#turning red fanfiction

[ronnie-quinn]

Sleep Is Important

CG! Jin Lee and Regressor! Ming Lee 🍼

Plot: Ming is exhausted from temple duty.

Prompt generator made by @buttercupagere: https://www.tumblr.com/buttercupagere/717362756193583104/hehe-i-made-an-agere-prompt-generator

Ming has been struggling with insomnia for the past couple of days. Jin suggested that she should take a break and rest for a while. However, she adamantly declined. She wanted to make sure that the temple didn’t go bankrupt. She had to keep the temple going for her family.

Jin went to check on Ming at the temple at the end of the day. He saw that she was incredibly tired. She was wearing sunglasses to cover the bags that were under her eyes and yawning profusely. Jin felt incredibly guilty for this. He knew it was Ming’s choice whether or not she wanted to take a nap, but he knew that she should listen to her body if it was hungry, tired, etc.

“Ming, honey, I think you should try to go to bed early,” Jin said to Ming.

“I can’t…” Ming whined as her headspace began to slip.

“Ming, you need your rest. You didn’t sleep well for the past few days and I’m worried that it could make you sick if you don’t sleep. I was worried when you almost fell asleep during temple duty.”

Ming just continued whining and making little stomps with her feet.

Jin gently wrapped his arms around Ming and gave her a hug.

“I know, I know,” Jin consoled.

“No sleep,” Ming muttered.

“I know you don’t want to go to bed early, and I know you’re probably feeling a lot of things right now. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Ming sniffled and responded, “Tired… sad… angry… frustrated.”

“Yeah, those are valid feelings. How about I put you to bed? Do you think that will help you sleep?” Jin offered.

Ming nodded. Jin kissed her forehead.

Ming brushed her teeth and hair while Jin went into the kitchen and made a sippy cup of angel milk. Once Ming came into the bedroom, she grabbed her regression bag and pulled out a onesie and a Pull-Up. Once she changed her into her pajamas, she grabbed her plush Celine doll from the bag, along with her baby blanket.

Jin arrived a few seconds later with the angel milk.

“Alright, let’s get you tucked in,” Jin said with a gentle smile. Ming walked over to the bed and laid down. Jin tucked Ming in and handed her the sippy cup. Ming began drinking and Jin grabbed a book from the bag. He read softly to ensure that Ming would be comforted after a very long couple of days.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

The press was going wild. Headlines like, "A bat unmasked?" and "Bat kid gone wild!" which Danny thought was uncalled for. He didn't even do anything that bad. All he did was rescue those kids and preformed a perfect flying kick to the mans jaw! He didn't even knock out a tooth!

Oh. And he wasn't even one of the bats.

Danny had only been in this dimension for a day and had no idea what was going on. He didn't actually have plans to stay in this world long so when he saw a guy around his own age being held hostage by guys in ski masks he just acted. He just flew invisibly to the hostage and took them.

By the time the captors realized thier hostage was missing they were long gone.

Turns out the guys name was Tim and he was rich, which honestly explains the kidnapping. Tim had a lot of questions and Danny just wanted to know where to drop Tim off at.

Later that night he gets to meet the bat himself and of course he trolls Batman and makes the man chase after him around the city. This turns out to be a big mistake. As Phantom Danny wouldn't dare use any of the fighting techniques his mother had thought him. His mother had trained in a very exclusive dojo by a legendary master who only ever took 7 pupils in his lifetime and his mom taught this stuff to Danny up until the accident. So if Phantom used these techniques his mom would know immediately that it was him.

But here no one knows who he is.

No one knows about him or Phantom.

And he doesn't plan to stay...so why not go ham? Thus Danny play fighting the bat across streets and rooftops, through bars and crowded shopping districts all while giving witty banter.

It probably didn't help that he was a very Robin shaped boy...so naturally all those photos of him and the dark knight wound up in the papers. Danny thought it was hilarious until he had his fill of chaos and tried to leave...only to realize he couldn't.

He was trapped in this dimension with the mess he made. Uh oh.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny punches a Clown Part 7

Masterpost

Danny wakes up some time later. Red and Agent A are there waiting for him in chairs on either side of his bed.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Less tired at least.” Danny was well enough he could feel his wounds trying to heal. “Could probably use some food though.”

“I will go retrieve it for you now that you are awake.” Agent A walks out of the med area.

“You feel up to meeting a few people? They’re going to be around so you should know who they are.”

“I guess so.” Danny sits up on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest.

Red leans out past the curtain and waves some people over. When he takes his seat, a man in a blue and black suit with a mask on and someone in an all-black suit with a head covering that comes down over his eyes comes in behind him. They stay standing by the curtain.

“You met Nightwing earlier, and this is Batman.” Red introduces. Nightwing waves when Red says his name. “We all work together here.”

Danny nods.

