#robin writes

[numberonecodwomenfan]

Mama’s Boy

my first writing on this account!! im actually pretty proud of this, despite the fact that i wrote it on my phone in probably 2 hrs lol.

TW for mentions of alcoholism and guns

König’s mother taught him to shoot. Before he even thought of joining the military, back when he was simply Edie’s boy- “the tall one, not the blond,”- from down the street. No one in the small town of Heugraben bothered with his all-too-common name. There were probably three Lukases from down the street, and he had yet to think of using his middle name, so Edith’s boy he became.

Edith was a small, stocky woman, with dark hair that had begun to gray at the roots. Her calloused hands guided König’s fingers to wrap around the trigger of the BB gun he had received for his twelfth birthday. He had been asking for one- his father would take him on hunting trips when he was sober enough to care, and König, young, naïve König, still held out hope that the man would return one day. He wanted to be able to impress his father with his marksmanship.

Edith had finally relented, and after a lengthy safety lecture that König barely paid attention to in his vibrating excitement, Edith set up some of Cristoph’s old practice targets in their vast backyard.

“Your hands are shaking, little prince,” she chastised, and reached out to steady him.

“Sorry, Mama.”

“No need for that,” Edith scoffed. She maneuvered König’s arms to the proper position and flicked the safety off. “Hold it up so the butt is against your shoulder,” Edith said. König received an admonishing flick to the back of the head when he giggled at her phrasing.

“Ow!” König turned to his mother with a pout. “If you keep flicking me like that, I’ll have a hole in my head!”

“Hm, maybe if you did I could finally dig around in there and get the cobwebs out,” Edith knocked on the crown of König’s head with her knuckles. He grumbled under his breath and Edith chuckled. “Alright, enough of that. Hold the end of the gun against your shoulder.” König did so, and Edith nodded. “Now look down the barrel of it. See the bump at the end? That’s the sight. That’s how you aim.”

König squeezed his left eye shut and pointed the sight at the target. His vision was a little blurry up this close, but he didn’t mention it.

“Now what?” He asked quietly.

“Now you line up the shot, and shoot.”

König tightened his grip on the gun, aimed, and hesitantly pulled the trigger. The sound startled him a bit and he stumbled back into his mother’s chest.

“Good job, Lukas!” Edith planted a kiss on top of König’s head (though she had to pull him down by the shoulders to do so) and clapped him on the shoulder. “Look- you hit it.”

König looked, and sure enough, he hit the target. Not a bullseye, but he hit it. A grin spread across his face, all crooked teeth and chubby cheeks, and he turned around to his mother.

“Papa’s gonna be so surprised when he comes back- he’ll finally let me help him on his hunting trips!”

Edith’s smile pinched and she took in a deep sigh. “Of course he will, my little prince.” She patted König’s shoulder and tried not to let her smile waver, lest she ruin König’s hope.

His brothers were older- they knew Cristoph wouldn’t come back. König, sweet, shy, wide-eyed and cherub-cheeked, in all his childlike innocence, couldn’t possibly imagine such a thing.

But of course, Papa never came back, as papas tend to do. Edith’s graying roots became salt-and-pepper, and the bags under her eyes deepened. König grew into his body, shooting up like a beanstalk even more than he had already, and by seventeen he had reached a mammoth six feet nine inches.

He had finally realized that being Lukas G. was frustrating, so suddenly, he was König. His middle name was fitting, as he certainly looked the part of a king- a towering, broad boy, with a crown of red hair, courtesy of Cristoph’s genes. His baby fat had mostly sloughed off, replaced by muscle, but his Oma still pinched his chubby cheeks as he said his goodbyes. He leaned down, nearly doubling over, so she could kiss him on the forehead.

“Stay safe, little prince,” she said with a smile.

“I will. I promise,” König shouldered his duffel bag and turned to his mother.

“Don’t go growing up on me while you’re gone,” Edith choked out through tears, “Come back for Hanukkah. And call, or write- I need to hear from you, okay?”

“I know, Mama. I will, I promise. I promise.” König hugged his mother as tightly as he dared. “I love you,” he said, face pressed against her hair.

“I love you too. So, so much,” she sighed, “now go.” Edith pulled away and shooed König off, into the military truck where his future laid.

[the-alice-of-hearts]

for five sentence friday! hmm… jaytim or dicktim? whichever you’re feeling

Tim sighed and then squared his shoulders, making sure that he was ready for whatever the other would throw at him. "No Jason, it's not true; I don't know what you think you saw, or heard, but I'm not-"

Jason grabbed Tim by the back of the neck and scruffed him. "It's not your turn to talk anymore baby bird, it's mine. and I know what I saw, heard, and smelled. You're sweet on me." Jason softly kissed Tim's cheek and then ran his nose up Tim's face to nuzzle against his temple. "I'm pretty far gone on you too, alpha."

