#It's all digital so I'd be weighing my own computer

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Having to do marking smdh why must I do "grading"? Why can I not just weigh the students' work and assign worth that way

[lovethisletters]

Hi! Again I must say: I’m sorry for taking so long, things got complicated but now I have little bit of time…besides I’m wery picky with translations (as you would see in a moment). Anyway, I was very much excited for and while writing this, since I found myself to be very fond of Faith and her relationship with Tim (they’re the cutest) so I tried my best!

Ps: The title of “Refuge” doesn’t have that much relevance in this scenario, is just the title of the song I was listening to while writing this (I think it describes perfectly how Tim’s and Faith relationship might evolve); in case you listen to it but aren’t really familiar with spanish language, here it is subtitled! But there’s minor errors on the translation:

1.     "Eres como el sol caliente y yo soy marte" wich means "You're like the warm sun and I'm like mars".

2.     "Soy desordenado cuando quiero" the word quiero/querer in spanish can mean several things, normally indicating the yearning of something in a possesive (I want this to myself) or romantic (like: I love you)/aspirational (like: I want to become a writer) way (depends on context) so the most adecute in this case will be "I'm sloppy when I am in love" not "when I want" here is a little deffinition. 

3.     The most correct wording in "let me be, I'll help you" would be in fact: "Let me, I will help you".

 Pairing: Faith O’Neal (@insideoflit OC) x Tim Drake

Summary: Faith is tormented by her past to the point of being unable to sleep and have an anxiety attack, so Tim helps her get through it.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

 12:22 am

...

1:18 am

...

2:48 am

...

3:04 am

Her head registered every digit drawn on the clock next to his bed, counting every time she woke up;  but something within herself knew that I'd had been more than just 4. Her eyes weighed, but her mind did not stop, she kept thinking ... remembering and everything at the worst moment.

Maybe it had been 5 or at most 8 nights in a row without being able to sleep completely, but in fact, she really didn't remember the last time she had slept peacefully.  Months or even years ago?

She only knew that the situation had gone from bad to worse ...

What she thought was a simple period of insomnia which would most likely disappear a week later, became part of his routine, which had stopped bothering her a long time ago: intrusive thoughts, impossible variations in hidden memories and unanswered questions that would often come and go and multiplied in the dead of night.

And yet this time it was different ... it was a living nightmare.

The intrusive thoughts had quickly escalated and evolved to such extent that they now resonated aggressively, scratching the walls of his head, digging through everything she wanted to forget and shouting at her so that she could feel it in the depths of his being.

An imaginary pain that threatened to break his little head.

In.  That.  Exact.  Instant.

She felt his breath cut short at the thought of having to get used to all this, his chest full of emotions and an uncontrollable feeling of despair.

That's why she didn't think of anything other than running, rising abruptly from the bed, barely giving his brain time to process the situation;  she ran, as fast as his legs allowed her, she didn't care at all if they were going to break… she just wanted to escape from all that and ignore that past she had unintentionally remembered.

The smell of petricor invading her senses causing a feeling of anguish, seeing those memories instantly regain strength and torturing her in such a ruthless way...

—Hey! Be careful!— her thoughts abruptly interrupted to the feeling of his body collide and almost fall to the ground, if not thanks to the arm clinging to her waist preventing her fall.

—Are you ok?—Tim's eyes invaded by an expression of genuine concern, trying to search the answer to her irrational behaviour.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she didn't even realize the moment she reached the garden and much less had noticed Tim standing in the middle of it…like some creepy scarecrow or something…

—I ...— His mind still not quite at the moment allowed for her words to float in the air in a sloppy way.

Tim looked at the girl carefully, trying to decipher what had put her in that state: her hair slightly disheveled by the gentle flushing of the wind, a cold sweat running down her forehead, eyes flushed, her pajamas had gotten a little dirty  due to his small race in the humidity of the night and his bare feet hugging the muddy floor.

—Come, you're going to get sick like this!— He reproached her gently trying not to overwhelm her as much as possible and guiding her back inside.

The living-room of the mansion was empty, wrapped in the cozy sound of silence; indicating the absence of most of its inhabitants.

Tim told Faith to sit by pointing at the couch with a slight nod, which she obeyed.

—Wait here—he ordered again, before disappearing down the hall that led to one of the many bathrooms and returning moments later with a pair of clean towels, leaving one of them over her head, with a small mischievous smile.

