Latest Posts by dancingcapybaras - Page 4

currently reading Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie! here are my current thoughts in a nutshell:

it’s kind of giving conservative grandma??

like, yeah, this was written in the 30s; pretty self explanatory.

i really like christie’s storytelling, i do. it’s just this book feels like her shading on the younger generation for,, idk, not being traditional or something?? which really does feel like something every younger generation faces (times really don’t change)

for the last 12 chapters i read, im just being constantly reminded about how emily arundell’s niece married a Greek doctor and how dreadful it is. like my bad, sorry this dude isn’t ENGLISH ENOUGH FOR YOU?? yall are just jealous they got good food okay

and let’s not forget there’s a slur in the book💀

literal jumpscare when i opened the table of contents.

but then again, just looking at my older copy of And Then There Were None makes me wonder why i’m surprised

UPDATE: Just finished the book! i’m surprised i got through it that quickly. anyways, here are my thoughts!

i thought the plot was interesting. i thought it was pretty cool how upfront everyone was abt how they wanted emily’s money since it shows that none of them can be completely trusted.

like everyone was after the same thing, for different reasons, but only ONE of them actually committed to it.

and let’s not forget the constant reminder of good old “english-breeding.” it’s not said a lot, but it’s something i notice popping up in the book from time to time.

like goodness gracious woman, please stop. describing others as “well bred” makes them sound like a horse freshly groomed

anyways, i think this is the first time i got introduced to hastings? i didn’t even know he was a reoccurring character and a friend of poirot since i’ve only read Murder on the Orient Express and And Then There Were None.

so you can imagine my confusion when i skimmed through random pages and noticed it was from someone else’s perspective.

but their dynamic is pretty cool! i kind of see it as like poirot doing his usual detective stuff and it going like:

poirot, lying to get some answers:

hastings: you are crazy, y’know that?

poirot: not crazy enough to kill, though!

well that’s how i see it anyways. i do think it’s cool that seeing through the lens of hastings does make things more fun. like this silly guy is as clueless as me

and he kind of vocalizes the audience? kind of? that’s how i saw it during the times he tried convincing poirot that the ball incident was genuine

but yeah it was okay. i might read the first book of the series because i just found out poirot is a refugee or smth?? like i need to know what’s up with that

so yeah, that’s my thoughts!

“just be normal” i think your normal is very different from my normal !

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGSGSGSHDIWOSXHIAOSICJSIWB BAIOn shaken bkklsoajxnjaoqkznzkwosjnnll👐👐👾👾😼😈😿😈👐🫶👻🫶👻👐💩👐😻☠️😻☠️😽👽😽👽🙌👐😈😾🤡😼👽😾ziKajsowkxbkwlanxnsowkxnslwlznwkwkznskpqksndkakznsjiwsk

school is slowly eating me alive

there’s only two weeks left and i feel my will to live slip away everyday 🫠

eye of eden traumatized me, what do you mean i gotta do this AGAIN??

Moth! 🕯️

Do you accept their candle?

why is jenny walser so gorgeous omgomgomg

While farming candles in Golden Wasteland today, there's a Sky Kid who nearly died and this kid's fading body was located pretty far away from where the candles or lights are but I swear I've never seen a swarm of Sky Children move SO FAST to reach the kid, including me who's only a moth with sloppy maneuvering. Think about you pausing a video game mid-fight to recharge but it's completely the opposite of that: Suddenly there are at least 7 people pulling out med kits to heal you from every direction you can think of (some even land on top of your head but you're too out of it to feel anything anyway)

why is driving so terrifyibgdbdjdlfb

me starting out guitar a few months ago:

omg bm is so hard

literally ANY BAR CHORDS

OHSHITOHSHITOHSIT

but fr why is bentley’s powers actually so terrifying?? why am i just realizing that NOW??

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: gore?

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

its kinda short but THIS SCENE IS SO INTENSE

part thirty-six

❝ DEFENSELESS ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 6 — 6:44AM

BENTLEY DIDN’T HEAR OR SEE THE SECRET KEEPER AGAIN.

He stayed in Bellamy’s room for almost the entirety of Saturday and Sunday, and when Monday came around, he begrudgingly got himself ready for class in the wee hours of the morning. Asten didn’t talk to him. He didn’t talk to Asten.

He just… didn’t think about anything. Ignoring his problems usually worked…

When the seven of them went to breakfast, the cafeteria was oddly emptier than usual. But they also went a little earlier than they typically did, so Bentley didn’t think much about it. Varian bounced around like the social butterfly he was, everyone talked, (except Bentley and Asten) and it was normal.

And then, when they went to first period, it suddenly became kinda not normal. Because his and Koa’s English classroom only had about half the students it was supposed to, leaving lots of desks completely empty and the room much quieter than normal.

The two of them took their seats in the back of the class, eyes bouncing across the empty chairs.

“Where is everybody?” Bentley questioned. Tyler was still there, (because of course he’d be.) and probably about a dozen other kids, if his estimating skills were accurate. It was so few they could probably put one student at each table and still not have one at them all.

“I think a lot of kids are sick,” Koa shrugged, sitting down next to him and dropping his bag on the floor. “From what I’ve heard, whatever’s going around is super contagious.”

Bentley cringed. “I hope we don’t get it. I’ve heard it’s rough.”

“Same,” Koa replied. “Some of mine and Var’s friends have been sick as dogs for, like, an entire week. They said one of the nurses comes to their room to check on them everyday. Awkward.”

“Why don’t they just send them home?” Bentley questioned.

“Most of these kids don’t have homes to be sent back to,” Koa replied, and Bentley didn’t say anything. “We’re some of the lucky ones.”

A moment of quiet passed, before Bentley muttered: “Oh.”

“Yeah. You’d be shocked how many parents decide they don’t want their kids once they start to show their powers,” Koa mumbled, plopping his binder on the desk with a whack.

Bentley wondered if that was what happened to Koa — he’d said he lived with Artimi; He never spoke about his parents in the slightest. In fact, the only one of their roommates that ever talked about their parents was Varian. (And Bentley guessed himself, too… but did it even count if Bruce wasn’t actually his dad?)

Bentley flinched when a piece of crumpled up paper whapped him in the side of the head, falling onto their worktop with a quiet sound. When he glanced up, Tyler was smirking at him.

With a brief inhale, Bentley grabbed the paper and un-crumbled it to the best of his ability, glancing down at the words scrawled across it.

How long should I wait until I tell the whole school about your overnight hangout sesh with Chloe Singh, Redwood’s biggest whore? I bet everyone will wonder what happened when you two disappeared together…

Bentley stared at the words, dragging his eyes across the letters one last time before he looked back up. Tyler had this smug look on his face like he’d done something really cool, and he wiggled his eyebrows in Bentley’s direction.

How had he figured that out? Bentley had only told Asten, and Asten didn’t know what girl it was. Chloe said she hadn’t told anyone and forced her roommates into silence. Did she lie to him, too? Or did her roommates talk anyways?

Of all the people who could’ve found out…

Bentley crumpled the paper back up and shoved it in his blazer pocket. He felt Koa’s eyes lingering on him, but he didn’t look over — he just looked at Tyler and then down at his desk.

That was all he could think about until the end of the class period, when the bell rang and he and Koa went out in the hallway to head to their next class. Maybe if he straight up sprinted, he could-

“Hey, Wayne!”

Bentley groaned dramatically, turning with a patented eyeroll to look behind him. Tyler was catching up with them, a dorky grin on his face like he had some good news to share. Bentley was not in the mood for him. He was so not in the mood for him that he almost thought about literally killing Tyler on his approach, but he assumed that wouldn’t be moral.

“I am not dealing with you today, Abbott,” Koa called over his shoulder, barely sparing a glance at him.

Bentley saw Tyler’s eyes narrow, and he spat: “Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t talking to you, asshole.”

Bentley turned back around and kept walking — so Tyler grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, forcing their gazes to lock. Bentley jerked his shoulder out of his grip and huffed loudly, the familiar sound of water in pipes gracing his eardrums.

Tyler looked down at him like he was ready to give him hell, but suddenly, his face changed a little. “Don’t lose your shit, test tube meta. Put those eyes away.”

Bentley scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

Tyler lifted his pointer finger to the center of Bentley’s forehead and shoved him back a step, and he suddenly had to refrain from drowning him in his own blood. “When you get all pissed, your eyes start glowing.”

Bentley just glared at him.

“That’s how I knew you made my drink explode. Those stupid blue light-bulbs on your face,” Tyler snickered. “It’s a dead giveaway if I’ve ever seen one.”

Was that how everyone always knew when he was listening? His eyes started glowing? He’d always wondered how everyone knew when to ask what he was hearing…

“I have no interest in talking to you right now,” Bentley muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Good for you; I don’t care. But your little bodyguard can go ahead and get lost,” Tyler replied, glancing over Bentley’s shoulder at what he assumed was Koa.