[melonlthawne]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Damian Wayne is Robin, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Protective Siblings, Dick Grayson is a Better Parent Than Bruce Wayne, Baby Damian Wayne, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Regression/De-Aging, Magic, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne are Siblings, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), baby damian is adorable, Baby Damian, Comfort Summary:

After Damian disobeys Dick's order, the teen gets in over his head and gets hit with some sort of magic by a fleeing villain. Dick discovers Damian in one piece but he is now an infant. Bringing Damian back to the manor, Dick is tied between keeping it a secret from Bruce and the rest of the family, uprooting his life and starting over with his baby brother to try giving him a better life than the one he had before, or looking for a way to reverse the process to get things back to normal.

[tiredrobin]

"Nicooooo."

"Fucking hell. What."

Vash whines and shoves his stupid pointy nose into the meat of Nicholas's shoulder. Nicholas grimaces but, in a great display of patience, doesn't shove him off.

"My arm itches," Vash bemoans, voice muffled against Nicholas's skin.

"...Okay?"

Vash lifts his face to show off his pout. He doesn't say anything, just lifts his stump and wiggles it a little.

Oh. Duh. Nicholas rolls his eyes and nudges Vash around until he can get at the one flesh limb to his dumbass's name, stretching it out so it's draped across Nicholas's bare chest. "Where?"

Vash has the audacity to look pleased. "A lil' below the shoulder, on the underside."

Nicholas complies. He does it a bit too lightly at first, if Vash's breathy not-quite-giggle and reflexive twitching away is anything to go by, so he digs his nails a bit more firmly into the muscle of Vash's arm. Still, he's careful with the rings of scars, gentling his touch against the shadow of an old bullet wound, smoothing his fingers carefully around two small nodes of metal just above the elbow joint when his touch drifts that low.

Vash sighs against Nicholas's shoulder and leans more into him. It isn't long before Nicholas isn't scratching so much as he's just touching, the callouses of his palm catching and scraping against the rougher scars with every slow sweep up and down Vash's arm.

"Dumbass. If you wanted me to touch you, you coulda just said." It's supposed to come out teasing, but instead he says it all soft and fond.

Vash murmurs a wordless little noise and squints open eyes that had fallen shut with contentment. "You're good at figuring me out," he replies.

Nicholas exhales. He leans his head forward until he's pressing his cupid's bow to Vash's forehead in a not-quite-kiss, and he doesn't say anything when Vash murmurs a nothing noise again and burrows closer.

[untitledgirl5173]

In Perfect Synchronicity (Haruhi Suzumiya x Yuki Nagato)

Link to AO3 (Leave a Comment if you liked it!) https://archiveofourown.org/works/52059856

PREVIEW UNDER READ MORE!

The SOS brigade club room was as boring and menial as it ever had been. Kyon was helping Taniguchi today, so he was strangely absent. Koizumi was of course himself and would come and go at rather random intervals. And Mikuru had been seen being signed out of classes by her “Mother”. Haruhi had commented that it was strange that Mikuru’s mom looked nearly identical to her daughter. Though all this comment got was a murmur of agreement from Yuki.

This unfortunately left the SOS brigade's active and energetic leader with its most calm and docile. Yuki Nagato sat in her corner and held one of the books she always had with you. Nagato could have read these books faster than humans could perceive light, But the alien found books were one of the few comforts she was allowed in her mission. Books were worlds in her hands that told stories of normal girls and their normal lives. Yuki wanted to feel a fraction of the emotions or excitement of a normal high schooler.

Haruhi Suzumiya was nearly her opposite, a girl so desperate to get away from normal life she constantly ventured further and further to find them. So, it stood to reason the club as it was today left the High school god more than a little bored. She sighed loudly and leaned back in her chair and let out a loud breath to signify her boredom. Yuki of course did not react at all; her mission was purely observation. And of course, that would never….

“So, Give it to me straight, Yuki. You’re not human right?”

…. 

Yuki stared blankly at Haruhi, outside looking as calm as one could physically could. But if one placed a hand on Yuki’s body, they would notice it got 10 degrees hotter as she tried desperately to find a suitable reaction to Haruhi’s blunt statement. Haruhi being her usual self steamrolled right past Yuki’s answer or lack of.

