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Grover look dead inside

I’ve been listening to Percy Jackson audiobooks.

Yasss

I’d like to personally cradle Tim Drake in my arms and wrap him in a blanket reblog if you agree

✨ 🎶 when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 🎶 ✨

1. She's kinda hot

2. GUY.exe

3. Est-ce que tu m'aimes

4. Washing machine heart

5. Puttin' on the ritz

That "Lmao this is tim we're talking about" fucking kill me

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

🌺Tim Drake?

((for a second i wasn’t sure how to make ‘one with nature’ angsty but then i was all like, ‘lmao this is tim we’re talking about’)) 

–

Tim wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting out here. While he’d always lived ‘next door’ to Wayne Manor and the extensive grounds around it, he’d never really explored them. 

Not until now. 

Now, meaning that he lived in Wayne Manor. Now, meaning that his original family was dead. Now, meaning that all his friends were dead. Now, meaning that he didn’t know how long he’d even be welcome in Wayne Manor. 

Bruce was dead. Or, ‘dead.’ He still wasn’t sure how much was wishful thinking and how much was the truth. But he still wanted to look for him. Still wanted to get Dick on his side. Still wanted to be Robin and find him. 

But he wasn’t Robin anymore.

And with Bruce dead, or lost, or otherwise impossible to get back, he was an orphan again. Not according to the press, of course–not with someone running around with Bruce’s face. 

He wondered if that was part of why he was so set on finding Bruce. Had so much trouble believing he was dead. 

(Or maybe it had something to do with Bart and Stephanie and Conner and his parents.)

So, here he was. 

In the manor grounds, in the thickest patch of trees he’d been able to find. In the place people would be least likely to look for him. After all, it wasn’t his usual hiding spot, or his usual place to release stress. It wasn’t his room, or his bike, or half across the city to do an unauthorized patrol and remind himself that he was still good. That he was still worthwhile, good for something other than just behind the scenes work. 

He’d had his fill of behind the scenes work. Maybe once, he’d been happy with that. Taking pictures and following Batman and Robin–that was fine, before. But he’d worked so damn hard to be good enough. 

They were equals now, Dick had said. 

If that was the case, then Dick should have given him time to give up Robin when he was ready to–just like Dick had. 

Instead, he’d given the mantle to Damian. 

Maybe it was the right thing to do. After all, all of Tim’s friends had died. He was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see that he was depressed, maybe worse. Robin had been the last thing that had given his life meaning, the last thing Tim had that made him feel needed. 

Dick took it away. 

Maybe this was a hint. 

Bruce had been the last consistent authority figure in his life. With him gone, a part of him had hoped that Dick would take his place. 

Instead… 

Maybe this was Dick’s way of telling him that he wasn’t wanted. His way of telling Tim that he was too far gone. Too messed up to keep playing vigilante. Dick didn’t believe him. The new Robin hated him–had tried to kill him. The superhero community wouldn’t even listen to his theory. Most of his closest friends were dead or had betrayed him–Stephanie by faking her death, Dick by taking Robin when he needed it most. The friends that were still around didn’t believe him, either. 

Tim hung his head, sitting forward until it rested between his knees. 

There wasn’t anything left for him here. Not even the manor grounds, the one place he’d left unexplored for so long. 

And yet…

He almost appreciated it for one thing. Almost. When he was this separate, this isolated from the people he thought he could depend on, he didn’t have to worry about anyone but himself. 

It was probably for the best. 

And while he’d never been one for nature, it gave him the faintest prick of an idea.

Robin had given his life meaning. Without Robin, he had limited options. 

He could die. And while he still saw a tombstone in his five-year-plan, he didn’t think that was what Bruce needed him to be. Not yet, anyways. Not without a good enough cause to die for. 

Or–and this was nothing but a far-flung hope, and he knew that–He could find Bruce. With Bruce back, he could have Robin back. He could have his life back, his impulse control back–he would be okay again. Or as close to okay as he’d been in a long time.

But he wasn’t Robin right now. He couldn’t be Robin to find Bruce. 

Isolation, he thought, looking at the trees for a full square mile ahead and behind him.

No one believed him, anyways. No one was willing to help him. No one was willing to consider the alternatives and give Batman–the man who had defied the odds a million times before–the benefit of the doubt. 

Tim didn’t need to be Robin to believe that Bruce was alive. 

He just needed to be someone who could prove it. Who could find him. 

And if that meant he was on his own, so be it. 

This is so cool

Never not reblog

I need to pass my math test

R E B L O G   T H E   P I G E O N .

PASTA!!!

reblog if you like girls and/or pasta

Fucking mood

Tim: life is meaningless. We all die in the end. Why must we suffer through this pointless existence

Dick: aww, did Jason call you short again?

Tim: yES

Tim: I’m NOT SHORT

Dick: i know Tim

Tim: I AM AN AVERAGE HEIGHT

Dick: i know Tim