Sometimes I Wonder What My Cat Named Me

Pls help me find a fic about tim drake being kidnapped as a kid by (deathstroke? Bane? Some villan) and he eventually escapes and he becomes a morally grey ceo boss character and Jason is on his case

No luck. I'll keep and eye out.

was playing "fetch" with the ocean today by tossing stones into it and watching them wash back up with the tide a few meters away, and it got me thinking about grief and the things we carry with us even after we lose them

Jason/Danny soulmates AU where neither is born with a soulmark, but gain one when they die and come back >:3

Danny after his accident: Oh shit, does this mean my soulmate is a ghost??

Jason after he gets his brain back: What the fuck? What the actual fuck?! What kind of demented bullshit fate is this?! I had to get brutally murdered to get a soulmate????

my friend took in a stray and she’s the cutest kitty ever but he named her oil so whenever he sends a picture of her me and my other friends look like we’re roleplaying as the US military

Damian and Danny, upon their first meeting, fight.

It's violent and they both are beat to all hell after.

Damian is already hearing Grayson and his Father nag in his ear for fatally attacking some rando out of nowhere.

Both of them are laying on the rooftop of an abandoned building, having finally exhausted themselves after their fight.

Damian's quiet, and the only sounds he hears are their heavy breathing and the occasional siren of a police car. He figures the other boy will probably spit out some curse at Damian and leave, likely to find someone else so they can gang up on him or whatnot.

Hearing the other fidget, he stays still. Best to just deal with the actions of his consequences with him now and then Father and Grayson later.

"So..." Damian merely glances at him when the kid only says that, as if he was hesitating.

"You wanna go out sometime?"

i read the hobbit in 3rd grade and i thought it was really lame. however i liked bilbo baggins for some reason and i was fully convinced he was some sort of rabbit/mouse thing until i saw the lotr movies and was really, really confused

Danny had always been angry. He was angry when he parent's carelessness had gotten him killed. He was angry when he was forced to protect his town because he was the only one that could. He was angry when even after he'd done everything right, his loved ones still died. He was angry when Clockwork forced him to reincarnate because he still feared a Dan timeline. He was angry when his new life was just as shitty as his old one if not worse. He had been angry for so so long. But now, as he laid on the ground of the warehouse, arms tied, bomb about to go off, all he felt was sadness. Sadness that when he had finally achieved happiness, he let it slip away.

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.