No More Yielding but a Dream

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: child neglect, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Tim lowkey stalking the Waynes as a stand-in for actual affection

Excerpt:

So anyway — everything's finally all sorted out, and Tim's finally back to having great ideas.

And this one's the best idea he thinks he's ever had, honestly. It comes to him all at once, when he catches sight of the bruising on Jason's collar bone.

Jason laughs it off, of course. "B dragged me off on some dumb waterskiing thing after school yesterday, and I ate shit like you wouldn't believe."

And he's right. Tim doesn't believe it.

He knows very well that Jason got that bruise tangling with Killer Croc near the docks at the far edge of the harbor last night. Tim was there, crouched in a rowboat at water level so that he could get a few close-ups complete with splash effects.

But for the first time, sitting on that bus, it occurs to him: Batman and Robin and Nightwing keep the people of Gotham and Blüdhaven safe, it's true. It's an important job. Maybe the most important job.

But who keeps them safe? Does anyone know to look out for the bruises and the scrapes and the dark smudges under Jason's eyes?

Well — Tim does.

Tim might be the only one who does.

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: canon-typical violence and case details, Tim is desperately bad at self-care

Excerpt:

Jason comes awake all at once.

One second he's out, and the next the world is there around him, sharp as razors and in devastatingly high definition. There's the rattle of a crowbar on concrete ringing in his ears and the dead weight of his brother in his arms, battered and bleeding, snippets that echo up from his dreams to chase him into waking.

For a second, conscious thought evades him; he shoots an arm out, automatic, to draw the knife that's never not in a sheath at his hip.

Then a voice says, comfortingly dry: "Nobody here to stab, unless you're looking for a do-over on me."

His brain creeps a little more awake. His thoughts, shifting and churning, focus enough to clock the voice.

"Replacement?" he manages, tongue thick in his mouth, like everything's packed in cotton.

"You expecting someone else?" says Tim.

Jason scrubs at his eyes, roughly, to get rid of the crud around them, and then blinks them open. The light's shifted; he's slept through the night, apparently, and they're well into mid-morning.

The sun still stabs at his eyes like a knitting needle, and he squints them shut again, groaning. He feels vaguely nauseous.

"If you're going to puke," says Tim, "the trash can's on your side of the bed."

For a long couple of seconds, Jason thinks he might.

But he clenches his teeth, and he breathes through it, and everything stays down, not like he's had much of anything to come up lately, anyway.

There's a rustle beside him, and then the whir of a grapple. The ambient light behind his eyelids goes decidedly darker.

"Better?" says Tim.

He opens his eyes again, cautiously, to find that Tim's grabbed hold of a grapple on the bedside table — hooked the line onto the curtains to tug them closed against the light. As Jason watches, he twists his wrist, practiced and casual, and the hook comes free again to reel back in.

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: sickfic, emotional hurt/comfort, Tim is extremely bad at self-care, truth serum effects

Excerpt:

Maybe there's still time to slink out of the manor, go back to his apartment, and hide until everyone forgets this night ever happened.

It's a good plan.

It's a great plan, actually, right up until he swings his legs over the side of the bed, shoves himself up to standing, and crumples like that crash test dummy Lucius uses to try out new transport tech in the R&D department.

"Hell," mutters Tim, from his heap down on the floor.

"Master Tim," says Alfred, from the doorway, and Tim wonders if it's not too late to somehow rewind the last five minutes and stay in bed, pretending to be asleep. Time travel's possible. Surely if he can get ahold of the schematics for a device, he can reverse engineer a version that works well enough to preserve at least a portion of his dignity.

"You have a fever of one hundred and three," says Alfred in that mild, reproachful tone that somehow always manages to make Tim feel like the most unreasonable person in the world without raising his voice a single decibel above a speaking tone.

"It's cool," says Tim, from the floor. "I know how to handle fevers."

Alfred raises a single eyebrow. It's a motion, somehow, that conveys more than quite a lot of scholars might manage to pack into a ten-page fully cited essay.

"I do," Tim protests, offended.

"Certainly," says Alfred, smoothly. "Which is why you're on the floor."

Tim shifts slightly to free his face from where it's pressed up against his own knees. "You're the worst," he means to say. "You're the best," he says instead, "and I don't know what I'd do without you."

There's a long, long pause.

Tim isn't sure which of them is more surprised. He doesn't think he's ever seen Alfred's eyes go that wide before.

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: child neglect, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Tim lowkey stalking the Waynes as a stand-in for actual affection

Excerpt:

"Okay," says Jason. "Seriously, what's up?"