“I get it, you don't want to tell Kyon, right? I bet he’d totally freak out.” Haruhi rationalized in her little spinning chair as she spun around casually as if nothing was wrong. “But you can tell me, I mean I kinda already know.” Haruhi put her foot down and stopped her spinning suddenly. Yuki wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen this exact smile on Haruhi’s face. It wasn’t cocky or overconfident like her normal smirk was. Yuki thought it looked strangely calming.

[rockingrobin69]

*softly whispering* hi hello I’ve started posting the story this snip is from on AO3. A WIP featuring tiny thieving Scorp, stubbly supportive Ron, werewolf-obsessed Teddy, and - well - family, and grief, and finding peace, grasping it in shaky rotten fingertips! anyway if you’re interested in a  story that is at its core, very soft, here’s: 

In the cracks, between the aisles

Chapter 3 coming maybe Friday? 

Love love love to you all 💖

[robinade]

Mandalorian Obi-Wan

Winner from my ask-meme poll was a request for 1k of this!

FYI this isn't a young Obi-Wan is raised as a mando (which I have read and enjoyed a lot of!). I was more interested in what it would take for Obi-Wan as an *adult* Jedi to get drawn into mando culture. Unrelated this is also my slut!Obi-Wan manifesto.

Official summary is TBD but the general idea is that Obi-Wan needs to take up the armor he once wore temporarily as a teen on that mission to Mandalore. That means finding an armorer, and results in getting involved with the mando diaspora on Coruscant.

Fic snippet:

The spire where Dooku is being held has had the turbolifts switched off, for security’s sake. 

Did they take Dooku up to his cell first, Obi-Wan wondered, or did they make the ex-Count ex-Jedi climb the stairs the whole way? Possibly one would be too out of breath to manage any type of escape attempt, because Obi-Wan himself is drawing on the Force just to keep up appearances. The Temple guard escorting him doesn’t seem to be having any problems, featureless and unperturbed in their hood and mask. Obi-Wan finds himself ruefully self-conscious of the sweat dampening his back and temples. 

The guard takes him to a point perhaps midway up the spire, judging by the occasional view out to the Coruscant skyline, and through multiple sets of blast doors until Obi-Wan is face to face with Yan Dooku, apart from the orange energy shield in between them. 

He’s a pale-skinned human, with piercing eyes under thick-set eyebrows and a hawkish nose. His hair is cropped short and with a neatly trimmed beard, both going white with age but, like many Jedi, Dooku carries his age lightly and stands straight-backed and tall. Handsome, in an austere way. His broad shoulders narrow to a slim waist and his short black tunic does little to disguise a pair of well-formed legs. The most notable thing about his appearance, apart from his height, are the Force suppressing cuffs that shine at each wrist. 

He might even be taller than Qui-Gon was, Obi-Wan thinks with some asperity. What is with this lineage and their unnecessarily tall humanoids? Even Anakin is likely to outgrow him, judging by the size of the boy’s hands and feet. 

“Grandmaster,” Obi-Wan says with a polite nod. “I understand you were asking to speak with me?” 

“Padawan of my padawan,” Dooku says formally. “Yes, I do wish to speak to you.” Interestingly, he doesn’t show a hint of deference. They might as well have bumped into each other at a restaurant, for how little attention Dooku pays to the fact that he’s in a cell. 

“Why me, if I may ask? It does seem odd that you want to speak to someone you’ve never met rather than your own master,” Obi-Wan says mildly, as if the answer really isn’t that important to him. In point of fact, Yoda had been so shocked at recent events– Palpatine’s murder, Dooku’s confession– that he had stepped down as Grand Master of the Order. Dooku’s silence on his motivations certainly wasn’t helping. 

“Does it seem odd?” Dooku replies evenly. “It is not my intent to be secretive.”

Considering Dooku refused to talk to anyone, including his judiciary-assigned defendant, Obi-Wan doesn’t dignify that comment with an answer and merely raises an eyebrow. 

“It was a calculation, as in my current position I have no leverage but information. I didn’t think the High Council would be favorable of me speaking to you unless curiosity made them desperate,” Dooku explains. 

Obi-Wan has to concede the point, having been present during much of the Council’s deliberations. He wasn’t on Coruscant when Dooku was first remediated to Jedi care– Judiciary forces not being sure they can keep a powerful former-Jedi like Dooku contained– but he’d been in meetings with Master Windu and the Council nearly since the moment he landed planetside with Anakin. 

At first, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why. He’d never met the man who trained his master, since Dooku left the Jedi order to become the Count of Serenno about the same time that Qui-Gon accepted Obi-Wan as his padawan, so he had no insight as to why Dooku would choose to assassinate the High Chancellor. Then it was revealed to him that Dooku had asked for Obi-Wan by name– no wonder the Council had grilled him mercilessly. Frankly, If Obi-Wan had been anywhere in the system (instead of wading through knee deep mud on a mission close to the outer rim) he would be under suspicion as an accomplice to be sure. 