“Hey, Danny!”Dick comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of Danny’s bed. “We have a few questions that we would like to ask you if you’re feeling up for it.”

Danny shrugs.

“Okay, well we know you haven’t been in Gotham long, where did you come from?”

Danny wonders if he tells them a different dimension if they would believe him. If they would try to send him back. “Illinois.”

Nightwing let out a short whistle. “That’s a long way Danny.”Danny snorts at that. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danny starts picking at the edges of the blankets, trying not to look anyone in the eye- not that he could, they all have some form of mask on.

“Okay. Well, we have some concerns. Don’t know if you remember what you were talking about before you went to sleep, but you said some things about being shot at a lot, by your parents and some other people.”

“What part of that is a question?” Danny leans forward and rests his cheek on his knees, watching himself pick at the blanket. He found a loose thread that he’s started twirling around his fingers. 

“Can you tell us more about the people who were shooting at you? We’d like to look into them.”

Something in the tone Nightwing is using makes him sound all clinical. Like a social worker. Or a cop. It shouldn’t matter really because the people that did this to him are inaccessible unless they have some way to dimension hop. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now.”

“What made you come here? Do you have a family member, or friends that you were meeting?”

“For real, are you a social worker? Psychologist, cop, what.” Danny looks up at him. “You brought me to a cave f and you’re all wearing masks, but you’re talking to me like I’m going to freak out or something. You can stop acting like I’m a child. I know what’s happened to me. Frankly, the fact that I’m trapped in a cave with people dressed the way you are is more concerning for me than being back on the street. So can we get on with you doing whatever you’re going to do?”

“We’re not going to do anything Danny.” Red leans towards him. “We just want to make sure you have somewhere to go.”

“I don’t.” Danny states plainly. He knows his circumstances and he can’t risk going back home for a while, shouldn’t go back at all except to grab his stuff and leave again. 

The three share a few glances back and forth, having quite an in-depth silent conversation. Danny rolls his eyes and goes to stand up, they all immediately try and stop him.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Nightwing asks.

“Where are you trying to go?” Comes from Red.  

“You’re injured, you should stay in bed.” Comes from Batman.

Just then, Agent A pushes aside the curtain, walking in with a tray.

“I do hope you aren’t overwhelming the patient.” He brings the tray over, Danny straightens his legs and A situates the tray in his lap. “This boy needs to eat, and to rest. You don’t need to worry about where he’s going until he is fit to be out of bed. He’s not going anywhere until he’s improved.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’ll be fine-” Danny starts.

“Nonsense. I will not stand for it. You need proper treatment or your wounds will get infected. Now, eat or your body will not have the necessary fuel to heal.”

Danny bows his head and looks at the tray in front of him. A brought him chicken noodle soup, he starts to eat as A shepherds everyone back out and closes the curtain behind them.

“Now, I know this cannot be easy for you, being injured and alone.” A comes to sit in the chair that Red vacated. “I assure you that you have a place here at least until you are better. Even if you wish to leave now, you will not be able to get better on the streets.”

 “Thank you.” Danny says. “I didn’t mean to snap at them.”

“I’m sure they will forgive you for it, you are under a lot of stress right now.”

Danny nods. “Thank you for the food. It’s amazing.”

“Of course, Mister Danny. I will be making sure you are well nourished while you are with us. Please, let me know if you have any preferences.”

“Anything that’s not alive is good for me.”

Agent A just looks at him. “You did mention something about fighting your food last night. I had thought you were talking out of a bit of delirium.”

“Oh, no that used to happen. The chemicals my parents used reanimated the food sometimes. Had to fight some hot dogs. A chicken. Our kitchen was a hazard.”

“I dare say so.” A has a very scrunched up look on his face. “Rest assured nothing of the sort has ever happened in my kitchen.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Tim has turned pain into pleasure... good for him

Red Robin, Superboy (Konnor) and Spoiler tried to reason with a crook who was holding out a taser gun. The tension in the air was palpable. Suddenly, the crook, driven by frustration, angrily pulled the trigger, hitting Robin squarely in the chest.

He moaned, his head jerking back and his body trembling as he stood in place, but Spoiler and Konnor exchanged glances, unsure whether his reaction was one of pain or pleasure. Spoiler rushed to the crook and delivered a precise punch, knocking him unconscious before swiftly turning off the taser.

Red Robin: Oh, that felt good!

Robin fell backwards as the sensation coursed through his body, continuing to moan as if he had just experienced the world’s best massage. Konnor blushed caught off guard.

Spoiler (rolling her eyes, exasperated): Robin, leave your kinks in the bedroom.

Robin continued moaning and smiling, it took him a moment to remember he wasn't at home with Bernard. Once he did, his face flushed embarrassed.

Konnor (blushing, stammered): What was—Robin, your relationship with—Is the other guy unconscious?