Bentley glanced backwards at him; He was giving Tyler another death glare. “Just go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Koa’s seafoam green eyes flicked between him and Tyler a few times, before finally, he turned and made his way out of the building behind the final straggling students.

Tyler sighed. “Now that we have the hall to ourselves…”

“How did you find out about me and Chloe?” Bentley grumbled, tightening his crossed arms over his chest. Tyler laughed; literally laughed.

“You know all my favorite subjects, Wayne,” He shook his head with a smile. “Let’s just say a little birdy told me.”

The word birdy only worked to piss Bentley off more. “Well, if you know that much, then you know exactly what happened. Or, should I say, exactly what didn’t happen.”

Tyler shrugged. “I do. But that doesn’t mean everyone else will once the rumor spreads like wildfire. Soon everyone will be talking about your little rendezvous with Chloe. And rumors typically get more drastic as they go on… I’d sure hate for it to get passed onto administration; Maybe even down the grapevine to your dear friends in Gotham? Wouldn’t that be something?”

“What do you want, Tyler? Other than to inflate your ego until you can’t fit it on campus anymore?”

Tyler snickered, his eyes bouncing across Bentley’s face, glowing with sheer arrogance. “Who said I want anything other than to watch you squirm?”

Something… moved, in the back of Bentley’s mind. Like something had clicked into place without him having to think about it, like a thought, a fact had just been dropped directly into his brain from somewhere else. A manageably dull pang of pain came with it, throbbing momentarily on the base of his skull.

He blinked. “You’re jealous of me.”

How did he know that? He wasn’t sure, but somehow he knew it was correct. 

Tyler’s expression changed very quickly from amused to cold, and angry. “Why the hell would I be jealous of you? You’re a little shrimp.”

Bentley shrugged. “Maybe because I managed to befriend all the girls you can only pull when you’re dreaming,” He replied, eyes traveling over Tyler’s frame -- his fists were clenched by his sides, and Bentley suspected that he was about to be punched or something. “Just by being a decent human being. Something you’re obviously incapable of doing.”

Tyler made a sound akin to a groan of frustration, and in an instance, vines came shooting down the hallway mid-air from one of the exit doors. The green, slither-y things latched onto Bentley’s ankles and wrists in a death grip, and he gasped lightly when they jerked him off the floor and up into the air, tugging all of his appendages in different directions like they were about to rip him apart -- just enough to cause a little pain at each joint.

“Test me, you little bitch,” Tyler growled, and the vines tightened enough to probably make Bentley bruise. He could hear the water in the pipes, Tyler’s blood pulsing through his veins, the liquid inside the vines keeping them alive.

Tyler was glaring at Bentley like his eyes would sprout lasers that would kill him on the spot.

Bentley glanced up at the vines, tugging against them to no avail -- all it did was claw at his skin and make it hurt worse. The vines were so strong they hardly moved when he wiggled against them. “Let me go.”

“No, I don’t think I will. It’s time you learn to respect your elders,” Tyler replied. A vine sprouted out of virtually nowhere and slithered around Bentley’s head, looping over his mouth and making it impossible to speak. His head was forced perfectly forward, and he tried to squirm again, but the vines didn’t budge at all -- not a part of him moved an inch.

He focused hard on the water in the pipes, and he felt it come pouring out of all the faucets in the nearest bathroom a few halls away, accompanied by a loud gushing sound.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Tyler tutted. Bentley tried to make the water move through the bathroom door, he couldn’t -- there was a wall of vines in the way. He couldn’t bring it up through the ceiling or down through the floor or through the walls without damaging the school building. “You can’t swim your way out of this one, Wayne.”

The vines around Bentley’s wrists started to tighten purposefully, and spin, rubbing his skin raw in a matter of seconds -- he might’ve cried out if the vines weren’t over his mouth, but he couldn’t, so he just grimaced and made a muted noise at the unquenchable burning it caused. 

“I’m going to make you wish you were never born,” Tyler grumbled, a dark smile twisting up his lips. The vines that were around Bentley’s head began to sprout smaller ones, and a few of them forced his mouth open and crawled into his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. He choked on them but he couldn’t cough, couldn’t do anything other than try really hard to breathe through his nose. His eyes watered from the silent choking until the reflex tears fell down his face.

“Aw, don’t cry, Wayne,” Tyler mocked in a high-pitched voice, cocking a brow at him. “It’s only your airway. You can survive without it for… well, eight minutes, maybe?”

Bentley could hear his own heart pounding, almost double the pace of Tyler’s, and the vines in his throat made him gag. He tried to force the water between the vines that were in the bathroom doorway, but he couldn’t -- they were wound too tightly.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He could hear the water in the pipes and the dew on the grass and the blood in Tyler’s veins pounding, pounding, pounding-

Tyler’s face suddenly lost every arrogant, amused expression, and Bentley heard his heart keep pounding and pounding and pounding until it was beating way too fast. Tyler staggered backwards slightly and brought a hand up to his nose -- when he pulled it away, it was bloody. 

“What the hell are you doing to me?” He grumbled, panting like he’d been running a marathon. Bentley only watched as blood surfaced in his ears and started to pour down the sides of his face, and he grabbed at his shirt where his heart was. “Stop it! I can’t- can’t breathe.”

Bentley felt the vines inside of him double in size, completely closing off his airway. 

Tyler was trying to knock him out.

At the complete absence of breathing, Bentley panicked -- Tyler started blinking rapidly, and tears of blood started to run down his cheeks. 

“Stop it! You’re going to kill me!”

You’re going to kill me!

He remembered the last time someone said that to him -- it was her. The Secret Keeper, when she had him hanging by a noose off the edge of a building, when she had crimson running from her ears and her eyes and her nose. Her. A criminal. A supervillain. A murderer.

Tyler wasn’t any of those things. He was just a kid.

Bentley focused on him again just in time to see him hack up a mouthful of blood all over the floor.

So he stopped.

He forced the sound of the water to fade from his mind, he slowed Tyler’s blood back to its normal pace, and the water in the bathroom climbed back up into the sinks. He focused and focused and focused until everything went quiet again -- until he was the same defenseless Bentley he had been before he'd gotten superpowers at all.

Tyler continued to cough for a few moments before he regained his breath, spitting on the floor a pink-ish, bloody saliva. He used the sleeve of his blazer to wipe the red away from his eyes.

He looked up at Bentley, shocked, then down at the blood all over himself and the floor. “You just tried to kill me!” He shouted. Bentley tried to focus on him, but he couldn’t -- the lack of air was starting to make his lungs feel like they were on fire, and everything around him was swimming in and out of focus.

Another shout from Tyler: “You just tried to kill me!” Was the last thing Bentley heard before the world faded to black.

Should he have continued to defend himself?

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

i’m lowkey excited we’re going to seafood city today (weird to be excited over that i know) BUTT it’s an hour away and valerio’s is right next to it and i’ve been craving nilupak for a while

this book is a dumpster fire, and NOT THE FUN KIND!

i just got to part two of the third notebook, i am not okay. what the hell yozo

i think it’s very fun to read from different perspectives, okay. it’s interesting to dissect a protagonist and piece together how they got there and make some sense in what they’re doing

i still think the writing for this book is beautiful but yozo you need to TONE IT DOWNN. i know you’ve been through it but that’s not an excuse

i feel so bad for tsuneko, shizuko, shigeko, and yoshiko (a 17 YEAR OLD MIND YOU) like girl don’t marry him, RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN😭

and the way yozo was talking about her age and virginity, that was SUPER DUPER ICKY someone come save this girl PLEASE

on a side note, i am very VERY nervous for what’s about to go down in the last two sections of this book. i saw the trigger warnings, and im absolutely dreading it. i know i did this to myself by picking up this book but im too lost in the sauce guys, its so bad i cant look away

my initial mentality while reading was “okay, let’s just get this over with” BUT NO. WE’RE DRAWING IT OUT

anyways this is an interesting read 😆

just started to read no longer human by osamu dazai. so far, it’s pretty interesting! i’m maybe halfway? through the second notebook

when i was reading the back, the summary mentioned how it was one of dazai’s last complete works and that just suddenly reminded me of a vid i saw of someone basically describing the book as his suicide letter, and i can see why

i don’t know too much about his life. it’s just a bit sad to think that this book was him laying himself bare under the guise of yozo, as if to finally tell people,”this is how it really feels”

that sense of feeling alienated from everybody is personal, and it feels strange to read it out on paper after going on for so long not knowing how to articulate it

the perspective of yozo does have his faults, i know that he’s an unreliable narrator, he does some fucked up things, and his opinions definitely were a product of its time. i just think it shows just how human he really was; he’s flawed.

like when he describes how he didn’t feel like he was loved while growing up, just taken care of. for me that really just illustrates how detached he was, his isolation clouded his judgement. because while yes the people in his life may have just taken care of him and nothing else, there’s also the probability that they really did love him

the writing style is beautiful. i’m not really sure where this will go. i know this is kind of a lot for only the first two sections i just think too much lol

my brother is currently screaming about cheese in the backseat

dehydration is soooo funny

apwh is kicking me in my nonexistent balls

pro writer tip: if you don’t like a scene, add an explosion. doesn’t matter if it’s a romance or a historical fiction, suddenly it’s more exciting.

you guys i love naming oc’s it’s actually so fun

the ones i’ve made for the past 3 years literally have random ass words for last names and i’m loving it

like we got a dude who’s surname is Lies, a child who’s last name is Stars, a girl who’s Loss, twins who’re Lovely

this is great yall

AAAAAAAHH

literally had to take lil breaks in between reading ‘cause OU MY GODDD

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

aha…. ha… ha… they’re not okay

part thirty

❝ HYPOCRISY ❞

SUNDAY — JULY 29 — 5:11AM

WHEN BENTLEY OPENED HIS EYES ON SUNDAY MORNING, IT WAS REALLY BRIGHT IN HIS BEDROOM. And warm. And the ceiling was really… orange? And weeping willow-y? And his bed didn’t feel like a bed at all?