Obi-Wan eyes the other man, standing calmly with his arms crossed. Was it luck, or did Dooku deliberately wait until his grandpadawan had an airlock-alibi? Obi-Wan would assume he was thinking too highly of himself to consider such a thing, but then Dooku asked for him specifically… 

“The fact of the matter is, Knight Kenobi, that the Sith were not destroyed on Ruusan, as the Jedi believe. They lived, carrying on their plans for the defeat of the Jedi and subjugation of the galaxy in secret. The downfall of the Republic would not come from an overwhelming outside force this time, but from the cancerous spread of darkness within.” Dooku’s tone of voice is serious, almost lecturing. He doesn’t sound like a prisoner. Instead, he sounds like a politician, or perhaps a scholar. Albeit one whose curriculum has driven him to madness. Sensing Obi-Wan’s doubt, Dooku harrumphs at him. “You doubt my words?”

“I think those who seek darkness are bound to find it, grandmaster,” Obi-Wan says truthfully. “Whether that is Sith or otherwise remains to be seen.” 

He expects annoyance from the other man, but instead Dooku smiles thinly. “You are cautious. That is good. Still, whether you believe me or not, the Sith line of Darth Bane continued unbroken… until now, when I killed Darth Sidious, who was the apprentice to Darth Plagueis. The line of Bane ends with me, for I’ll not train another.” 

Obi-Wan stands still as stone, inwardly reeling. What a statement to make! First to claim that Chancellor Palpatine of all people was a Sith lord– and it could only be Palpatine, for Dooku so carefully arranged the murder to affect no bystanders; even the chancellor’s guards were incapacitated by the planted bomb rather than killed. And then for Dooku to name himself among the Sith as well? Was he meant to take this nonsense seriously?

“It’s a very interesting claim to make to be sure, grandmaster,” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully, stroking his beard with a recently formed habit. “You might try to plea that you were saving the Republic with the death of Chancellor Palpatine– a chancy matter, unless you have some sort of evidence. But then to also claim to be a member of our old enemies, the same as the chancellor, rather detracts from that statement, don’t you think?”

Dooku deigns to snort at this comment. “I have no interest in saving the Republic. The governing body has grown rotten and the powerful take what they want from the weak and rarely do they suffer repercussions. No, I think the Republic deserves what Sidious had planned for it. A civil war the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a millennia,” Dooku says, looking off into the distance as if he’s imagining it. “The bloated corpse of the Republic would shake itself to pieces and from the rubble a new empire would emerge.” 

Obi-Wan is finding it all too easy to imagine, unfortunately. The tensions between different systems, the conflicts between the outer rim and the mid, the Corporate sector expanding their territory and the Republic always conceding ground, the Hutts and the pirates branching out along further hyperlanes– and the Jedi, often scrambling from emergency to emergency and rarely able to impact genuine policy change that could bring peace that lasts longer than a few months. 

“What about the Jedi?” he asks faintly. 

Dooku brushes some unseen lint off his tunic dismissively. “Stagnated and chained to the Republic’s dissolving throne. A war would force the Jedi to change… or die. I was hoping for the former, of course. But if the Order could not adapt, well, I’m not sure it would deserve to remain.” 

Obi-Wan puts a hand over his mouth, feeling ill. He knew intellectually that Dooku had fallen, but now he can feel it in the casual disregard for life. No– there has to be more to it. There has to! If Dooku was truly lost to the dark, why had he worked to avoid any collateral damage in his attack on Palpatine? A planted bomb had ensured that Palpatine’s guards weren’t able to help him, but while there had been injuries there were no other deaths besides the obvious one. And he had stepped down from the role of Count months earlier in favor of his sister, so that kept Serenno from being implicated in the murder, much like the Jedi and Obi-Wan himself were able to be dismissed from being involved. 

“Why change your mind?” Obi-Wan desperately wants to know. 

Dooku glances away from Obi-Wan, looking awkward for the first time. “I received a visitation from Qui-Gon’s spirit,” he admits. “For a man who focused so much on the present while alive, his spirit has developed a strong sense of prescience.”

“That’s impossible,” Obi-Wan snaps. 

“You needn’t be upset about it, you were his first choice,” Dooku replied calmly. “But the Force is too muddled on Coruscant for him to be heard. He spent years trying anyway. And then he had difficulty finding you when you were on missions. The few times he managed it he was eclipsed by Skywalker’s power in the force.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but shake his head, refusing to accept it. “It’s a very interesting story, grandmaster, to be sure. You’re going to be locked up for many years– perhaps you can write novels to pass the time.” 