"What?" says Tim, stupidly. He's been kind of drowsing, but he shakes himself awake — sees that the bus is trundling past the brownstones in Gotham Heights on its way toward Bristol.

"I mentioned the Chelsea Tunnel construction, and you didn't have a twenty-four step program to keep Gotham Public Works from messing it up," says Jason. "Something's wrong."

"Is not," says Tim, and his eyes flicker closed again. "I've just been busy." And then, because he can't help himself: "But I've got a PowerPoint. I sent it to City Hall during the public comment period."

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: canon-typical violence and case details, Tim is desperately bad at self-care

Excerpt:

Dick's gone abruptly pale, but he's got the sense to listen to orders; he settles himself in the chair, prepping his own arm for the needle. "What the hell happened?" he says, all of his usual good cheer vanished.

"What happened," says Jason, biting off every word like he's trying to tear through too-dry beef jerky with his teeth, "is that Red Robin went dark three fucking days ago and nobody noticed he was gone."

Because that's the worst part, at the end of the day.

Nobody was ever going to notice Jason missing; that's by design. His case files are separate, his safehouses are private, he backs somebody up on patrol maybe once a week, when he's feeling generous. The rest of the time, he's radio silent; he doesn’t share what he's up to, and the Bats don't ask. That's how they keep from killing each other.

So no one was ever going to come looking for Jason, and if there's some small, quiet part of him that quails at that, that remembers the hard iron of a crowbar and blood on a concrete floor, well, that part of him can fuck right off. He's made his choices, and those choices have gotten him here. Cause and consequence. There's no goddamn reason for anyone to notice he's missing.

But the replacement is supposed to be part of a team.

The replacement is supposed to be part of a family.

The replacement was so matter-of-factly sure Dick wouldn't show up looking for him that first day, and Jason blew him off about it, even though Tim already goddamn knew.

===

Assorted Bat-media and Dead Boy Detectives

At first I thought it would be really funny because Edwin and Charles would show up in the Batcave to do research on a random ghost-related case in Jersey, and that the Bats would get progressively more paranoid as they kept finding things out of place a la a standard haunting.

But then I realized EVERY Bat has either died or had a near death experience, so they would be able to see those boys immediately. So actually it would be more like: Edwin and Charles crash the Batcave to do research for some case in Jersey, and as soon as the Bats come downstairs, they're just like, "Who are these random British kids and how did they get in here??"

And then a case collab, of course, because we've got two sets of detectives, and everyone would get to be badass and play to their strengths.

Dead Boy Detectives and Baldur's Gate 3

I never got as far as figuring out how they would end up in the same location, but it would almost certainly have to be Edwin and Charles showing up en route to Baldur's Gate, because I just really love the idea of them going, "This is so deeply messed up, all of these people need our help," and then trying to Fix It via detective solutions that probably won't work within world, but the fact that they're already dead will get them a lot farther than they would have otherwise.

Meanwhile, every single cast member of BG3 would be sitting there going, "Oh, these sweet summer children," with varying degrees of pity/disgust/protectiveness, depending on which character. Wyll would freaking love those kids.

Cue case solving in situations that should probably not be apt for case solving, but somehow they muddle through.

Baldur's Gate 3 and Fear and Hunger

In which Cazador isn't aiming for the Rite of Profane Ascension, but is looking for the throne in Ma'habre to become a New God. The world's most cursed dungeon is in fact accessible via the mines below the Szarr palace; conveniently it goes down nine levels, and the barrier between realms is suspiciously thin at the bottommost.

So when our heroes rock up to the palace looking for him, Cazador is Awfully Far Down, and somewhere in the depths there are the horrors.

All those spawn wandering the mines either are or join the wolf mask cult cannibalism orgy, and there's lots of monstrous set dressing in the form of wtf has been living (or not) down there all this time. At some point they run into a thief, a lady knight, a berserker, a necromancer, and a little girl.

Also there's limb loss, as is proper and traditional.

Fear and Hunger and FFXV

There was such a big gap between these fandoms that I didn't put as much thought into this one as I usually do, but the vibe was going to be some fuckery with the gods from FFXV and the gods from Fear and Hunger, and poor Noct getting caught up in whatever monstrous pact THAT would have to be, if he ended up able to call on, say, Grogoroth or even Sylvian.

God, now I'm just picturing those summons FF style. Ha… haha… RIP Noct. These boys are all going to have SO much trauma.

FFXV and Tiger and Bunny

Okay, but like. Noct, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis as corporate stylized superheroes with sponsors is a hell of a thought, right? I never worked out what their powers would be exactly, but they would look badass and kick some ass and take some names.