With a sudden gasp, he sat bolt upright, panic and adrenaline flooding his veins like gasoline and sending a wave of volatile dread seeping through his entire body. His eyes flicked to the golden sunrise, to the fountain, to the grass he was sitting on, to the trees above him, to the building he was supposed to be in, to the Chloe that was laying on the ground next to him.

There was no way he had…

Chloe startled awake at his outburst, her face twisting up in confusion, eyes flicking around just like his had before she shot directly onto her feet. “Oh shit!”

Bentley pushed himself off of the grass, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Oh my God.”

It wasn’t super late in the morning, at least, judging by the dim sunrise. He dug his phone out of his pocket in a panic and, squinting into it, he was extremely relieved to see that he had no texts. It was 5:13am.

Asten was so back at the dorm already.

How had they managed to fall asleep out there? He couldn’t even seem to fathom deciding to sleep on the ground when he wasn’t even supposed to be outside in the first place. All he’d been thinking about the previous night was Chloe and how stressed out her breakdown was making him. He never once thought about going to sleep. And yeah, he’d been pretty tired, but… sleeping there hadn’t even been an option in his mind, yet somehow, he… they…

“How the hell did we fall asleep?!” She half-shouted, whipping her phone out of her pocket and cringing at the screen. “My roommates all knew I was coming out here to meet you! They’re gonna think we slept together!”

Bentley ran an anxious hand through his hair, glancing at her in confusion. “…Didn’t we?”

Chloe looked at him with this absolutely gobsmacked, absolutely appalled look on her face, before she seemed to realize… something. “I’m not even going to begin to explain that to you.”

Bentley had no idea what she was talking about.

“God, I… I’m so sorry, Bentley, I didn’t mean…” Chloe scrolled through something on her phone, her cheeks flushing red, cringe deepening. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s… okay,” He replied, though the fact that he was practically already vibrating from anxiety proved otherwise. He was so dead. Asten was literally going to murder him.

“It’s so not okay! Can you even imagine the rumors that’re going to spread if I don’t shut them up fast enough?!” She basically yelled, tugging at her sort of messed up ponytail. “No, no, no. This is so not how this was supposed to go.”

Did she mean that everyone would think they, like, kissed? Or something? What did that have to do with sleeping next to each other? 

When Bentley said nothing, but looked back down at his shoes, she continued: “Your roommates went to that party, right? There’s still a chance they’re not back yet — you should go, now. This is such a disaster…”

“Last time they came back before sunrise…” He trailed off.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bentley, I didn’t… and… God,” She ran a hand over her face. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

Bentley didn’t say anything just kinda… stood, thinking about how much Asten was going to kill him.

“Hey,” Chloe’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, and he locked eyes with her, brown on brown. “It’s gonna be fine, just go now before anyone sees. And… and don’t sleep with anyone till you’re married!”

Bentley didn’t say anything to that (because didn't they just sleep together?!), but he did get out of his own head enough to comprehend that he needed to go back to his dorm. Like, yesterday.

So, without a word, he turned, and he went.

He was about halfway there when he realized he didn’t have his keycard.

Which meant someone would have to let him in.

“Shit,” He groaned as he came out of the stairwell on their floor, the sixth floor. He took a quick glance both directions down the long, wainscoted hallway, and when it came back empty, he quietly moved toward their door and whipped his phone out of his pocket.

He tapped on one of his very first contacts. It rang… and it rang…

“Bentley?”

Bentley sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “Hey, Bell… I need you to let me into the dorm without waking anybody up.”

He heard Bellamy exhale. “That won’t be hard. I’m the only one here.”

Bentley creased his brow as he walked up to their room. “What? I’m at the door.”

Hardly a half-second after he spoke, the call ended, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Bellamy was standing on the other side — his hair was sort of messed up, and his big brown eyes were dull and sleepy. He was wearing some blue pajamas that reminded Bentley of the sailboat ones he used to wear.

“Sorry, Bell, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” He cringed as he stepped through the door, kicking it closed behind him. 

“S’ okay. I don’t sleep much anyways,” Bellamy replied quietly, shoving his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants. Bentley glanced around the dorm, his gaze landing on all four of the bedroom doors that were just… sitting wide open.

“Where’s Varian? I thought he didn’t go to the party,”

Bellamy shrugged, walking over to the living area and plopping down on one of the couches. “I don’t know. Did you go to the party with them? I thought you were here all night…”

“I’m sorry, I would’ve stayed if I’d have known you’d be by yourself,” Bentley cringed (He was really good at this stuff, wasn’t he?) “But no, I didn’t go to the party — I had to talk to someone.”

Bellamy creased his brow at him. “All night?”

“I fell asleep on accident,” He replied, making his way over to the couch and plopping down next to him. “After I saw what happened to everyone last time they partied, I decided it wasn’t for me.”

Bellamy didn’t say anything, but just kinda looked down at his hands and fiddled with his pajama sleeves. Bentley could hear the little machines whirring beneath them.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned. Bellamy glanced back up at him, looking sort of surprised, but quickly looked back down.

“Nothing,” He muttered.

“Bell…”

“It’s okay, really. I don’t want you to feel bad…” He trailed off, and Bentley sat up a little straighter, turning toward him slightly.

“Feel bad for what?”

“I…” Bellamy started quietly, glancing at Bentley then down at his hands again, tugging at his own sleeves. “I… I had a nightmare and… when I woke up, nobody was here…”

Bentley internally threw himself off a cliff.

Of course Bellamy would. Why wouldn’t he? With Bentley’s relationship with luck, he was surprised his roommates didn’t just straight up die in the middle of the night.

Bentley exhaled heavily, watching as Bellamy continued to pick at his sleeves. “I’m really sorry, Bell. Was it bad?”

Bellamy just kinda looked down at his lap. “The dream wasn’t so bad, but then I got up and no one was here, and…”

There was a familiar little quiver to his voice that made Bentley feel even worse about leaving than he had about Chloe.

Bellamy sniffed lightly, turning away. “It was really scary…”

Bentley sighed lightly, lifting his right arm and draping it loosely round Bellamy’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

“It wasn’t your fault I had a bad dream,” He shrugged, wiping at his eyes without turning back around. “It just freaked me out, is all. I thought you were at the party and I didn’t want to bother you…”

“You can call me for anything, no matter what I’m doing. I’ll answer — I promise,” Bentley replied, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “I hate that you were by yourself.”

“It’s okay… it really wasn’t a big deal, just… sometimes I can’t tell if I’m awake or asleep, and it made me really scared…” Bellamy continued, and Bentley frowned.

“That’s how a lot of my nightmares are, too,” He replied quietly, with a soft sigh. 

Bellamy looked over at him. “I heard that you had one the other night. Was it bad?”

Images flashed through Bentley’s mind in quick succession — Varian bleeding out in Dick’s arms, Rockie getting shot right in front of him, Asten falling off the roof, Nico getting his head beaten in... “Yeah. It was bad.”

“I thought so. I heard you… screaming. But I didn’t know if I was actually awake so I… didn’t come out. I’m sorry…” Bellamy trailed off.

Bentley patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Bell. I wouldn’t have, either.”

Bellamy sniffed again, glancing forward at the floor ahead of them with a few quick blinks, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. 

“Do you want me to do the frogs again? You seem tired,”

“No, that’s okay,” He replied with a small shrug. “I’m not that tired.”

Bentley watched him, observing quietly for a few minutes as his blinks got progressively longer. 

“Are you sure about that?” He asked with a soft smile, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “It’s okay to be tired. I’m tired and I just woke up.”