Dooku continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “Qui-Gon knew about the war that Sidious was planning, but more than that he could see the rebellion that came after, and the war after that. Whole planets obliterated! Their art and their cultures gone forever. The history of the Jedi lost, our artifacts destroyed or perverted…” Dooku trailed off, looking deeply troubled. 

Our artifacts, he said, Obi-Wan noticed. [insert more stuff here about what ob1 thinks about all this, and qui-gon’s ghost and stuff]

“I won’t allow it,” Dooku said finally. “Palpatine has been neutralized but there are still a few pieces still in motion that cannot easily be stopped. Knight Kenobi,” Dooku says formally, “there is an army being built in wild space that will determine the fate of the Jedi. You will be the one to find it, but you must take up your Mandalorian armor before you do.”

[robinthebard]

Hope You're Ok

I moved out in 2018.

I didn't take much with me.

I remember exchanging final words on the campus when you followed me.

You hissed of betrayal, you spat cold venom

Curses upon me like the ones reserved for our father.

I could see your arms trembling with fear.

You didn't know where I'd be going.

This new Abandonment was the cruelest thing I could've done to you.

By now, we have both long since became adults.

I remember grown-ups telling us we had already become adults

when we hadnt even reached our teens.

We held onto eachother a lot.

We were scared children for so long.

I remember when it became obvious we were different people.

When we couldnt share everything anymore.

We were attached at the hip out of legal necessity, kept as a package for the sake of logistical simplicity.

This would serve as a point of friction between us until it broke.

Even now though, I hesitate to say I was right to leave you behind.

This New Year's Eve, pushing into my second year on E.

I've cried more times than I can remember in the last week.

The world creaks and groans under the weight of sustained cruelty.

I think about how we used to hurt eachother.

I think about your nails digging into my arm.

I think about the times I held you when you cried.

I think about the ways you lied to protect yourself from our mother.

I can only hope you're ok now.

I can only hope you made it through everything, no matter what.

This is my final attempt to be a good brother to you.

I hope you don't mind having a sister now.

It was always unfair that you were alone, I'm sorry.

With Love, Robin

[tearsofperseides]

12 for Lucius and Izzy 👀

I don't PERSONALLY like how this turned out, but the idea I had in mind is still generally there

(kissing prompts)

Lucius came out on the deck. It was 3 AM and he needed a smoke. He had another one of his nightmares, but what had truly woken him up was the sound of that fucking bell Blackbeard has to wear around his neck, yes, even while asleep and he’s quite a tosser. In both senses.

“Not sleeping either, huh, twatty?” 

“Jesus, fuck me!” Lucius winced at the sudden voice behind him, it took him a second to recognize the voice, “Oh, it’s you. No, guess not.”

Izzy sat down on the deck beside him. “What? You came here to lecture me some more?”

“No, came here to smoke, actually,” Izzy said, taking Lucius’ cigarette and pulling a lighter out of his pocket.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, “These’ll kill you, y’know” He remarked before blowing out the smoke from his mouth.

“So much for not lecturing me, I see” Lucius replied, a hint of a lightheartedly sarcastic smile on his lips.

Izzy chuckled, this was the first time he saw the remnants of the old Lucius. An idea popped into his head, he decided to go for it. 

“Have you ever been sketched?” Izzy asks and takes another drag from his cigarette.

Lucius turns his head towards him. Almost not believing what just came out of Isreal Hands' mouth. He raises his eyebrows, asking for confirmation.

Izzy doesn't take that smug look off his face, the same look he gave him before giving him that godforsakenly beautifully whittled shark. However, as Lucius has noticed, Izzy has been stealing little glances at his lips throughout this entire exchange.

Lucius blew the smoke out of his mouth slowly, clearly looking at his lips, and started leaning in. Izzy leaned in too, just a little.

Their lips met halfway. It was a nice kiss, fulfilling in some strange way. Both of them were attracted to each other, there was no doubt, but the kiss wasn't as passion-filled as Lucius had thought it was gonna be.

Maybe it was Izzy's approach that changed. Maybe it was he himself who changed, Lucius thought. Maybe it was both of them.

[radioactive-juice]

I don’t think I’ve introduced Ambriel yet here. So I guess this is their intro lmao. They are talking about Dorian if it wasn’t obvious.

based on this post

[brown-little-robin]

43: Interlude: Cell Phone

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3 version

“He’s gone?” Bart looks around as if Thad might materialize in the living room.