Spoiler (examining the taser gun and if she should keep it): Yeah, K.O’d.

Konnor (brow furrowed): So you and Bernie are in a stable relationship?

Spoiler shook her head and chuckled, pocketing the taser gun for herself.

Spoiler: I'm low-key glad I could be here for this.

Red Robin (rubbing his forehead to collect himself): Not that it's any of your business, but yes it's stable and I'm not discussing our bedroom activities with you. You and I are friends. Nothing more.

Konnor (raised an eyebrow): Bernie and I don't hate each other that much anymore, but come on man! You never moaned like that when we—

Spoiler (interrupted to focus on anything else): As someone who also slept with Robin and couldn't match his ‘freak’ for the few times we did it, I'm good on not hearing about your wild escapades during a night shift. Okay?"

Red Robin stood up, brushing dirt off his costume.

Robin: Same here. Um, we don’t have to talk about how I reacted to the… enjoyable electricity either.

Spoiler crossed her arms perplexed how her friend and ex-boyfriend had a kink for taser electricity.

Spoiler: Dude, you had 1,200 volts go through your body from a taser. That’s not enjoyable.

Red Robin shrugged.

Robin (enjoying what was left of the sensation): To you, maybe. It's still surging through my body.

Robin moaned, looking down at his feet, and placing his hands on waist. Konnor walked a few paces away, whimpering.

Spoiler (teasing): See what you did? You made the poor man thirsty.

Spoiler laughed. Red Robin blushed.

Konnor: I’m fine; just need a moment.

Konnor took a deep breath before turning back around, able to push aside any sexy thoughts he was having.

Konnor: I’m good. No worries, Robin. This is between us.

Spoiler: Agreed.

With that Spoiler hummed a song from the musical she's been listening to while dragging the unconscious crook along the ground. Konnor chuckled as he placed his arm around an embarrassed Red Robin as they followed her.

[antebunny]

IRONY

(Or: my take on a post Red Robin Dick & Tim reconciliation. Because they love each other so much, and that's why it hurts).

-

Tim can admit, once an alert pops up on his computer and he immediately opens up the live feed of Dick’s kitchen, that there’s some cruel, bitter irony in what he’s doing. Also quite a few broken laws, and bent morals, and some icky stuff which he would not like Dick to find out about. Inserting surveillance cameras and trackers all over your loved one’s property, after all, is Bad Sibling Behavior. After so long spent trying to be a good sibling, Tim is hardly going to admit what he’s doing to anyone else.

Because he’s stalking Dick. 

Like a creepy little obsessed fan. Or a creepy villain-adjacent stalker. Like a ten-year-old Timmy Drake. He never thought he’d be doing it again as eighteen-year-old Tim Drake. Nonetheless, he stalks and tracks and surveils Dick from afar without ever talking to him. It’s like old times. Jason is even alive again. Except that instead of Tim stalking the Bats because he was a lonely little ten-year-old left to rot in a huge mansion with no concept of privacy or boundaries, he’s a less-lonely eighteen-year-old who knows far too much about Dick Grayson. Too much because far too much has gone down between them for Tim to just…talk to the guy. It’s impossible. Definitely impossible. 

Tim misses the days of late night ice creams, arms resting on his head or slung over his back, trading skateboard tricks for tumbling tricks. He aches for those days with a hunger he didn’t know was possible after a childhood spent starving for affection. 

But they can never go back.

Which is why Tim learns that Dick isn’t taking his meds because his surveillance equipment detected a change in behavior. Dick usually goes to his kitchen, breaks out orange juice or soda or some energy drink from the fridge, and takes his meds. Tonight he did not. Tim doesn’t know what the meds are for, he’s not that much of an invasive creep. It’s enough to know that Dick is getting treatment. And Tim doesn’t have to talk to Dick to find out how he’s doing. It’s enough to stalk him from afar to check on his well-being. 

Now the question is: what can Tim do about it? He can’t ask Dick himself. That’s obviously out of the question. Dick would listen to Damian, but the brat resents Tim’s very existence, so best not try that route. Dick would listen to Jason, but Red Hood barely tolerates Tim nowadays, and Tim isn’t interested in owing him a huge favor for something he really should do himself, so not him either. Dick would maybe, maybe listen to Bruce, but that’s hit-or-miss. 

Tim calls Barbara. 

“I need a favor,” he says as soon as she picks up. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Barbara replies, immediately business-like. “What’s up?”

Tim spins around in his swivel chair. Best purchase for his lair by far. “Not cape stuff, sort of, or imminently pressing, well, it’s pressing, I just needed to make sure no one’s listening in.”

“As sure as I can ever be,” Barbara confirms dryly. Answer: there’s always a chance, in the Bats’ paranoid minds, that someone is eavesdropping. But according to Oracle, she’s in the clear, and it really doesn’t get better than that.