Bellamy smiled faintly in amusement, glancing over at him for just a split second.

Bentley sighed lightly. “It’s okay, you can go to sleep. I won’t go anywhere — I promise.”

"...are you sure?" Bellamy muttered.

"I'm sure. Unless you'd rather be alone,"

"No. No, being alone is..." Bellamy trailed off, picking at his sleeves. "Scary..."

A beat passed.

"My head hurts,"

Bentley rubbed his shoulder lightly. "Do you want some medicine?"

"No..." He muttered, fiddling with his fingers some more, like he was nervous about something. "Can I just..."

Bentley watched him carefully, but he never spoke again. He just sort of looked down at his lap. "Can you just what?"

Bellamy shrugged and looked away, abandoning his question entirely.

"You can ask. I can already tell you the answer is most likely yes," Bentley replied, earning a faint smile in response.

"I... was going to ask if I could..." Bellamy trailed off, continuing to pick at his sleeves. "If I could maybe..." His eyes flicked down to Bentley's shoulder, and suddenly, he seemed to understand.

"Oh, yeah," He replied immediately. "I'm not gonna say no to that."

“Are you sure?”

Bentley hummed. “Super sure.”

With that, Bellamy settled himself down on the couch and grabbed one of the blankets from the back of it, draping it over himself. Then, with an attentive glance to Bentley, subtly and tentatively moved until the side of his head came to rest on Bentley’s shoulder.

"Sorry if that’s… weird, I just…”

"It’s not weird," Bentley replied, smiling faintly as he adjusted his arm so it was comfortable for both of them. "I've probably spent more time in the last three years sleeping with someone else next to me than alone -- so I don't mind. It's actually nice."

“Oh… okay,”

A few moments of silence passed, and Bellamy settled in farther, adjusting his head against Bentleys shoulder with a quiet sigh. “Y’know, I… think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Bentley said nothing, only glanced at him. By the time he’d managed to work up a response, Bellamy’s eyes were comfortably closed, his breathing had evened out, and the machines on his arms slowed until he could barely hear them anymore.

If Bellamy kept talking like that, Bentley was gonna have to ask Bruce if they could take him home.

—

“-must’ve woken up and came in here,” Was the first thing Bentley’s ears registered when his senses started coming back to him. He was laying somewhere, but it wasn’t his bed. It was…

Oh yeah — the couch, in the living area. He wasn’t sitting up anymore; He seemed to be laying across it, and there was a blanket thrown over him that hadn’t been there before. Bellamy’s presence had all but vanished from his right.

“You think he noticed you were gone?”

“I hope not. He was dead asleep when I left,”

It was Asten and Valor whispering — though Bentley probably wouldn’t have been able to tell in his half-awake state if it weren’t for their opposing accents.

“Are you gonna tell him?” Valor questioned.

“Unless he noticed I was gone, no. I’m not hungover anymore, so it shouldn’t matter,”

He wasn’t hungover, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that literally yesterday Asten had given Bentley a speech about not keeping secrets, and then did something the same night that he planned on keeping secret. (What kind of world was Asten living in where he could just… be all hypocritical like that? Bentley wasn’t allowed but he was?)

Bentley fought the urge to huff dramatically and, instead, stayed eerily still on the couch, pretending to sleep. (He was pretty good at that.)

“You’re welcome, by the way, for being the puke dad again,” Came a third voice, with a distinct Russian lilt. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for waking up and coming to the hangover rescue. Where’s Koa and Rockie?” Valor questioned.

“Koa’s throwing up outside. I think Rockie’s out there with him,”

“Jesus, that kid gets sicker than anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Valor sighed. 

“He also gets drunker than anyone else,”

“Because he's obsessed with beer pong. He played it at least thirty times last night,”

Bentley just listened as the voices moved about the dorm, a few doors opening and closing and sounds bouncing around. An unidentifiable amount of time later, the distinct sound of the dorm door opening and closing pierced the air — it must’ve been Koa and Rockie.

A few more voices came and went — small talk, mostly. Bentley didn’t listen because he was too busy being absolutely pissed that Asten had the audacity to be such an arrogant hypocrite after he made Bentley cry about it the day before. 

Eventually, the voices faded into the other rooms, and the dorm went quiet again.

Bentley, extraordinarily angry but not mean enough to disturb everyone’s sleep, forced himself back to bed on the couch.

He’d talk to Asten later.

Later came sooner than he wanted it to… but at the same time, took all too long to come around.

He shuffled back into his and Asten’s bedroom at nearly eleven in the morning. The dorm was practically dead — not a soul had come out into the living area since they’d all returned earlier. Part of him kind of wanted to cry (because he couldn’t be mad like a normal person.) and the other part of him wanted to, like, burn something down. 

For now, he decided to find somewhere in the middle to float.

He went into his and Asten’s room, kicking the door closed behind him and glancing at the top bunk. Asten was laying up there under his blankets, but his arms and phone were sticking out, and his screen was on, signaling that he was awake.

“Hey, B,” He greeted casually. “Why were you in the living room?”

Bentley breathed in and out, staving down some of the anger that threatened to make him, like, yell. “Bellamy had a nightmare. We were both in there, but he left,” He replied curtly.

He pulled his desk chair out and sat on it, then heard Asten shift, as though he were trying to look at him from his bed. He must’ve given up because his head never appeared from under the covers.  

“I didn’t hear you leave,”

Was he seriously trying to make Bentley think he was home all night?

Bentley shrugged with a short huff. “Not sure you could hear the door from Mason’s house, anyway.”

Asten’s head did pop out, then, and he sat up on the bed. “Did-“

“I’m not stupid, Asten. I was awake when you left, and I was awake when you were telling Valor you weren’t gonna tell me,” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell?”

Asten didn’t say anything, but worked his way off the top bunk and sat on Bentley’s instead, crossing his arms. He looked tired, like he’d just woken up, but sort of offended at the same time. “Not everything I do is your business, B.”

Bentley narrowed his eyes at him, wanting nothing more than to set his hair on fire. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Asten scoffed.

“Well, you didn’t tell me the truth,” Bentley spat, leaning back in the chair. “There’s no gray area between an honest person and a liar.”

“What-“

“You just gave me an entire spiel over keeping secrets just to go and keep secrets. So what, you’re allowed to but I’m not? I’m supposed to let it slide when you do it, but you’re allowed to get upset at me? Sounds pretty hypocritical,” Bentley hissed. Asten’s eyes went cold again, his expression darkening.

“You have to tell me where you’re going because you’re an innocent little nepobaby who’s naivety will get you killed,” Asten spat back. “You don’t know half the shit that goes on in this world — I do.”

“… So, because you had a shitty life, the rules don’t apply?” Bentley asked, tapping his fingers on his arms. “You’re allowed to go do whatever you want and expect me to just sit here at your command like a dog?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” 

“Bullshit. That just sounds good. If you were actually trying to protect me, you wouldn’t leave the three youngest roommates in the dorm overnight just to go get drunk out of your mind,” Bentley was practically fuming at the ears, but he made doubly sure not to raise his voice too loud. “I wouldn’t even care about you going out and getting wasted if you’d just tell me first!” 

Asten rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Why’s it such a big deal all of a sudden?”

“It was a big deal to you yesterday,” Bentley replied. “But I guess that doesn’t matter, since you’re a hypocrite and all.”

Asten was glaring daggers. “Bentley.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He ordered, locking eyes with Asten and forcing them to stay there no matter how uncomfortable it was. “You said something. You did the opposite. Tell me you’re not a hypocrite.”

Asten was pissed — Bentley could tell. He had this cold sort of feeling that radiated from him when he was really mad; one that would make passersby afraid he was gonna punch them if they got too close. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bentley beat him to it.

“I may be younger than you, but you can’t walk all over me anymore. You helped train that into me,” Bentley muttered. “So if you’re allowed to go do whatever you want whenever you want without telling me, so am I.”

“Bentley-“

“And I’ll start by telling you, now that it’s convenient for me, that I snuck out of the dorm and stayed with a girl last night. All night,”

Asten’s horrendously-pissed-and-angry face cracked a little to reveal something like disbelief, and vaguely, shock. “Yeah, sure you did.”

“Unlike you, I’m not a liar. Ask Bellamy, he had to let me back in this morning. Or you can consult my call history and find where I asked him to let me in,” Bentley replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tossing it on the desk with a bam!  “Or maybe you can dwell on the fact that I was sleeping in the living room in different clothes than I went to bed in?”

Asten didn’t say anything, but his mouth was open, like he was debating on it.

Then he huffed deeply, like he was really irritated. “Who was it?”

“Not everything I do is your business,” Bentley mocked, rising from the desk chair and pushing it in, grabbing his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. “I’m done arguing with a wall.”

“Where are you going?” Asten asked as Bentley approached the door.