“Yes, he’s gone. He left.”

Bart snorts. Max is feeling a bit highly strung at the moment and it annoys him.

“Okay so, what’re you gonna do about it?”

Max doesn’t know. He’s not fast enough to catch Thad. He knows Thad is marginally faster than him, especially in sprints. At least, Thad’s clones are. And after what Thad had thrown in his face—‘you don’t want to have to kill me!’—he didn’t start after Thad soon enough to catch him.

What a mess.

Max came home after Thad ran away, but the house was empty, Helen being at work. He tried the lair again, but that was empty too. After that, he didn’t know where to search. So he texted Bart.

Bart’s fingers start tapping on his leg. In adulthood, Bart has learned to manage his frantic energy somewhat, but it’s still in him, endlessly spilling out.

“I don’t know,” Max answers before Bart gets too hyper.

“Well he’s gone, whaddya want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Max repeats with a groan, and sits down on the couch. There’s been too much standing today.

“Want me to go find him?”

“No! No.” Max collects himself. “No, he’s still… not ready to meet you.”

Bart jitters in place for a moment, then starts pacing. Max sighs. Bart meeting Thad would a perfect way to turn a mess into a disaster. Thad clearly still hates Bart, even after choosing to spare him. Max is afraid that the roots of loathing go so deep in the boy that pulling it out would make him crumble.

“I was joking,” Bart pouts. “But seriously. Are you okay, Max?”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to ask you a question. In your opinion, what do you think Thad would have done? Where would he have gone?”

Max is a little frantic. Thad Thawne, out in the world, completely unchecked, completely alone, with no one to help him through a panic attack or guard him during one of his various kinds of episodes… it’s a nightmare scenario.

Bart says, “Why do you think I know? I mean, he’s the complete opposite of me, that’s the whole point.”

“So use that. What would you have done? What’s the opposite of that?”

Bart blinks. Then he says, “If I had an argument with you?”

“Yes!”

Bart shrugs. “I’d… go visit Cissie and cool off maybe?”

Max frowns. “You’d visit a friend. Thad… would isolate himself.”

“Max—”

“I knew that already,” Max says to himself. “He always hides in his bedroom when he’s overwhelmed. But he’s not there now… so where…? He always talks about being dangerous when he feels trapped, and I don’t know how serious he is about that…”

“Max.”

Bart is frowning at Max. “Are you okay?”

Max drops his head into his hands.

“No,” he admits.

“Didn’t think so.”

A blink later, Bart is shoving a plate of cookies into Max’s hands. Snickerdoodles.

“Calm down,” Bart advises. “It’ll be fine.”

For a moment, Max wants to scream and throw something and run away. It is not fine. Thad is gone. How is Max supposed to calm down!

And then he lets the feelings sweep over him and dissipate, and when he looks up, Bart is still there, fingers drumming on his leg. He’s so tall! Max is used to looking at his fourteen-year-old double, skinny little Thad; looking at grown-up Bart again is, frankly, like a breath of fresh air.

Max smiles at him.

“You’re right,” he says. “How did you grow up so wise?”

Bart shrugs. “I guess I had a pretty good teacher.”

“Just pretty good?”

Bart laughs and doesn’t answer. “Hey, is Helen here?”

“No, she had to work.”

Max feels the familiar sparkling-water feeling of Bart speeding up and running away. He doesn’t follow, because he’s fairly sure Bart is just going to say hello to Helen and Max is not going to be party to breaking into her work building.

While Bart is gone, Max takes the opportunity to set the plate of cookies down on the endtable. He eats one. It is delicious, warm and buttery, with a delicate crusting of cinnamon sugar on top. Bart got them hot from somewhere. Max has to admit that the cookie helps calm his nerves.

Thad is out there, somewhere. Alive. It will be fine. Thad will be fine. They'll figure this out.

Bart speeds back into the living room, grinning.

“Helen says hi. Hey, are you sure it’s a bad idea for me to go look for him?”

“Yes. Thank you for your help, though, Bart.”

“No problem!” Bart locks his hands behind his back, a move so reminiscent of Thad that Max smiles. He bounces on his toes, thinking. “What’s his phone number?”

“What?”

“His phone number! Maybe he’ll answer an unknown number.”

Bart places his phone in Max’s hand, open and ready to receive a phone number. Max looks down at the cursor and laughs.

“I haven’t even called him myself yet.”

He didn't even think of it. He gives Bart back his phone, fishes his own cellphone out from his pocket, and dials Thad’s number. He puts the phone to his ear.

It rings. Rings. Rings.

“Max,” Thad’s raspy voice says, made more crackly by the phone.

