsome sorrow and seatossed loneliness). It was a truth he’d accepted, swaddled in her too rare smiles and captivating determination, and carried as a precious burden.

And now that her lips are brushing sighs against his, he’s at a loss; he’s all at sea and it is splendid.

So when Swan goes searching for new living quarters, he’s not sure where he lands in all of it.

Henry’s included him in their huddled morning discussions at Granny’s, syrup sticky hands excitedly pointing to circled sections of the paper. Hook looks at the words - two bedroom, one bathroom, monthly lease - and remembers them from the mornings he had traced similar listings in New York (where he couldn’t afford to live, where he’d been delusional enough to think he could follow Swan to – a place so glaringly not his).

“Oh! Killian!” Henry’s voice excitedly cracks around a mouthful of waffles, “Look at this one! It’s right near the docks.”

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