He swung it open, glancing back at Asten just long enough to say: “Maybe I’ll tell you when it’s convenient.”

Then he left their room, and he left their dorm, going nowhere in particular.

Everything in high school was bullshit.

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

absolutely love this ‘cause in the movies it just perfectly captures how he does not gaf about anything

i distinctly remember there’s a scene in the hospital where akihiko’s being angsty and makoto’s just like “are we done now?”😭

started p3r recently

AAAAAA THANKYOUU

my brain is honestly not comprehending

like what do u mean i’ve been alive for 16 years

my brain is honestly not comprehending

like what do u mean i’ve been alive for 16 years

idk how you fanfic writers do it

literally wrote an excerpt for something and i really like it, but i can’t write anything else

it’s like i squeezed all of my brain juices onto something that’s only two pages

like how do i motivate myself more so i can lore drop the silly characters that have made me pace around for hours while talking to the air like a madman

who was going to tell me the magnus archives was 200 EPISODES⁉️

Stop for a moment please 🛑✋🚨

In the name of humanity, I am telling you to read my whole story 🙏

I am Issam From Gaza🍉, I have been suffering from the war for a whole year, but my suffering is more severe than others.

I husband and father of three children, the eldest of whom is my son, Muhammad Scott Awam, then Nada, who is seven years old, and the last of whom is young, Amir, who is in employment.

My house was bombed while I and my family were inside it. I lost my wife, my son Muhammad, and my daughter Nada, and my young child, Amir, came out from under the rubble with many injuries, and I lost my arms and feet. There is nothing left for my little child, Amir, except me. His mother and brothers have died, and I am now undergoing treatment because my condition is still under care. I will not leave the hospital because I need care first and foremost. I am now in dire need of treatment outside Gaza so that I can install prosthetic limbs so that I can support my son, as he has no support in this life now except me.

I ask you to look with mercy and compassion on my little child, who is not yet two years old, who lost his mother and siblings and now lives alone, far from his father, who is staying in the hospital. I hope that you will donate to us so that we can live and I can support my child and take him abroad in order to save what is left of my family and I can install artificial limbs, as they are expensi

gofundme.com

Donate to Help give Essam and Amir a chance to rebuild their lives, organized by Raina Carter

Hi, my name is Raina Carter and I live in Portland, Oregon. I am… Raina Carter needs your support for Help give Essam and Amir a chance to r

live laugh love paris paloma marina and lesley gore

i wish the US had a taho man

just started to read no longer human by osamu dazai. so far, it’s pretty interesting! i’m maybe halfway? through the second notebook

when i was reading the back, the summary mentioned how it was one of dazai’s last complete works and that just suddenly reminded me of a vid i saw of someone basically describing the book as his suicide letter, and i can see why

i don’t know too much about his life. it’s just a bit sad to think that this book was him laying himself bare under the guise of yozo, as if to finally tell people,”this is how it really feels”

that sense of feeling alienated from everybody is personal, and it feels strange to read it out on paper after going on for so long not knowing how to articulate it

the perspective of yozo does have his faults, i know that he’s an unreliable narrator, he does some fucked up things, and his opinions definitely were a product of its time. i just think it shows just how human he really was; he’s flawed.

like when he describes how he didn’t feel like he was loved while growing up, just taken care of. for me that really just illustrates how detached he was, his isolation clouded his judgement. because while yes the people in his life may have just taken care of him and nothing else, there’s also the probability that they really did love him

the writing style is beautiful. i’m not really sure where this will go. i know this is kind of a lot for only the first two sections i just think too much lol

why am i crying at 6 in the morning

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: mentions of major character death, angst, cursing, maccreadysbaby’s first f bomb im so sorry

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS IS THE NEXT SEGMENT OF BENTLEY’S ROBIN AU CREATED HERE

I’m so excited about this andnksndnxjxjd

JASON WAS GETTING REALLY SICK OF THE ANGRY BROODING FAMILY BULLSHIT.

Yeah, that was rich coming from him, the king of all bullshit angry and brooding. But it was different this time, somehow. Different because it wasn’t just him who was off the rails; because now he — Jason Todd: appointed-psycho, murderer, and actual crime lord — was the only one who gave a single shit about maintaining at least a semblance of togetherness within their bad excuse for a family. 

His job was to be the black sheep — it always had been; that was who he was. That was Jason. That was what he was and what he would always be.

And now, living in a time when it was backwards, like they were all black sheep or something, was only working to piss him off all the way to hell and back.

Life had been good. Hell, life had been the best it had ever been for any of them. So good Jason often wondered if he’d wake up in the cave dressed as robin with a mortal wound only to be told he was hopped up on the good drugs. Like a nasty routine of disbelief and pinching himself to prove he was real, life was… life had been… amazing.

And then Dickwing went and got himself killed.

(Yes, Jason would always be passive aggressive about it to keep everything else that came with those thoughts at bay.) 

After that, the world fell off of whatever pinpoint it balanced on, the celestial energies of the stars or whatever that kept life going the way it was supposed to vanished out of thin air, and all the remaining Waynes collectively became a not-so-merry band of living, breathing disasters. 

Bruce had turned back into the man he was a long time ago. This cold, distant presence that lurked in the shadows of his own home and carried an aura around menacing enough that it could probably scare off a pack of rabid wolves. It was strange — the change between the man Bruce was and the man he had reverted to. He gave up the cowl and handed it off to Tim with nothing more than an exasperated sound and a look of distaste. He handed off everything he was in a moment's notice with no remorse, without a single thought toward the people that needed him, or the empire he built, or the morals he put in place. It was almost frightening, in a way. Jason would rather him be a ball of absolute hellfire and rage as opposed to the cold, absent, shadowy figure he’d become, because at least hellfire and rage was something he could work with.

Alas, Red Hood found it in his own best interest to stay the hell away from him. 

Tim was also changing, though into something both new and old. With the name of Batman now looming over his head, he became nothing more than an archive for casefies and a living, breathing machine. He drowned himself in work, nightlife work and WE work, just to ignore everything else. And yeah, the kid was good at being Batman — he was good at getting the jobs done, at hammering out plans and calculating routes and taking down rings and disarming threats and all the things Gotham would always need. Scarily good at it. He always had been, but now, he did it, not out of passion, but necessity. He did it as a routine, a ritual, to keep himself distracted. Yeah, Jason saw something new in him, but he also saw that kid from Bristol who told all the adults to screw off because he could take care of himself, of that teenager who worked himself sick at Wayne Enterprises just because he knew he could. A volatile kind of self-hatred-fueled independence they’d worked so hard to train out of him. 

He didn’t rest. He didn’t eat. He didn’t talk to anyone. If he ever crashed, it was in the cave where he got a few measly hours of sleep, and all the worrying signs of the habits Tim had long since overcome were all back in full force. Isolation, dissociation, anorexia, depression, and a slew of new ones, too.

And why the hell was Jason the only one that could work himself up enough to give a damn?

Cass vanished. Stephanie went off on her own to think. Duke went to be with his uncle, because his uncle had common sense, not a popular trait among Wayne’s. Barbara retreated to her own family. Alfred was still around, and still doing what he always did, perhaps the one taking Dick’s death in the most normal, typical way. He didn’t dare leave the manor, though the change and grief and age and stress of everyone else was starting to catch up to him, and nobody but Jason cared to talk to him or ask him anything anymore. He was getting less lively, less determined.

Of all the family, though, Damian’s reaction to Dick's death was the one that surprised him the most. The kid was close to him — everyone knew it. They’d Batmanned and Robinned together and everything. Jason had mostly expected him to go into a fit of homicidal rage — y’know, fall back to his roots, like they all had, but he didn’t. He did the complete opposite. 

He was only seventeen, and the day Dick died was the only time Jason had ever seen him act his age. Instead of murdering everyone in his immediate vicinity, or maiming his family to expel his grief, Damian had…

Cried.

Which was kind of scary, if Jason were being honest, because it was Damian. Damian didn’t just do that kind of thing. But while everyone else was busy reliving old habits and turning into nineties emo boys, Damian just… cried. And cried. And grieved. And cried. And the world was falling apart and Bruce stopped being Batman and Tim took on the cowl and Damian just cried and of course Jason was the only one who gave a damn then, too. And maybe he was in the wrong for not doing anything, or trying to help. But nobody else had done anything, either, and Jason wasn't exactly in a stable enough headspace at that time to play Dickiebird.

Then, Damian passed the mantle of Robin down to the youngest Wayne in circulation.

Bentley.

Who also had a reaction adverse to what Jason had expected. He’d expected Bentley to be the one to cry and seek comfort and fall into pieces on the floor in front of everybody, because that's how Bentley was. Bentley always broke and fell apart and spilled the truth and cried in people's arms because that's what was healthiest for him, because that's what the kid needed. (Jason was starting to think maybe thats what they all needed, really.) But Bentley didn’t do that. Bentley hadn’t shed a single tear for Dick Grayson since he got the news -- not in front of anyone, anyway. Bentley didn’t break in the way Jason was prepared for him to.