Oh, thank the speed force. A miracle.

“Thad,” Max replies, and Bart mouths He answered!! Max says, “Good to hear your voice, kiddo.”

“I’m not your 'kiddo'.”

It won’t help anything to argue with him. Max asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” A pause. “Here’s Joseph.”

Oh, Thad is with Joseph? Max barely has time to realize that Thad isn’t off somewhere alone, stewing in anger or having a panic attack or something, when he hears Joseph’s slow mechanized phone-voice start.

“Hello, thank you for calling. The boy is okay.”

The phone voice must not have the name “Thad” loaded. Max smiles. “The boy”. The boy is okay.

“Good. So… I think I should leave him with you.”

“Probably. Yes.”

Joseph’s phone voice is more distant and concise than his in-person signing. Which makes sense, of course, but it is a bit off-puttingly businesslike.

Well, businesslike it shall be. Better than standing around moping.

“I’ll move Thad’s stuff to your house later,” Max says, planning out loud. “Shall I text you in a little bit, when—”

Sparkling, candy-sweet lightning lights up Max’s speed force sense, and Bart is in motion before Max can call him back. Darn it, Max is getting old.

“—I get the opportunity…?” Max finishes, slightly distracted by the bright motion in the periphery of his senses.

Oh, wait.

Oh, no! Max drops the phone—he’ll be back to catch it before it hits the floor—and goes to catch Bart.

He’s too late. The room is clean, bare except for the “VIGILANTES BY INVITATION ONLY! THIS MEANS YOU, MAX!” sign on the door. Bart has taken everything to Joseph’s mother’s house already. How did he even know where to go?! Did he know where to go, or did he go ask someone about it? He did, didn’t he. Max can’t believe this.

Bart returns with a salute, and Max sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Great.

“Don’t tell Thad you did that.”

“What, why?”

“He’s a very private person,” Max explains with all the patience he developed from raising Bart. “He probably wouldn’t like the idea of you going through his personal possessions.”

“Oh.” Bart thinks about that for a moment. “I liked his stuff. It’s a good start.”

Max laughs. Bart is still Bart. Endearing, wonderful Bart.

His laugh turns into a hitched breath, and tears come to his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Bart says, half alarmed, half soft and earnest. “Aw, don’t cry, Max.”

“You’d better go, then,” Max says, as dryly as he can. A tear slips out of his right eye and starts trailing down his cheek. “I’ve been crying too much recently.”

Bright motion, and then Bart is hugging him, fierce and tight as Thad ever did.

Max sniffs, gets hair in his nose, snorts, then gives up and buries his face in Bart’s hair. There’s no escaping that hair, really. Not when Bart is finally just the right height to get that hair wet with Max's tears and snot if he so chooses.

Max holds onto his first son and cries for his second son. And for himself. Mostly, if he’s being honest, for himself.

And Bart holds him, strong and sure and better than Max ever deserved.

[ikcaris]

Patient is the Night

Summary: Trevor and Sypha settle in for the night after a long day of monster slaying.

Trevor x Sypha

[the-alice-of-hearts]

how about Dick/Tim first kiss? i'm obsessed with the way you write them 😍

Tim stared at Dicks lips again, watching so carefully as Dick licked his lips; he desperately wanted to feel them.

"Tim?" Dick looked at him with a smile on those lips. "What's wrong?"

"Kiss me," he whispered, so softly he wasn't sure that Dick would hear him.

Tim wanted to memorize the feeling of Dick's lips on his, soft and caring; Dick led the kiss holding his face softly.

"Like that?" Dick asked, a teasing smile gracing his lips once more.

[melonlthawne]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Damian Wayne is Robin, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Protective Siblings, Dick Grayson is a Better Parent Than Bruce Wayne, Baby Damian Wayne, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Regression/De-Aging, Magic, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne are Siblings, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), baby damian is adorable, Baby Damian, Comfort Summary:

After Damian disobeys Dick's order, the teen gets in over his head and gets hit with some sort of magic by a fleeing villain. Dick discovers Damian in one piece but he is now an infant. Bringing Damian back to the manor, Dick is tied between keeping it a secret from Bruce and the rest of the family, uprooting his life and starting over with his baby brother to try giving him a better life than the one he had before, or looking for a way to reverse the process to get things back to normal.

[tiredrobin]

"Are you... are you sweating? SecUnit?"

What is with humans asking obvious questions? "Yes."

"...Why?"

I guess that's a less obvious question. No less annoying, though. "Because my temp mod is fucked."

Ratthi sits up quickly, alarmed, which is stupid because I'm clearly unconcerned by it. "What!?" he exclaims.

