In 10 years time, I would be asking myself “wtf did I just draw”
He has to squint a little at the pile of glossy pictures Talia gave to him before he realizes exactly what they are and what they mean. His mind takes a minute to catch up with him and, for a moment, it makes him believe that the photos in his hands are of him and Bruce on patrol before he kicked the bucket. Then he thinks it might even be golden boy and Bruce in the middle of a stakeout way back when. Upon further inspection though and an extra half second of thought, Jason’s eyes widen in surprise at what he sees.
The young boy who is captured in each individual frame is decked out in the signature green, yellow, and red and is dutifully positioned at Batman’s side just as Robin, the boy wonder, is supposed to be. The thing that strikes Jason as odd and leaves him reeling is the epiphany that the boy featured in all of the shots Talia provided isn’t him or Dick. It’s someone else, someone new. Someone who isn’t him.
The realization alone is enough to knock the breath out of Jason’s lungs and make his eyes prickle with the threat of tears. Of course when Talia asks him if he’s alright, he just shrugs it off and swallows past the lump in his throat as though none of it matters, as if the fact that he had been forgotten and tossed aside just like that wasn’t tearing him up on the inside.
Good daddy Bats expresses his love for his kids!
(I gave Red Hood’s helmet expressions..and emotions.. which is probably even more shocking!)
ˮI do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway.ˮ ̶ Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars
dean and cas (◡‿◡✿)
dean and cas (◠‿◠✿)
dean and cas (⊙‿⊙✿)
dean and cas \(◕‿◕✿)/
dean and cas (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
deancas in season 8 & wait, they’re not canon??
For a split second after he latches on to your wrist, you’re certain he’s going to do it. Finally, he’s going to kiss you. Right there, in front of your brother, you will come to know the taste of his lips on your own. You will understand the electricity of his tongue, the fervent hitch of his breath as he leans into you. He will take your face into his hands and it will be your salvation. You will not pull away, or pretend this is something you haven’t wanted for so long you can’t even remember a time when your desire for him was not an essential part of your existence.
For a split second you are sure, and then it is gone. He does not kiss you then, instead he inspects your arm, reveals your burden to his troubled eyes. His gaze becomes your sorrow, and you can not explain this one away. You are ashamed, so you pull away. You are ashamed of what you’d hoped he’d do instead.
You leave him there in the parking lot, the warmth of his palm on your shoulder still present beneath the fabric of your jacket.
You lie awake in bed all night, your phone display illuminating your face as you peck out over a dozen text messages that you never send to him. They’re all essentially the same, pathetic apologies, attempts at explaining yourself, bad jokes rife with pop culture references you hope he’ll understand now. The final message you don’t send is a confession, a love letter to his lips spelled out in less than 160 characters.
You drop the phone on your bedside table and turn your back to it. You toss and turn and lie half awake for 2 hours before the gentle buzzing of the phone causes you to stir. One new message, from Cas, reads:
"Talk to me."
So you do.