—Don't run like that, Faith, you could have slipped and gotten hurt…—He said kneeling in front of her, his hands on the towel shaking it slightly in an attempt to help her dry.

His calm voice hiding the reality of his restlessness.  She knew…knew she had worried him ... And that look only confirmed it, she had already seen it many times, maybe more than she should;  but it was something she could not avoid and that frustrated her greatly.

But Tim was always characterized by being perceptive and soon noticed the expression of guilt on Faith's face.

—Hey ... It’s ok—The Boy reassured by staring at her, still smiling, because he wanted her to really feel safe.

Tim knew that Faith had trouble sleeping, he knew perfectly the symptoms of insomnia: he had noticed the lights of her room stay on until dawn, dark circles highlighting her beautiful big eyes, her clumsy movements during the day, lack of concentration and had even once heard Bruce scolding her because of her teacher's multiple complaints accusing her of sleeping in class.

But she would never admit it… she "didn't want to be a bother"

Tim allowed himself to caress Faith's cheek, gently and delicately as if she were some kind of porcelain doll about to break.

—Do you want to talk about it?

Faith thought briefly before her eyes began to fill with tears that threatened to slip away.

—No, not really ...— A glimmer of guilt was noticeable in her response.

—It’s Okay. Don't feel like you have to—followed by those words, Tim felt the need to hug her;  his arms carefully surrounded Faith's small figure.

—Just know I'm always going to be here for you — his chin resting slightly on her head partially covered by the towel.

The tears that she had forced herself to hide, began to escape silently with an air of cynicism.

—Dammit— she cursed under her breath.

Noticing this, he quickly bent down again to wipe away her tears with his hands.

Faith was a strong, but stubborn person, many times denying herself the idea of ​​asking for help and this was no exception;  she didn't want Tim to see her that way, in her most vulnerable state;  but she also didn't want to leave, despite all the crying, she found Tim's company very much comforting.

So… she stood there, allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of other people for once in a really long time.

After a few minutes (maybe even more) when she had no more tears left, Tim spoke again.

—It's getting late, you should be asleep and unless Riddler is entertaining the bat, Bruce will be here at any minute and I don't want him to scold you for staying up so late, you have class tomorrow, right?

Faith nodded, releasing a small chuckle upon hearing Drake's motherly but bossy tone.

—Whatever you say, mom — emphasizing the word "mom" on a goofy manner.

He rolled the eyes pretending to be offended but without making the least of attempts to hide his own amusement.

—Go to your room, dummy!—

She raised her hands as if she were being arrested before turning around and running upstairs followed by Tim, who was also heading to his room.  However, something stopped her once she was standing in front of the door of her own room.

She didn't want to be alone ... at least not for tonight ...

A small knock on Tim's door caught his attention off of his monitors, at first he thought it was Alfred about to scold him like every other night for not sleeping or Damian who had arrived from patrol early and couldn't find Titus favorite chewing toy.

But no… there in the door frame stood Faith with a pillow under her arm and a slightly shy smile.

—You're supposed to be asleep.

—Right back at ya — she replayed quickly.

—I’m not the one who has to save his grades on algebra tomorrow, Faith—he said, reminding her of his test in the morning.

—Yeah, well… truth is… I can't sleep…

Her voice barely even believing herself.

—Can I… can I stay here? —Tim flushed wildly almost at the exact moment he heard those words come out of her mouth.

—I… Um.  Yeah  Yeah, sure — tripping on his own words he stepped clumsily into the side in order to let her in.

Tim's room was both a mess and incredibly clean… his desk was the messy part, probably because he spend a lot of his time glued to his computer to the point Alfred sometimes had to brake in and almost drag him outside to eat like a normal human  being instead of just feeding off of energy bars and coffee.

In comparison was the side of the bead, it was so clean. Everything looked almost brand new, since he barely slept and when he did it was just very quick naps before patrol.

—Make yourself comfortable— he signaled the bed before putting back on his headphones and to whatever he was doing.

—Aren't you going to sleep?— Faith asked as she settled between the sheets.

Tim was silent for a moment, trying to find an answer.

—Well ... maybe just for a little while…—

He finally spoke before joining Faith, keeping a adequate distance, which Faith quickly ignored by hugging him unexpectedly, burying his face in the boy's chest.