Gurathin offers little more than a twitch from his corner, but I can tell he's looking at me. I have a dozen drones set about in different parts of the space, obviously, so of course I can tell.

I'm not going to get away without elaborating, huh? "It's fine." That's elaborative enough.

(Is "elaborative" a word? I look it up to find that, yes, it is. Technically. Score one for Murderbot.)

Ratthi still looks alarmed. I don't actually enjoy alarming Ratthi because he's nice and he doesn't bother me too much when I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like talking now. His expression goes a little pinched—still worried—and he leans back into his chair.

Ugh. "I'm running some code," I explain reluctantly. "Trying to shore up some walls."

"Why?"

"Pin-Lee mentioned a bot-virus thing that causes weird temperature anomolies. It can't infect me—it isn't compatible with my architecture—but there's no reason not to prepare against something like that."

Gurathin finally pipes up from his corner, "Are you running a virus?"

"Yes."

Somehow Ratthi looks even more concerned. I can't read Gurathin's expression and I don't really bother trying. "Isn't that dangerous?" Ratthi asks. "Couldn't you... fry yourself?"

"I'm not stupid," I say, maybe a little too sharp. "I programmed it within a set of parameters in case something goes wrong. If temperatures become hot enough to start burning my neural tissue, I'll go into a shutdown and restart and the virus will purge. I needed to test a few things to see how vulnerable the modules are."

Infuriatingly, Ratthi shoots a glance at Gurathin. Gurathin shrugs. Ratthi looks back at me. "You could have told one of us," he says finally. "In case you do shut down, I mean."

What? Why? I almost ask that, but the pieces click. Oh. "Okay," I say, because I don't really know what else to say. Ratthi's implying he'd freak out, which makes sense, and which is something I really hadn't considered. After thinking it over, I send the killcode and shut down the virus, and then I translate the data from its death into something a non-programmer human can understand and shunt it over to Ratthi and Gurathin's feeds. It's not an apology, really, but it also kind of is.

Ratthi's shoulders drop with obvious relief. He doesn't comment more on the topic like he can tell I really do not want to keep talking about it. "Did you get the data you need?"

"Yes." Not entirely.

Ratthi smiles at me. Ugh. I turn my whole body away. I don't need my humans telling me they care about me so damn often, especially when I have no time to prepare, because I tend to get emotions about it and I don't really like to have emotions about things in general (discounting my shows, but that's a given). Fortunately, Ratthi doesn't actually say anything, and from the view of the drone pointed right at his face I see him turn away. Garuthin stares at me for a little bit longer before finally going back to his own feed. Thank fuck.

[untitledgirl5173]

Love Live 2077: A Cyberpunk 2077 retelling. Chapter one: The fall of Dia Kurosawa

(Preview under Read more)

Night City had a way of swallowing you into its ecosystem and spitting you out either dead or a legend. It had already swallowed near everyone I knew. It's funny, I used to dream of making a change with my music. Hell, I even tried for a bit, But in the end I ended up here. On my way to a bar in Watson with nothing but my ride, and a sidearm, and a plan to sabotage my boss's competition. I must be out of my mind right? At Least that's how I feel right now.

Working for Arasaka was the dream for anyone in business in Night City. They were the kings of the castle in Night City. And that was far more than just an exaggeration, you couldn't trip over a curb that isn't owned by Arasaka. It was my dream, and it looked like it would be my casket as well.

I take another hit of my Hormone balancer to steel my nerves as I walk up to the bar. I'm greeted immediately by a girl in a tank top and ridiculously shiny pink shorts. She raises her bat at me threateningly before giving me a playful wink “Hey D, You’s in the back waiting for you. Just try not to get in another fight please… Boss technically wants you banned” The girl says with a smirk as she steps aside.

The bar ‘Lizzies’ was run by the Mox, A punk group formed sometime around 2067 to protect girls like Dolls and Joytoys. One of the few gangs in Night city not out for blood constantly. I smile and step inside, my senses immediately assaulted from all over as the loud bass booms through the club and the light shines right in my eye. I was never much for clubs and their scenes, But You was always around these sorts of places.

I spotted the buff girl sitting by the bar and taking another shot of Tequila. I sighed and put on my best smile to make it seem like I wasn't completely going insane. “Hey You, Let me guess, A shot of Vodka, lime juice, and ginger beer” I said with a knowing smirk. In all the years I’d known You she took her drinks the same way each time.

“Forgetting the best part, Choom! You know it's no good if you don’t add a bit of love.” She laughed and took another shot back, Always in good spirits of course. She gave me a salute and winked “And a hearty Yousoro~”