“So, don’t ask me how I know this,” Tim prefaces, knowing she’s about to find out about his surveillance cameras in Dick’s apartment (if she hasn’t already), “but Dick didn’t take his meds last night. I don’t know what they are, so I dunno how bad it is that he skipped, and I don’t wanna pry into your, uh, relationship with him but–”

“Dick and I aren’t talking right now,” Barbara says flatly.

So, they’re in the off-again part of their on-again, off-again relationship. Most of the time Tim is rooting for them. Sometimes he thinks they should do what he and Steph did and settle into a best friends for life relationship. 

“Right.” On his next rotation, Tim catches himself on the edge of his table. He taps one hand on the clear surface and thinks of possibilities. “Do you think he would listen to B–”

“No.”

“Right.” Tim tries not to sigh and fails. “Okay, uh. Jason?”

“Jason can’t keep a secret.”

Which is sort of unfair to Jason, but keeping a secret is relative. Compared to Barbara and Tim, Jason can’t keep a secret. And Tim is not one to argue if someone’s making fun of Jason.

“Cass? No. Same problem.” 

It’s against her very nature to lie. If Cass does hold a secret, it is by accident. Tim doesn’t want to leave this up to chance. This was easier when they had Alfred to mediate. 

Tim starts spinning in his chair again. His room whirls past. “What about his friends? Kori or Wally or…literally any of them?”

“I don’t see,” Barbara says, “why you’re avoiding the obvious solution of asking him yourself. He’d listen to you.”

He’ll listen to you. What a heavy, crushing promise to make. You have the trust of Nightwing. Nightwing, admired by the entire superhero community. It’s true, maybe, probably. That Dick will listen to Tim. He’s mostly sure of that now, after everything. That’s the problem, really. The “after everything” part of Tim’s confidence. Their trust is not from years of steady partnership, or slowly developed siblinghood. The trust Tim has in Dick originates from months of silence, of terribly intimate understanding, of shared grief and one horrible, nausea-inducing day. 

Dick hates when people leave him and when people fall and he can’t catch them. People don’t usually leave Dick Grayson, but Tim left and then he fell and Dick caught him. So Dick will listen, probably, maybe, if only because he doesn’t want Tim to leave. And Tim can’t ask, knowing that they don’t have the nice, easy brotherhood they ought to, the companionship siblings should have. Knowing Dick is only listening because he wants to keep Tim around. That’s the sort of fake compassion Tim spent his life running from. It’s not empathy, it’s sympathy. 

A vicious little voice that sounds like Janet Drake tells Tim that he should shut up and suck it up and accept whatever Dick gives him, because he’ll never be worthy of anything more. Tim slams his head into walls to shut that voice up. He won’t accept it. He cannot. He must not. 

“You’re not talking to him, are you.” Barbara’s voice has a tinge of that shaking-your-head condescension that drives Tim up the walls. The tone that carries that undercurrent of, why are you making this so hard, Tim? As if it’s so easy. As if everything that fractured Tim and Dick’s relationship is so easily repairable. 

Of course, Tim can’t explain that to Barbara. It sounds pathetic, even to himself.

“Bold words, coming from you,” Tim retorts.

Barbara sighs. “Look. At this point Damian has the best communication with Dick. And unless you have a way of tricking Damian into–huh.”

Tim, whose manipulative, stalkery little brain went in the exact same direction as hers, echoes her exclamation. “Oh. Yeah. Hm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Unfortunately,” Barbara says, voice dry as the desert Tim was reborn in, “yes.”

The Belfry, a secret headquarters perfectly unobtrusive in Gotham’s old gothic and industrial skyline, was built by Tim and Barbara shortly after Bruce’s return. Since it’s so much newer than the Clock Tower, its inhabitants are not yet established. Where the Clock Tower houses the Birds of Prey, and Barbara’s friends in general, the Belfry sees a small but wide-ranging group of heroes coming in and out. Dick, Cass and Steph are the only other Bats to be allowed in.

Tonight, a little eleven-year-old boy crouches in the welcome darkness of one of the many nooks and crannies, dagger in his hands, and pretends with all his might that he belongs. 

“…at least wrap it,” Barbara is saying as she disengages the many, many security systems and enters the many passwords to get into the Belfry. 

“What’s the point?” Tim argues. “It’s not like–”

Both he and Barbara freeze. Tim raises a hand slowly to his belt. Barbara fingers one of the many buttons on her wheelchair. He gestures her to the left. They’re caught in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. With ceilings as high as a warehouse (it’s a bell tower, after all), those windows are high indeed. 

And then–

“Oracle. Red.” Damian emerges from the darkness like the little gremlin that he is, chin held high in his Robin uniform while he omits the Robin part of Tim’s new superhero name. “I have been here long enough that I could’ve killed both of you. How careless of you to not notice.”