Instead of shattering, Bentley became the most insufferable little shit of the whole damn century.

If Jason thought Damian or Tim were bad, a sixteen-year-old Dick Grayson-less Bentley was a whole new level of bad. He’d sort of become a mix of them all, like he’d adopted the worst of their traits and turned himself into some kind of nightmarish Wayne family chimera.

He took on Tim’s reliance on work to keep himself busy. He took on the disassociating. He took on the constant rage that had always boiled under Jason’s skin. He took on the coldness Bruce carried around with him. He took on Damian’s newfound hopelessness, this sort of empty feeling that was almost tangible anytime Jason got within a thirty foot radius of either of them. He slid back into the Puppeteer way of being cryptic and detached. And on the worst days, the days where he was notably thinking of Dick, or the days he was having it rough working with Tim, he…

He took on the way Dick used to fall silent and just stay that way for a while. Which irked Jason to the moon and back at the same time it dredged up feelings he didn’t want to feel ever again. Feelings so strong it reminded him very unpleasantly of the phone call he’d gotten from Bruce telling him that Dick had…

Anyways, what else would Bentley do, right? He couldn’t blame the kid. They were his first family and now one of them was dead. Jason was surprised he was upright enough to do anything at all.

He thought that Dick’s happy-go-lucky, loving memory would help them heal. Hell, the only thing Dick would want them to do was keep going. He could nearly hear him saying it -- for them to move on, to keep going for him, to live their lives to the fullest and have families and have futures because that's what he would want. Jason knew that's what he would want. Dick had told him that on a few occasions when Jason found himself too close to the edge of a roof, and of course, Jason’s fatal flaw was clinging to the words of Dick Grayson at the vitalest of times.

And now, nine months after the death of their oldest brother, the Waynes were still a skeleton of a family, everyone mere shadows of who they used to be, and Jason was effing pissed about it. Sort of because he wanted his family back. Sort of because they were shitting all over the memory of Dick Grayson by being all stupid and emo on his behalf. Sort of because he was really freaking tired of being his own support system and the only one who’d ever really known how to do it properly had died in a fiery explosion. Jason wasn’t weak, and Jason was stubborn as a mule. But Jason also knew when the pit was getting to be too much, and the fact that he’d been having night terrors again, that he’d started having to chain himself to his bed every night again to avoid waking up drenched in blood was a bad sign. And Dickwing wasn’t here to be his typical annoying self and do things like check on him. Maybe, if he could talk some sense into somebody, they’d care a little in return. Which would be, well… good. For him. He guessed.

So, to honor his big brother’s memory and whatever, Jason was going to have to try and do all that big-brother Dick-Grayson shit himself.

And who better to start with than his own narrative foil and the bane of his entire existence, Timothy Jackson Drake?

It wasn’t hard to get into the cave. Even though Batman and Robin (Tim and Bentley, which was still taking some getting used to even after nine months.) mostly patrolled alone, with everything planned down to the number of breaths they’d take and their uncanny, frightening ability to execute it near flawlessly, Jason still managed to weasel his way onto their route from time to time. Only for Wayne family recon, of course, and maybe a little mayhem, too. They hated when he showed up. They’d told him that. But he was able to make himself useful enough that, now and then, Tim would call him back to the cave for a debrief.

He was lucky that September twenty-fourth ended up being one of those nights.

Red Hood, Batman, and Robin squealed into the cave on their motorcycles at almost four in the morning that night. They’d just busted a weapons smuggling ring based out of a freighter in Gotham Harbor, and Jason had made himself just useful enough (by manhandling the owner of the ring and doing slight damage) that Tim declared his information just important enough for the logs of the batcomputer.

He couldn’t deny that the cave felt different now, with different bird and a different bat, with a new glass case holding an all too-familiar black and blue suit that not a soul in the house had looked at since Alfred put it up. It felt more like a real cave, in a way. Empty. Expansive. Cold. Lonely.

The engines died and the three of them climbed off of the vehicles in tandem, sharing exasperated sighs, each for different reasons.

“That bust was shit,” Was the first thing any of them said, and it had come from the red-haired-black-dominoed-menace-to-society that had parked to Jason’s left, the Bentley Whittaker who decided he wanted to burn the planet and everyone on it. His Robin suit was almost solid black, with only small splashes of yellow here and there, but even that seemed too bright for his current demeanor. “Do neither of you know how to follow a simple string of codes? Codes that we came up with because they were easy to understand and act quickly on?”

“I don’t care about your seven-step-patrol-authentication-cypher, asshole,” Jason muttered in response, pulling his helmet off with a thunk and hanging it on the handle of his bike. “I’m not waiting for a bunch of numbers to tell me where to move.”

“If you did, maybe we’d have gotten the buyer’s name before you went and shot the guy in the head, asshole,” Bentley mocked, ripping his domino off with a shwip noise, uncaring that his face would probably still be red from that in the morning. He looked normal enough; older than when Dick had found him, sure, but normal. Everything but his eyes, which had turned into something so cold and mean and not-Bentley-like that Jason had a hard time looking in them for long anymore. (Sometimes he really thought the boy that used to sleep next to him on the couch during thunderstorms, that used to come to him for comfort with big brown eyes full of fear but also so full of love and kindness and an eagerness to have a family, was nothing more than a fleeting memory that Jason would just have to keep safe in his mind.)

“Maybe if you two would shut up and follow Batman’s orders, it wouldn’t have been such a trainwreck. Bruce picked me for a reason,” Tim added, jerking the cowl off of his head and moving across the room toward the computer, where he spent the majority of his days. And nights. And life. Jason, a long time ago, may have laughed at the way taking off the suit made his hair stand up. Now it was just another thing he sort of despised. “Robin, I need you to debrief.”

Bentley was already moving for the lockerroom. “I told you, the whole thing was shit because you’re both stupid. Debrief over.”

Tim blinked, huffing out a dramatic breath. “Robin.”

“Piss off,” Was what Bentley said, before he disappeared out of their sight.

Jason sighed lightly, rubbing his forehead with his pointer finger and thumb. The Jason Todd part of himself wanted to deck them both and then laugh at them for getting a nosebleed, but the part that knew Dick would hound him for it kept him quiet. He just stood sort of off to the side, a few good yards away from Tim, who was settling at the Batcomputer, mumbling incoherent but definitely ill-intended things to himself. (He was only twenty-four, but the way he sat in the chair and hunched at the computer made him look like Bruce.)

“Hood?”

Jason sighed again, just for good measure. “He said his buyers were a high profile family from Bristol using the weapons to expedite their greed. Taking them and selling them on for more. Didn’t give a name. Manufacturer was some kind of undercover factory in south Austrailia under the guise of a paper company.”

“And I’ll put the ring leader in the report here as dead, because someone can’t take his finger off the trigger to save his own life,” Tim mumbled in response, a few files opening up on the computer before he started typing up a debrief that sounded all professional, using far more detail than Jason even remembered.

“Obviously I got useful info, or I wouldn’t be here,” Jason replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against one of the pillars that stood in the midst of the cavern. “I know you’d rather swallow a cheese grater than exist within a mile radius of me, but you brought me here. So you can get over yourself and go to hell with your degrading bullshit.”

“We could’ve finished the bust much more efficiently and completely if you hadn’t shown at all,” Tim shot back, not even sparing a glance in his counterpart's direction, just typing at lightning speed. “You’re the reason everything got so screwed up in the first place. We didn’t need you.”

Jason shifted, propping one of his legs up on the pillar. Somewhere he wasn’t quite sure of, deep inside, that statement sort of stung -- but it mostly just worked to irritate him more and make him rethink trying to talk to any of these insufferable people.

“I didn't-”

The locker-room door closed with a wham, and Bentley came out in a t-shirt and sweats, his red hair floppy and wet from the fastest shower on planet earth. He had a full duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Robin, debrief, now,” Tim shot in his direction, more stern this time, as if testing the waters, gauging the reaction he’d get.

“Go to hell,” Was Bentley’s response, and he disappeared upstairs before anyone could say anything else.

Tim huffed, long, and dramatically. “He makes me want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle."

Jason hummed. If he was going to attempt a serious conversation, he guessed now would be an okay time, since Bentley had gone upstairs. There weren’t many other times he was alone with Tim anymore anyways.

“Well, we’re not exactly being great examples,” Was what he decided on saying. Not exactly the hey-get-over-yourself-and-shut-up-so-we-can-be-a-real-family-again rant he had planned, but it’d work, for now.

Tim glanced back at him, a sort of confused look crossing his face. Then he turned back to the computer with a sigh. “That’s not a new development, Hood.”