—Good night, Tim.—

Tim thanked the lights were off, otherwise Faith would have seen his face as red as a tomato.  The girl's touch was comforting and warm so he didn't think twice before reciprocating the hug and planting a small kiss on her head.

—Good night, Faith.

[magicswaggie]

The first time I hugged someone wasn't until my tenth birthday. Don't get me wrong, I'd received many hugs in my lifetime, but until I turned ten, I'd never really given someone else a hug. As a child, I hated hugs, and ran away or stood with my hands on my hips every time a relative tried to hug me.

But, I needed to give someone a hug at my birthday party. Mom had told me the night before the party, "Maiya, your grandmother is coming to the party tomorrow. She's not doing very well. This may be the last birthday party for Nana."

So, when I saw Nana at the party, I ran up to her in her wheelchair and gave her a hug with all my might. To everyone's surprise, when I pulled away, I had aged five years in minutes! Nana looked at me and jumped out of the chair and stared.

The whole family rushed to the hospital. Nana was perfectly healthy. I was a perfectly healthy fifteen year old. No one could explain what had happened. Mom decided it would be best to homeschool me after that.

It happened again about two years later, when Frank was diagnosed with cancer. My family got Frank when I was eight years old, and he was the best dog a family could have. He was the only friend I'd had since my tenth birthday. When I learned he had cancer, I cried, and I crouched down to his level and hugged him.

Mom started crying when she was I was suddenly a few years older again. But Frank didn't mind, he started wagging his tail and tugging my shirt to play with him. It was then that I realized what I could do.

That was the day I become the proprietor of a new business. It took a long time for anyone to believe what I could do, though. It was nearly three years before I was hired by my first client.

The man owned a tech company. He designed computers and software and had a net worth with at least 10 digits. His wife had stage four cancer and had asked him to let her die. When I arrived in her hospital room, she asked me if I'd come to help her go. I told her I was there to make sure she could stay.

I made $150 million for that hug. I made another $1 billion on the next four. I made $3 billion off the next hug, a new record for a single hug. At this time, I now appeared to be around 50 years old, though I'd only been around for 18 years. But billions of dollars can only buy so much. Everyday I received thousands of emails from husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, grandparents, friends, children, people of all walks of life, asking me to save their family members.

What's the use of having the ability to heal if you refuse to use it on those who deserve it most? I couldn't stand seeing children dying and parents grieving.

That's why I'm here today. These children are the most deserving of my gift. I put my sign in front of me and wait, with a smile on my face.

My first hug was a little girl with no hair and tubes sticking out everywhere. She couldn't have weighed more than 30 pounds. She slowly walked up to me and smiled, and I gave her a very gentle hug.

Another hug.

The next boy told me that I looked like his mom as I hugged him, and I smiled and said, "I'm sure she would love a hug next."

Two more hugs. The next girl tells me I look like her grandma, who went to heaven last year. I told her it would be many years before she got to join her grandma.

Three more hugs. I've been here less than an hour, and I've been given the nickname "Grandma Hugs." The nurses love the joy they see in the children who hug me. The doctors have just started to notice the miraculous healing.

Five more hugs. A mother wheels an infant incubator up to me. A nurse is trying to stop her and is calling for help. "Please," the mother pleads with agony in her voice. Quickly, as fast as my aging body can move and against the nurse's protests, I sweep the baby into my arms and hug him. His mother yells in joy when he starts to cry, his lungs suddenly healthy.

The nurse's jaw drops, and she runs off, only to return with another infant. This one doesn't look to be the right color. I give him a hug and hand him back to the nurse, who looks down in astonishment as the baby's skin starts to regain color.

I lean against the wall, feeling weak. A nurse brings me a chair and I sit shakily.

Six more hugs.

I'm feeling sick, and I can see my end coming. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open, there's a familiar face in front of me. My mom stands before me, appearing to be more than 50 years younger than me. There are tears in her eyes.

"One last hug for Mama?"

"Of course."

Your hugs heal people. But it comes with a cost. It decreases your own lifespan by 5%. Only the the richest of the rich come to see you. You have cured clients with cancer, aids, incurable diseases and more. However, those poor children dying in the hospital, the urge to help them eats you alive. You are getting depressed as you can’t stand this injustice any longer. You set out to visit a hospital for children with terminal illnesses. You write two words on a piece of cardboard: FREE HUGS