Translation: Damian had been hoping to go unnoticed for longer.

“Here, where you most definitely do not have access,” Barbara points out. She wheels closer now that they know it’s just Robin.

Tim, while Damian is distracted with Barbara, sidles over to a table as stealthily as he knows how and sets down his package. 

“Clearly, your security standards are in need of upgrading,” Damian sniffs. Then his eyes narrow as he notices what Tim is doing. “Drake. What is that package.”

“None of your business,” Tim snaps back immediately. He moves to cover it with his back. “Get out of here. Invites only, you weren’t invited, you know how it is.”

Damian folds his hands behind his back and raises his nose. “It is for Grayson.”

“For Christ’s–how did you know?” Barbara demands.

“You just confirmed it,” Damian replies smugly.

Barbara rolls her eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s for Dick. Happy now?”

“No.” Damian marches up to Tim, then folds his arms, dagger and all, over his chest when Tim blocks his path to the package. “Tell me what you are giving to Grayson.”

Tim leans back against the table and folds his own arms over his chest, affecting a casual state of relaxation he absolutely does not feel. “I said, none of your business.” 

In truth, there’s something so heart-breakingly ten-years-old about Damian’s behavior. His cool older brother is part of a cool group of friends with a secret hideout that Damian is not allowed into. Of course he broke into it. Damian, under all his bluster and bravado, wants to be a part of it all. He’s only human. He’s only eleven years old.

“You may be poisoning him,” Damian insists.

Tim laughs. “That’s more your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

Seems like Damian hasn’t yet heard the saying your wheelhouse, because he scowls but doesn’t respond. Oddly enough, Tim feels worse about that than he does about the actual insult. Kids are not their parents or the secret assassin society they come from, he knows, he knows this. Yet this intellectual knowledge always flies out the window in favor of emotional responses when it comes to Damian. 

“It’s not,” Barbara interrupts, before they can come to blows. “It’s just something to make him feel better, since he stopped taking his meds. Now will you leave?”

Damian scowls again, this time resembling an angry kitten more than a fearsome assassin. Not that he ever has resembled a fearsome assassin, despite all the assassination attempts. For all the pent-up resentment and bitter anger Tim has about Damian, he can’t help but find the kid a little cute. 

(The thing is, back before everything, Tim really wanted a little sibling. Back before everything, Tim used to dream about Jason coming back).

(Isn’t it funny how the universe keeps giving Tim what he wants just to spite him?)

“Fine.” Damian glares at both of them in turn. “Since both of you are so incompetent in taking care of Grayson, I will do it.” 

And he sweeps out of the Belfry with all the righteous fury that an eleven-year-old can muster. 

Tim and Barbara finally make eye contact after Barbara ensures, using the Belfry’s surveillance cameras, that Damian has exited the building for good. Then they both burst into laughter. The rafters ring with the force of it, pealing like the bells on Sunday morning. Barbara slaps her knee. Tim leans back on the table, hands clasped over his stomach, and shakes.

“I can’t believe,” Barbara says, once she’s calmed down enough to get a proper sentence out, “that we just tricked a kid into doing our dirty work for us.”

“Hey, if it works,” Tim says, voice full of mirth. 

He easily identifies himself as an adult despite only recently turning eighteen. It is impossible to feel like a child, he reasons, after waking up in the desert. After running Wayne Industries, however briefly. After striking out on his own. After everything.

Perhaps that’s why he gets along so well with Barbara these days. She understands that he is not a kid anymore, even if she wasn’t there for everything. Dick, on the other hand, still sees Tim as the kid he was. (As Robin). As the Before Everything Tim Drake that the real Tim is getting so very tired of thinking about. So what if he misses all of it, the good and the ugly? That’s just the nostalgia speaking. That’s just part of growing up. Tim had to grow up fast, so he did. He did what he had to do and he won’t let himself regret it.

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #3

He has negative Force bacteria.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

"Midichlorians," Patches said, for the third time, his head in his hands. "They're called midichlorians."

"Tiny little buggers that live in your body," Jek scoffed. "I might have barely scraped by my biology modules, but that sounds like bacteria to me."

Patches whimpered.

Jek grinned and reached over to pat his babiest of brothers on the head. Their youngest medic really was too easy to rile up. 

Still, at least Patches was capable of taking a break on occasion, even if it was just to sit at Jek's bedside in the medbay while he recovered from a round of Force cleansing. He always felt a little like the mess hall slop after every session, squishy and mostly-liquid, though the effects had been lessening as the treatments went on. 