Jason said nothing for a minute, because, well... Tim was right.

“No, it isn’t,” He replied, glancing at the stairs up which Bentley had vanished. “Everyones… separating, again. Like what happened when Bruce disappeared. It took a long time for the family to recover from that.”

“Yeah, well at least one of us knew we could get him back,” Tim spat sharply, and Jason could imagine the cold glare that went with it even if Tim didn’t turn around. “Why are you talking about this, Hood?”

Jason glanced down at his boots that were crossed over each other, rocking the toe of one back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe we-“

“Look,” Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a soft sigh. “If you want to have a therapy session, go find someone who cares to listen. I have too much work to sit here and listen to you ramble on about nothing.”

Jason had an urge that made him want to punch Tim in the face again, and he clenched his jaw to try and stave it away. 

“Okay, well next time a goon is about to snipe you in the head from a rooftop half a mile away from the bust, remind me not to get involved,” Jason muttered, pushing himself off of the pillar and strolling back through the cave.

Tim made a snort sound. “There were no snipers.”

Jason dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a .308 bullet he’d swiped from the magazine of a sniper earlier that night, flicking it so it dinged on the desk next to Tim’s keyboard. “You’ll see him if you check surveillance cams north of the Whitehouse Library. You’re welcome.”

Tim glowered at him from his seat, but pretended not to be doing anything as he started typing in codes to pull up the Gotham surveillance cams.

Jason moved for the locker room (he thought he still had some sweatpants in there, and they sounded heavenly right about then.) but when he stepped inside, it was clean.

He scrunched his face up. Typically, as of late, Bentley had taken to tossing pieces of his Robin suit around the room as he changed just to, like, claim territory or something. (Maybe it was a depressed teenager thing? He wasn't sure.) But now, there wasn’t an arm-guard or cape in sight.

The duffle bag on Bentley’s shoulder was starting to seem more and more suspicious.

Jason sighed again. "Bird-brat went to patrol by himself," He called over his shoulder, through the door.

"Again, Hood, not a new development. He hasn't been coming in from patrol until eight or nine in the morning since he started doing school online," Tim replied with a nonchalant, sort of bored tone. The sound of computer keys clacking floated around them for a moment.

Jason, without checking for the sweatpants he desperately wanted to change into, walked back out to the main cave and eyed the too-small-Batman. "And you let him? Last time I saw him on a patrol alone he got fear toxined and tried to murder me."

Tim shrugged. "And he got benched after. He hasn't shown up injured or drugged since. He isn't stupid."

"He's sixteen, of course he's stupid," Jason shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you kept a tighter leash on your bird."

"You try restraining him. Last time I tried to enforce anything on the kid he cracked two of my ribs in training. I'm not going to do all the casework, CEO W.E., and try to fix his shitshow attitude," Tim shook his head. "If he wants to live like hell, I don't care, as long as he shows up for patrol and graduates on time."

Jason inhaled and exhaled, and this feeling passed over him that made him want to throw Tim out of an airplane, because everything he just said would've been unacceptable the day before Dick's building went down in flames.

He clenched his fists, and then he released them, and he did that a few more times until he felt he could open his mouth without verbally murdering the current Bat.

"Next time you plan on getting sniped, don't bother calling," Jason said, with just enough nonchalance and just enough venom that it sounded like him. (Tim didn't have to know he turned his comms on every night during patrol and laid in bed with his helmet next to him so he could listen to it. Just in case they should ever need a third party who wasn't afraid of killing. After all, if they died, Dick would never forgive him.)

With that, Jason grabbed his helmet and left the cave without another word.

He didn't look at the black and blue suit on his way out.

-----

Jason found Robin with his legs dangling over the edge of Wayne Enterprises' rooftop, with his bow on his back, something glowing between his lips, and a large bottle of something wrapped in a brown paper bag sitting next to him. The Gotham lights were shining ahead of him, and the stars above, making what would've been a pretty nice picture if there wasn't a buzzed Robin in it.

Jason watched him sit in silence for about twenty minutes. It didn't take a genius to realize the thing glowing between his lips was a cigarette -- Jason watched him grab another one out of a seven-eleven bag after the initial one was gone. He kept taking long drinks from the massive bottle and wincing afterwards, like whatever was inside burned on the way down.

He let that go on for a while, before, finally, Jason landed on the rooftop behind the red-haired nightmare, careful to make his footfalls audible so his brother wasn't startled.

There was a long sigh. "A damn tornado is stealthier than you, Hood," Bentley grumbled from where he sat, not even glancing back at his counterpart. He picked up the bottle and took a long swig of it, suddenly not wincing at all now that Jason was there. It didn't take many steps forward for the telltale smell of booze and cigarettes to whack him in the nostrils.

Jason huffed, settling a good ten feet behind the teenager and crossing his arms. "You're going to give yourself cancer."

"That's what I'm going for," He replied smoothly. Jason saw him flick the ashes off of the cigarette that sat between his fingers, then take another long drawl. “Th’ hell are you doin’ here?”

Jason shrugged even though Bentley wasn’t looking. “Saw a sad little bird on the edge of a roof. Thought I’d drop by.”

“I’m not gonna kill myself, Hood. That’s what the booze is for," Bentley mumbled, smoke falling from between his lips and dancing away in the breeze.

Jason watched the smoke fade away. He sort of hated that he understood what Bentley was saying -- it'd happened to him several times before, where he was too much of a wuss to jump or pull the trigger, so he'd kill himself a little every day by drinking or doing drugs or smoking instead.

Jason huffed out maybe what was supposed to be a laugh, but it fell flat, his eyes drifting to the bottle. “Where did you get that, anyways?”

“I’m Robin. I could ask for someone’s liver and they’d probably give it to me,” Bentley replied with a nonchalant shrug, taking another drink of whatever he had, then a drag of the cigarette. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Jason lied, blinking at the back of Bentley's head. “Just thought I deserved a little info, since I’ll be the one carrying your scrawny hungover ass back to the manor after you drink all that.”

(And maybe so he could break a few bones over cigarettes and brown-bag worthy alcohol being sold to a vigilante everyone knew couldn’t be over eighteen, let alone twenty-one.)

“My legs’ll still work. So will the grapple,” Bentley replied, but Jason could hear in the way his words were starting to run together that that most likely wouldn’t be the case. 

Jason shifted his weight, watching Bentley take another drink of the stuff. “You’d kill yourself with a grapple if you tried to use it drunk.”

“Done it before,” Was the unsettling statement that came next.

Jason sighed and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but upon realizing he still had his helmet on, let it drift back down. If he had known Bentley went on patrol just to get drunk...

“So this is what Robin does when he goes to patrol on his own, huh?” He questioned with a faint, empty snicker. Just to make the sentence sound right.

“No,” Bentley replied. At least Jason could tell that much was honest. “You just caught me on one of the good nights.”

Jason didn’t say anything to that, just watched as Bentley lifted the too-big bottle to his lips and took another long drink. The thing had to have been past half empty now. Unless it was just a really huge bottle of really cheap beer, Jason pretty much knew that the kid was going to be utterly done for in a few minutes time. (Bentley wasn’t good at holding liquor. Jason knew because he ended up being the very first hangover police Bentley’d ever had.)

(If he didn’t want to deal with Jason, maybe he should’ve drunkenly mistaken some other safehouse for the manor. Not to mention that the kid was one of those sad drunks, so Jason had felt almost contractually obligated to stay with him. Hence why he decided not to let him hangout on the roof alone.)

“Y’know, being all broody and pessimistic is kind of my thing,” Jason started, glancing off the rooftop at the few cars that were passing in the dark below them. “Not gonna lie — it doesn’t look great on you, kid.”

Bentley breathed in, and then out. “Charming, Hood. As usual. I thought you were debriefing,”

Jason breathed in and out, too. Then he tapped his fingers against his own arms. “I was. Then I wasn't."

"Very detailed analysis," The teenager mumbled, and Jason rolled his eyes. "You should teach me how to do that."

"Could you stop being an asshole for, like, two seconds?"

"Nope,"

Jason watched Bentley stare off the roof, taking a sip or drag every now and then. He didn't want to punch him -- he didn't.

“Y'know..." Bentley mumbled with a sudden shift in tone, taking a long drawl of his cigarette followed by a swig of alcohol. "When I first moved in, you made a joke that I was the Waynes’ to destroy. Nowadays that joke checks out. I'm Bentley, the asshole."

Something inside of Jason seemed to tighten. “Kid-“

“Don’t get all weird. It’s not like you could control it. And… it’s not like I wouldn’t let you do it again,” He muttered with a shrug, his words starting to meld with each other at a suspiciously quickening rate. “At least destroying me again would mean you guys still cared enough to do that.”

Quietly, Jason concluded that the sixteen year old was drunk enough to have a hard time holding his tongue. Because murder-death-rage Bentley hadn’t said anything so close to a please care about me since Dick died.

