The Midnight Texting Meme

[legit]

 

The Midnight Texting Meme 

It's the middle of the night and you're trying to catch some z's, or brooding alone in the alleys as one does, when your phone rings and dings and suddenly a stranger or a friend is texting you. What could they possibly want at this time? Is it important? Stupid? Are they drunk or maybe just needy? Pick up your phone and find out! 

Rules:

• Post with your character's name and canon on the subject line, indicate preferences as needed
• Tag others
• Have fun!

Comments

maybe a little past midnight...

[success_story]

it's a school night. Shouldn't you be getting tucked into bed by now? Manor is dead quiet.

aka prime crime fighting hours

[bloodson]

My curfew's been extended and I'm not tired.

[success_story]

lmao his answer to "I'm not tired" is pretty different now, I guess.

Youre staying out for the full shift?

[bloodson]

( bruce's answer? hadn't at first, but now he was too old, and too tired for the same ol' fight every. fricking. night. )

Duh.

I'm not about to half-ass my patrol just because it's a quiet night.

[success_story]

so you're saying I have plenty of time to go through your things

[bloodson]

Sure.

Also means I have plenty of time to break your fingers.

ANY TIPS ON THE STATE/CONTENTS OF DAMIAN'S ROOM WELCOMED WITH RELISH

[success_story]

you'd have to catch me first, so I feel pretty confident in saying "lmfao"

can I assume the doorframe haloed in cat hair is yours?

oh my god Tim ur the worst

[bloodson]

( his room is pretty sparse, save cat hair. and dog hair. and any kind of pet fluff that's accumulated since alfred's last cleaned. but if tim looks hard enough he'll undoubtedly find a few items that have slipped past Damian's militant upbringing and crossed into the realm of sentimentality. there's a scattered handful or two of arcade coins in his desk drawer, a brand new, never ridden skateboard tucked under his bed; the outfit he came to gotham in, his old league tunic and pants that he's long since outgrown but still keeps squashed in the back of his closet. there's an appropriate amount of rich kid paraphernalia, as well. a pricy hand held gaming system, a sleek wallet with a stuffy looking id picture, a platinum credit card, ect., and a whole library that looks better suited for a grown up than an eleven year old.

and like, a shit ton of weapons. more than he's probably supposed to have — either nicked from the batcave and fiddled with to make just a bit more deadly, or crafted himself.

openly bristling on the other end, at war with himself about remaining at his post vs. swinging home to kick tim's butt, he aggressively types: )

Stay out of my goddamned room, Drake.

(ง ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)ง TRUE

[success_story]

sorry i must have gotten lost, whoops

[what's a little friendly snooping amongst family? Tim skims over things at first, barely fussing with the surface level. The desk drawers, the wallet on the bureau. Doesn't fuss with putting things back just so either--the benefit of snooping outloud is you don't need to cover your tracks]

nevermind batman, you look more like bateman in here. where are your business cards? eggshell with romalian type?

he's gonna kick you in then balls

[bloodson]

GET.

OUT.

NOW, Drake!

[success_story]

chill, i'm leaving [100% lie, he's toeing the skateboard out from under the bed, rocking it back and forth with one foot.] we should work on your band poster game. unless music is below you. it seems like the kind of thing that might be BELOW you

[bloodson]

My what game?

( music isn't... below him. music is fine, ranked well above tim drake on the list of things damian tolerates. but that just sounds stupid. )

[success_story]

you don't have to be ashamed, you can tell me where the Lady Gaga posters are hidden

[bloodson]

( ... okay that kind of music is below him. )

I'm not an overly excitable girl, or an angsty prepubescent boy.

( well.... )

[success_story]

so what kind of girl or boy are you? Bieber? 21P? Tech N9ne? Manilow?

[he slides the board back under the bed, meandering towards the closet, passing a hand through the hanging clothes]

[bloodson]

The kind of boy who's going to break your kneecaps if anything's missing when I get home.

[success_story]

anything like your box set of Bette Midler's entire discography? I wouldn't dare

[closet's pretty boring, except for that familiar black and white that catches his eyes from where it's jammed in the back. He tosses his phone onto the bed to free up both hands, kneeling to pull out the old tunic.

[it's so, so small. has it been that long?]






btw you need to train your spoiled cat not to knock people's cellphones around

[bloodson]

No, I need to train Alfred to scratch trespassers on sight. And someone needs to train you not to be a goddamn snoop.

How would you like it if I went through all your crap without your permission? With your express not permission.

[success_story]

D, all our training is literally for the express purpose of snooping. Go through all that and leave your bedroom with a pickable lock, you're pretty much asking someone to come in and leave everything in a SLIGHTLY different position that it was in before

[bloodson]

( must. fight. primal urge. to scream i'm telling and go bitch extensively to both human and cat alfred.

it's difficult. the appropriate compromise? threats of violence. )

You have approximately 10 minutes to get out of my room and as far away as you can before I get back.

im sorry damian, ur being SO GOOD

[success_story]

I'm out, kid, relax. have you cried about it to dad yet?

he tries! sometimes

[bloodson]

No, and I'm not going to. I expect you not to run sobbing to my father when I break your nose.

[success_story]

I believe the arrangement we just reached was that I get to go as far away as I want now that I'm out right? you're not coming anywhere NEAR my face

you can unclench, I'm a detective, not a thief

[like, how much could Damian possibly miss the ONE arcade token Tim pocketed before sliding out of the room?]

[bloodson]

( twelve minutes and a quick, angry inventory later — )

You are a thief. I had those counted.