Turned out that working in close proximity to an evil Sith overlord for an extended period of time could be 'damaging' and 'harmful to the spirit', and as soon as the Jedi got the okay from Marshal Commander Thorn they'd instituted regular healing sessions for the Guard. Some of them weren't overly affected--the ARF division hadn't been allowed in the Senate Dome that often anyway, and the medics rarely left the infirmary, much less Guard HQ--but the majority of them were on rotating schedules to get their minds checked for Sith residue or whatever.

It was even worse for the Force-sensitives.

No one was more surprised to find Force-sensitive clones than the clones themselves, and a frankly unsettling percentage of the Guard tested for above-average midichlorian counts. That was just those who agreed to submit to the assessment, too--a lot of the Guard refused to do even that. It wasn't like they could be Jedi, and with the war over, what did it even matter?

(Except it did matter, a lot, because apparently evil Sith overlords could also drain the life force from sentients around them, and particularly enjoyed ones with the Force. Palpatine got a little tasty burst of power like they were some kind of energy snack, and it wasn't like the Guard weren't already exhausted anyway.

That kind of siphoning left even worse traces of Sith influence; Jek's cleansing sessions made his bones feel like wobbly gelatin, but Glitch's sessions hurt.)

"I bet Defib's m-count is the highest in the Guard," Jek mused absently as he watched their CMO stalk around the medbay between the beds--and the Jedi--with a scowl on his face. 

Patches lifted his head to give Jek a horrified look.

"Don't say that where he can hear you."

Jek, who lacked both bones and a sense of self-preservation, merely shrugged. Defib had refused testing, scoffing that he didn't need the Force to heal, but he wasn't named after a defibrillator for nothing: he'd brought more than one brother back from the brink of death against impossible odds.

Jek had his suspicions about Patches, too. 

Even with Defib hovering suspiciously over their shoulders, the Jedi healers--there were four of them, led by Master Rig Nema--moved around the medbay with an almost unearthly poise. Jek was more familiar with ordered chaos in the infirmary: medics shouting across the room to each other, rushing back and forth to see how far their meager supplies could stretch. The Jedi were quiet, coordinating with each other soundlessly while still seeming to be aware of everything else happening in the room.

The mesmerizing little dance wasn't even interrupted by the main doors opening, which drew Jek's attention to Commander Vertex stepping into the medbay. The commander had his bucket tucked under one arm, and sharp eyes surveyed the room in a quick glance.

Patches waved at Vertex, because he was adorable. 

Vertex waved back, because he was a sap.

Defib immediately veered off his self-appointed task of looming to intercept Vertex before he got too far into the room. They ducked their heads together in a brief conversation with far too much angry gesticulating on Defib's part, and the calm competency Jek had come to expect on Vertex's. Jek watched, fascinated, as Vertex managed to settle the fuming medic with just a few words and a gentle touch to his shoulder. 

Defib made a bitchy face, but he did seem to lose some of his protective bristling; at Vertex's nudge he sidled over to his desk in the corner of the medbay, dropping into his chair to finally take a break and...to angrily chew on a ration bar?

Incredible.

The Jedi, meanwhile, had continued on with their Force nonsense, which lasted up until Vertex tapped one of the healers on the shoulder and their serenity shattered with a resounding squawk.

The poor Rodian who made the noise spun around, flailing wildly, and would have fallen back onto one of the beds if Vertex hadn't grabbed her to keep her upright. The other three Jedi's heads snapped up in eerie synchronicity, startled expressions on their faces, and Master Nema took a jolting step forward before seeming to register what had happened.

In the frozen stillness that followed, Defib's sullen crunching took on a distinctive note of glee.

"Apologies," Vertex said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"When did you even..." 

"How can we be of assistance, Commander Vertex?" Master Nema asked, stepping away from her patient to take the place of the still-baffled apprentice healer. Both she and Vertex smoothly ignored the disbelief radiating off the other Jedi, who were looking at Vertex like they didn't know how he had appeared. 

Jek wondered that sometimes, too, but it didn't bother him.

"Hey," he said, nudging Patches with his elbow as the two bigwigs conversed, "What do you bet that Commander Vertex has negative Force bacteria?"

Patches stared at Jek like he'd kicked a baby massiff, and then slowly sunk lower in his chair with a low, despairing whine.

So easy.

[twilightishot]

“Yes, they do look rather juicy.” - Heidi

[mangofresca]

halcyon | 18+

Romano feels like he’s dancing in his sleep, that shifting, swaying motion like waves across the beach and toes dragging through sand, like water and rhythm pulling his chest high, his shoulders low, stretching out his hips, his knees, his ankles. The soft cotton of his pillowcase scratches and tickles at his cheekbone when he turns his head into it, wisping itself against his clavicle, and he sighs against it, lets it swallow his breath the same way it swallows the heat of his body, an echo of warmed contentment and easy dreaming.