Jason took that and decided to go with it.

“You snap at everyone who gets close to you like some kind of rabid little creature that lives in a hole and comes out only to bite ankles,” Jason replied, crouching down on the rooftop with an exhale, somewhat behind him. “It was your choice to shut everyone out.”

“Tell me what the hell I was supposed to do, then, Jason!” Bentley was suddenly on his feet, so Jason was, too. One, because he knew the kid was drunk and could pull his bow on him if he really wanted, and two, because his balance wasn’t exactly trustworthy at the moment. He realized it was mostly the latter when he found himself inching forward as Bentley’s balance wavered.

“What the hell was I supposed to do, huh?” Bentley shoved him, and Jason stepped back. “The very second Dick Grayson died, every human being in the entire damn manor built walls up to the ceiling. Five people outright vanished, including you-“ He narrowed his eyes incredulously. “-Bruce became some kind of storytime bogeyman, Tim turned off his feelings like a Netflix psycho murderer and you all just left me there. So sure, you can accuse me of whatever you want, but I ended up the way I am because no one was there to help me. So I had to help myself.”

A moment of silence filtered between them. That fine sentiment seemed to dredge up a well of feelings that Jason hadn’t really let himself feel in a long while. He just sort of watched as Bentley shuffled back over to the edge and grabbed the bottle, only to turn it up and completely drain its contents, and for the first time, it sort of made Jason feel sick. Bentley was sixteen, and his big brother died, and instead of being a damn family, the Wayne’s did what the Wayne’s did best. Everyone scattered, and…

Well, just like he’d said. They’d left him there. 

It was the same vicious cycle that Jason was living in — the resentment toward the rest of the family for shutting up, closing them out, pretending they didn’t know each other. Closing up, too, because he knew he’d get no help from anybody else, even if this was considered too big to handle alone.

Bentley puffed on the cigarette again, flicking the red ashes off the rooftop. “Sometimes I hate it here.”

Jason hated it when his siblings started to sound like him.

With no words, he lifted his helmet up and off of his head, the September breeze biting at his newly exposed skin. At the sound, Bentley turned to glance at him and scanned his face with brown eyes weary enough Jason could see it through the domino.

“I’m sorry,” Was what he said. He wasn’t sure why.

Bentley snorted at him. “Sorry that I hate it here? You didn’t make this hellhole.”

“Sorry that we left you,”

To that, Bentley’s mouth closed, and every trace of feigned amusement left his features. He just turned back to the city and… stood.

Jason didn’t say anything. He just sort of stood there, too, in silence. Bentley dropped his cigarette on the rooftop and stamped it out with his toe. And a few minutes after that, he pulled his domino off and dropped it on the roof, too.

Jason heard him whisper: “Shit,” Then he brought a hand up to his forehead and just let it rest there. “Breaking things that’re barely together in the first place is a specialty of yours, Hood.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Because there was a certain thickness in Bentley’s voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time, and he wasn’t sure if it was the booze or not.

Bentley sighed heavily and crouched down on the edge of the rooftop. “What? Did you just come here to torture me?”

“I came here because I’m sick of this godforsaken family pretending they don’t know each other every time something bad happens. They did it when I died. We did it when Bruce went missing. Tim’s gonna work himself to death, you’re gonna drink yourself to death, Damian’s gonna cry himself to death and I’m gonna pit myself to death. If Dick could see us right now, he’d be pissed,” Jason rambled, running an annoyed hand through his black and white hair. He noticed his fingers trembling with some kind of underlying adrenaline. “I came here because you might be the only one who’ll listen when I say I don’t want us to live in this hell anymore. All it does is make shit worse for everyone. And you know it’s bad when I’m the one having to bring it up.”

The only response Bentley had to that was another soft, breathy: “Shit.”

Jason huffed, glaring at the back of his head. “Shit? Is that all you know how to say?”

“I could say go to hell, if you prefer,”

“Already here, kid,”

Bentley breathed in and out deeply, rubbing his eyes with a fist. “A world without Dick Grayson is just a living hell, isn’t it?”

Bentley’s words hung in the air like smoke, so heavy even the breeze wasn’t able to carry them away. Jason just stood.

Yeah, it was.

The pair just existed in silence for a long while, and neither of them moved. Bentley stayed precariously perched on the edge of the building until he didn’t anymore — until he sat back on the rooftop and groaned: “Shit,” And then wiped at his eyes, because he was-

Oh. 

Jason took a step forward. “Kid?”

“Piss off, Hood. Don’t you have someone to go shoot? Or something?” Bentley hissed, his tone lacking its usual bite despite the sharp words. “Surely coming here to make me feel like complete shit isn’t the only thing on your schedule.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel like shit. I came here because I don’t want us to feel like shit anymore,”

Bentley didn’t say anything. And while the teenager was utterly silent, Jason picked up on the telltale little hitch of his shoulders and wipe of his eyes. And it reminded him of the little kid that cried when it thundered, that woke him up in the middle of the night with tear-streaks on his face just to ask if it was okay if he slept on the end of his bed, and it all made his heart clench.

And then Bentley spoke. It was quiet, and broken, and sounded more like the ten year old Bruce had taken in than the Robin Jason had grown accustomed to.

He whispered: “I miss him so much I think it could kill me.”

With an inhale, Jason was suddenly moving, and he didn’t stop moving until his gloved hand came to rest on Bentley’s shoulder. But as soon as it did, the teenager shot to his feet and whirled on Jason in a split second, with streaks of wetness glimmering on his cheeks in the Gotham lights and a strange emptiness in his eyes. “Get the hell off of me, Hood.”

For a split second, he almost thought a flash of fear passed through Bentley’s brown eyes. He seemed to be struggling through conflicting emotions — because one second he looked pissed, and the next like he might throw up, and the next like he was about to break down crying, and next, like a kid who’d been shut somewhere alone for way too long. He was drunk, Jason remembered. Did it matter?

“Jason,” Was what he said next. His eyes were welling up again without his consent, but he kind of looked like he wanted to stab Jason in the face with a knife instead, and he was looking down at the rooftop instead of at his brother. He brought his arms up and around himself and gripped his own sleeves until his knuckles turned white.

(Just like he used to when he was little.)

“Bentley,” Was Jason’s reply. He inched forward and raised a hand toward him again.

Bentley flinched away.

“Don’t touch me,” He muttered. Jason disobeyed and rested a hand on his shoulder again, and as soon as he did touch him, Bentley sobbed and brought a hand up to hide it.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!" He shouted, slapping Jason's arm away with a thwack.

"Kid,"

Bentley sniffed. "I’m so fucking cold.”

I’m so fucking cold.

Jason didn’t waste a second disobeying the kid’s previous orders by grabbing him by the head and and jerking him forward into his chest. He may not have been Dick, but Bentley hugged him back twice as hard anyways, and Jesus, had the kid even touched anybody since Dick died?

Jason didn’t think about it for long, because he only had approximately a millisecond before Robin was losing his absolute shit, drunk breakdown style. It was that kind of crying that made you try and cough your lungs up, and the kid kept saying stuff but he couldn’t tell what it was. Bentley was squeezing around Jason’s back so hard it actually kind of hurt, and that’s when he realized that Bentley ever actually cried when Dick died. That he’d stifled whatever reaction he would’ve had and shut it away for self preservation.

Bentley was reacting to Dick’s death right now.

Jason just did what big brothering he had learned over the years — he held his baby brother and kept his own feelings closely bridled, for both of their sakes. And they had to stay like that for a while. At one point Bentley’s knees buckled, and Jason had taken on most of his weight, but he didn’t care.

Then, almost an hour later, Jason took on all of his weight very suddenly. And that’s when he realized he'd blacked out.

Jason sent a withering glare to the bottle wrapped in the brown bag and picked Bentley up. 

“You’d better remember this shit when you wake up,” He mumbled. He tried to glare at the unconscious boy in his arms, but he couldn’t, really — Bentley looked less sixteen and more twelve, with a faint expression of discomfort splayed across his reddened features. His face was wet from crying and glistening in the city lights. 

Jason managed to pick up his helmet and Bentley’s domino with one hand, then he made for the nearest safe house.

(Maybe, if he was lucky, Bentley would remember their conversation when he woke up.)

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

just finished reading radio silence by the monarch/queen themselves alice oseman

i feel both empty and full /pos

like dawg i thought this was gonna be a silly book abt two burnt out gifted kid besties doing a silly little podcast but no i got hit with the sad instead

I WAS NOT MENTALLY PREPAREDOKAY

i saw a handful of people talk about how bad aled’s mom was and stuff while reading but i didn’t fully register it in my head?? LIKE HELLO, THE DOG?? I DID THIS TO MYSELF DIDNT I?😭

anyways, it was really good😊