❤💛💚💙💜

What the hell is wrong with Britain?

Damian: After so many years, I have to admit. Drake, you’re my greatest enemy.

Bruce: You’re brothers, not enemies.

Bruce: Tim, stop acting like you’re flattered. How’s being the greatest enemy of a 13 years old an achievement to you?

And I oop-

please reblog if you hear music inside your head all the time

Do I I fur hdgdgix

YEAH!!!!!

Please reblog if you think that “they/them/theirs” is a valid set of pronouns.

Trying to make a point to my father.

Never not reblog

Hell yeah

How DARE you make my cry!😭😭😭😭😭

10 screams Timkon if you're feeling up for it ♡ your writing is lovely

Have some angst…

Tim is crying. It’s quiet, muffled because his head is buried in his arms. Kon reaches out to him, tries to put a hand on his shoulder or the top of his head. His fingers sink right through cloth and flesh and tangled hair like there’s nothing there.

“What the- Tim?” he says, alarm in his voice. He sits up, reaches again for the head bowed on the edge of the mattress. Again, he can’t touch his fiancé.

Panic crashes over Kon. He rolls off the other side of the bed in a flurry of graceless movement. Lands on the floor and scrambles back to his feet

Tim is still crying.

Kon’s panic ratchets up another notch.

He can see himself. His body. Still there, lying on the bed, skin as pale as the thin blanket covering him. Tubes and wires snake out from various parts of his body. Oxygen hisses, machines beep, a line scribbles out heart rate and brain activity. They’re both much lower than they should be.

“What the fuck,” Kon whispers.

The last thing he remembers is… a beach? Hot sand and cool water and Tim’s smile and… Green. Kryptonite. Shards of it burning through his chest. And someone punching him, pummelling him while Kon desperately tries to get his arms up to block.

Kon shakes his head. That was… that was what happened last time. Last time he… “No,” he whispers. No. He can’t be… he isn’t… he doesn’t know what happened but he doesn’t want to die. Not again.

A door opens and Tim sits up, wiping at his eyes. Dick comes in, yellow light from the hall flooding the dimly lit room. The blinds on the windows are open to let sunlight in but the sun is sinking below the horizon now. Kon wonders how long Tim has been here, wonders how much longer he would have sat in the dark. Until the next morning? Until Kon woke up? His hair is greasy like he hasn’t showered in days. Maybe he would have sat here forever.

“Oh Timmy,” Dick murmurs. He crouches by the chair Tim is sitting on and pulls his brother into a hug. He cards his finger through Tim’s hair, comforts him like Kon cannot.

“The doctor,” Tim says, the words breathless around more tears, “The doctor said…”

“I know,” Dick says. “I know what the doctor said. But it’s going to be okay.”

He’s making a valiant effort at staying strong for his brother but his voice cracks. It shouldn’t surprise Kon that Dick Grayson would care if he died. The man is well-known for how much he cares about everyone, and he’s going to be Kon’s brother in law in a few months. He’s practically family already. But even after all these years, with all his friends, and Ma and Pa, and Tim, Kon still struggles with people caring about him.

Kon’s eyes feel hot all of a sudden and he squeezes them shut, presses his palms against them. Why now? he thinks. He‘s had his laser vision under control for years, and he’s not angry or aroused or…  A tear slides down his cheek. Oh. More follow and Kon touches them in wonderment. They don’t feel wet or warm, they don’t taste like salt on his lips. He’s crying and he can barely feel it.

“What’s happening to me?” he wonders. He’s been hurt before, he’s been unconscious before, he’s died before. None of it was anything like this.

When Dick leaves, minutes or hours later, Tim grasps Kon’s limp hand. Kon feels his palm tingle and lifts it to look, rotating his hand as though Tim’s fingers are going to appear wrapped around his own.

“Please Kon,” Tim whispers. “Please don’t leave me, not again. I- I’m not strong enough without you.”

Kon kneels down beside the chair Tim’s sitting in. “Yes you are,” he says, voice thick with tears. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’re stronger than anyone I know. Stronger than me, most of the time.”

It’s true. Tim is his rock, the one he goes to when he feels like he’s drifting in a storm. The one who keeps all his fears and anxieties at bay. The one who holds him up when Kon feels like he’s going to crumble.

Kon can’t crumble now though. Can’t give into the fear and the anxiety. Is he dying? He doesn’t want to die again. He won’t. Tim needs him. He needs Tim.

“I’m right here,” Kon says desperately. He wishes Tim could hear him. He wishes he could hug his fiancé. “I’m right here, Tim, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He leans his head forward until his temple should rest against Tim’s shoulder. Wraps an arm around Tim’s waist and pretends he can feel solid flesh and warmth. “I’m right here,” he repeats. and he swears he can feel the dampness of Tim’s tears on his hand even as his own don’t wet Tim’s shirt.

I have more friends than I have in years, and mind you I only have 7, so that not much. I just move, so I in a new neighood. I'm getting out of my shell.(social anxiety) And than this hit, bey bey to everything I have going. I feel like I drowning in a ocean and everything around me is pulling me deep and deep. I cut off from the world and have a mental breakdown.

meirl

#12 is beautiful