The mattress beneath him dips, and he almost pushes away the palm that slides across his stomach, his sternum, but it’s warm, too, and Romano always liked being warm, and he liked being warm beneath this hand even more. He leans into it, instead, keeps his eyes closed, and he makes a small noise that’s half deliberate and half desultory—because he does mean to acknowledge Spain, but he doesn’t mean to acknowledge him like a cat waking from a nap in lazy, dozy sunbeams, purring.

But that’s fine. That’s fine. He knows Romano sometimes sounds like that when he’s waking, and even not, just sometimes when he’s beneath the pads of Spain’s fingers, and Romano feels fine when the mattress dips again and Spain hovers over him, knees sweetly nudging his apart.

Romano keeps his eyes closed when lips skim his jaw, keeps himself ensconced in the soft sunlight that shines itself across his eyelids. It’s good like this, he thinks. It’s nice. He can hear himself breathe with an awareness he never really has when he’s around Spain, always too preoccupied with other things, irrelevant things—what he’s doing, what he’s not, what he could be doing to Spain, instead. He likes being conscious of it, of his body and his reactions, and he sighs again when that palm moves to his side, his rib cage and lower, fingers skimming over his thigh as they drag heated sheets down, away.

There’s a laugh twinkling in his ear, something bright and charmed, and his skin pricks with cognizance when he feels the breath of it, lips curving into a smile against his cheek. “Awake yet?”

Spain speaks his vowels in a whisper, his consonants always catching on the tip of his tongue, and Romano’s shoulder shifts back in a shiver, presses into the bed when soft breeze meets skin, humid and carrying the smell of midmorning sunrise.

He makes a noise again, some groaned mhm that rumbles itself up his chest and out his throat, that gets lost somewhere around his lips when the heat of Spain’s laughter leaves his cheek and instead drifts across his nipple—and the gasp that leaves him is a surprised one.

He feels stupid like this, naïve, foolish, as if he isn’t war- and weather-worn, born and raised in the echoing, thundered footsteps of the Roman Empire, older than the New World and older still, as if his own sand dunes aren’t his brothers, the rolling fields his sisters. But this is his life now: homes across his country and Spain’s, furnished with soft beds and yellow kitchens and flowing curtains that always let the light in, because neither of them ever really do well when away from the sun, too used to its bite to go without for longer than a day, two. He wakes, now, to sheets that settle across the curves of his body, to someone in his bed, wiggling his legs until they settle around tanned hips, to sea-chapped lips that hum the song of his name until he is something melodious, made of more than sinew and sand, of memory.

Spain whispers his name, a question carried softly through balmy air and that sounds so fucking in love Romano almost opens his eyes, almost gives into the needling whine of it—

But Spain always did his best work when given a task, and Romano knows Spain has no qualms about being set to work on Romano, no end to the things he would let Spain do to him, and though his mouth goes dry as Spain nips at his throat and presses a finger against him, he can only find the energy to laugh, just dry air, enough to breathe Spain in, too.

When Spain dips down and kisses him, Romano kicks the sheets up and over Spain’s back. They are still warm, and so is he.

[martamatta95]

Thanks to @westernmanergy and his great post about Valentino the vigilante/urban legend, he inspired me to post this because I decided to write some snippets that I've been putting off for months.

I've been thinking about this AU in the style of Turning Red (Pixar movie) for a while now. A Puerto Rican boy who, due to a family curse, wakes up one day in the body of this ten-foot-tall moth.

And here I need your help guys, I'm a fan of staticmoth so:

where do I place Vox in all this? And I had several inspirations, student Val has a crush on? Or Hot teacher?

Consider that in this AU I want to make Valentino older than the protagonist of Turning Red so 16/18 years old.

Then I also thought what if the abilities/appearance of the Moth activates when our poor boy has impure thoughts and gets excited? What if Vox is a hunter of mythological creatures/exterminator and Velvette is his assistance? Did they go undercover in this school following reports of paranormal/demonic activity? What if Vox is also afflicted by a curse?

My favorite option is Valentino who is figuring out his sexuality and struggling with the issues of a normal teenager, meanwhile he has to take care of his little sister Verosika, while his mother is single and works two jobs to support her children.

In the midst of all this, one day he suffers a major public humiliation (I'm trying to decide what) and that night he has strange nightmares of terrifying creatures. The next morning he wakes up in the body of a ten foot tall moth and from there chaos ensues as he tries to hide and master this new ability, balance his 'normal' life, the strange instincts of the moth that make him more sensitive and receptive.

Added to all this is the arrival of a new trendy student who Val quickly befriends and the new math teacher who Valentino develops a crush on and the moth squeaks kick in when that beautiful man is around.

And what do you think? Feel free to tell me your opinions on this silly AU.

As always my native language is not English so I apologize for any mistakes

PS I want a little Verosika hugging her soft big brother💓🦋

[crystalskies42]

Avatar human headcanons #2!

Imagine Lo'ak, Tsireya, and Rotxo waking up at the crack of dawn to scare the absolute shizz out of Ao'nung. Lo'ak and Tsireya are basically the menaces, while Rotxo is there for vibes, lol. (This is based on a fanfic I wrote a month back :)

Lo'ak and Tsireya: *Barges into the room* WAKE UP SLEEPYHEAD!

Ao'nung: *Wakes up abruptly* WHAT'S GOING ON!?

Neteyam, who was sleeping beside Ao'nung: *slurs* Ao'nung...? Wha' happening??

Lo'ak: :0

Tsireya: :0

Rotxo: :0

Rotxo: That's crazy

Lo'ak: >:0 WHAT SINCE WHEN!? WHY!?

Tsireya: *giggles*

[barleyo]

Barley's Masterlist.

Avatar

Miles Quaritch

Pollen. Pollen. (part two) Hey there, tiger. Red Wings. Shower Head. Teacher's Pet. (coming soon) Birthday Bitch. Hybrid. Loud.

Jake Sully

Demon Knife.

Tsu'tey

Trust a Stranger. (coming soon)

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Fuck in Cadillacs. (coming soon)

Spiderverse

Miguel

Don't Be Sorry. Next Time. Take Me to Church. Secret Shame. Three's Company. (coming soon)

Hobie

Bubbles. Miss Independent.

Spider-Man Noir

My Hero.

Resident Evil

Leon Kennedy

Regular Content: Love Machine. Love Machine. (Part Two) Dark Content: Daddy's Girl. Older Stepbro! Leon... Strings Attached. Prom Queen. Rural Bliss. 867-5309. 678-999-8212. Purist.

JJK

Shiu Kong

Nobody Rides for Free.

Sukuna Ryomen

Heiress. Make the Most of Freedom. (coming soon)

Megumi Fushiguro

Better Things.

Haikyuu!!

Tsukishima Kei

Don't Run, Rabbit.

Daichi Sawamura

Mr. Officer.

Attack on Titan

Armin

Roll of the Dice.

Jean

Stallion. (coming soon)

BNHA

Shigaraki

Caught.

Sir Nighteye

Explain Yourself. All I Want For Christmas.

Enji Todoroki

Consequence. Mama-in-Training. Build-A-Bride.

4 Town

Aaron Z.

Winter Coat. Nameless Bruises. Evacuate the Dancefloor.

Jesse

Good Boy.

FNAF

Montgomery Gator

Gag on it. Scream for me. Rental Slut.

Map Bot

More Than a Map.

Misc.

Jeff Boomhauer

Lone Ranger. Straight Tequila Night.

Archibald Asparagus + Petunia

Tour Guide

Strip Weathers

Hitched.

Daryl Dixon

Men Who Are Older. Not So Secret.

©ᵇᵃʳˡᵉʸᵒ. ᴬˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃʳˡᵉʸᵒ ᵀᵘᵐᵇˡʳ ᵇˡᵒᵍ, ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵒʳⁱᵍⁱⁿᵃˡ ʷᵒʳᵏˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ, ⁱˢ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᶜᵒᵖʸʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵃʷ. ᵁⁿᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳⁱᶻᵉᵈ ᵘˢᵉ ᵒʳ ʳᵉᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱˢ ᵖʳᵒʰⁱᵇⁱᵗᵉᵈ.

[chillwildwave]

Some 4*TOWN/ Turning Red memes I made cuz this fandom is starving:

[lordkuntfuck]

The homosexual urge to write fanfiction at work when I'm sitting around doing nothing

[sabotourist]

Lightning in a Bottle -- Tucker & Wash Superpower AU

Hey guys, want a superpower hurt/comfort Tucker & Wash AU? Well, have it anyway! Wherein Wash spends years trapped in a suit of life-support armor that keeps his dangerous, volatile superpower under lock and key. And where Tucker isn't having any of that horrifying shit.

Many thanks to @illusion-of-sea-axes for making the au with me, and for @leonardalphachurch and @kojoty for giving it the once-over before I posted!

Hopefully third chapter in Not Super Duper Long But Who Really Knows With Me.

[noxspluto]

Arthur secretly loves spending every waking moment with you.

Even if he’s in the distance, if he notices you doing something around the camp, taking care of the horses or managing the ammunition and food stock, he’ll smile bit to himself, and look away immediately because he can’t possibly comprehend liking you, and you liking him.

After all he went through, he feels it’s safer to stay away from you emotionally, even physically to an extent, because the overwhelming thoughts of wrapping you in a tight hug, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, and muttering slight words of what can be considered love, throws him down into realization of his past, and how he’ll never be able to lead you to a safer life.

So in the meantime, he’ll glance, he’ll smile a bit at what could have been, and he’ll leave it be, letting the dream stay a bittersweet dream.