Just wanted them wholesale inserted into the world, fighting crime on camera and occasionally having some banter with Kotetsu and Barnaby.

===

This one isn't very far along yet, but I'm back on my food-as-a-metaphor-for-love kick, this one about being expected to serve other people as a stand-in for having to give of yourself emotionally even when you're running on empty and no one gives back to you in return

Brief snippet: ===

Tim is four years old when his parents allow him to attend his first dinner party.

It's for his mother's birthday, and an event planner has transformed their living room for for the occasion. Everything drips silver and crisp navy blue, from the embroidered linen napkins to the glittering strands of crystals that hang, sparkling, from the ceiling.

They have a string quartet hired out for the evening, playing in the corner nearest the hearth. A professional photographer is taking pictures for the society pages of Gotham's Finest magazine. The food has been catered, an array of hors d'oeuvres on elegant raised platters that Tim is too short to reach. He hasn't eaten since breakfast this morning, even though it's nearly nine pm according to the grandfather clock that stands in the entryway.

No one has noticed.

This one is literally just a collection of the scenes I've cut from other fics for pacing/went a different direction/whatever that I thought could in theory be used elsewhere later. I tend to have one for every fandom I write for and just hold onto them in case they ever get used for something else or become their own thing. I'll drop a couple of examples here for fun :> ===

"A moment, Master Timothy, if you will?" says Alfred.

He's standing on Tim's doorstep, for some reason Tim can't seem to fathom.

Tim spends what feels like an endless moment just staring at him. He can't remember having ever seen Alfred outside of the manor or the car before. It's like one of those nature documentaries, where they catch some creature in the wild in a place that's not its natural habitat, and the narrator spends a very long time talking about the potential reason why in a cultivated British accent.

Come to think of it, Alfred would make a pretty good narrator for a nature documentary.

Tim says none of that. Instead, he realizes he's just staring and has been for perhaps a beat too long, and he remembers his manners. "Of course," says Tim, and he steps quickly out onto the porch and closes the door behind him. For some reason, the thought of Alfred seeing his parents' foyer, cold and unwelcoming, makes his stomach squirm.

===

It doesn't click for him until he hears the words spoken out loud.

Because the thing is — the thing is, Batman does need a Robin. After Jason died, in those long, dark weeks, Bruce had started to crumble.

Night after night, Gotham's protector had dragged himself home with knife wounds, and bullet holes, and bruises. Night after night, the Batman had thrown himself into firefights with what seemed like no plan at all, as though he didn't mean to walk away at the end of them.

So Batman had needed a Robin. He'd needed someone to look out for him.

But here's Jason, back from the dead. Here's Jason, who'd once walked the streets of Gotham in vibrant colors, filling the silence with daring laughter. Here's Jason — and if Jason is here, then what use does Bruce have for Tim?

For the first time, Tim falters.

For the first time, that straightforward matter-of-factness flickers, and his stomach seems to plunge somewhere into his ankles.

===

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my fics :>

Oh, man. First of all, thank you so much. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing style!

Oh man, I somehow completely missed this ask. Sorry it took me forever to reply, but I'm so glad you liked it!

It's a follow-up in the Completely Reasonable Precautions-verse, in which Jason and Tim get stuck together in an enclosed space and get to go "hey, matching claustrophobia" over Jason having been buried alive and Tim having accidentally given himself a buried alive phobia after his poor decisions with fear toxin inoculation.

Got tagged by @mikkeneko for a WIP game :>

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

Technically I don't have a WIP folder, I just arrange by fandom, so I'll just post all of my currently-being-worked-on wip files: crumbling brick3

birdwatching4

birdwatching5

birdwatching6

birdwatching7

iou6

iou7

iou8

shaky foundations

serving cake

unused snippet

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: sickfic, emotional hurt/comfort, Tim is extremely bad at self-care, truth serum effects

Excerpt:

"— you copy?" someone is saying into his ear, when he can concentrate again. "Red, do you hear me?"

"I'm here," Tim manages, after a moment, when he thinks he can talk again. He closes his eyes, and he opens them again. He licks at his lips. His mouth is as dry as the desert, cloyingly sweet. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep for a thousand years.

"The hell happened?" says Jason.

The answer comes swift and automatic, like it's bypassing his brain entirely. Maybe it is: the instinct to report when Bruce demands it is hardwired into him, at this point.

"Just a little dizzy," says Tim. "Got thrown off balance. It's passed now." A beat, and then another. He wavers and bites down on his lip, and then he adds: "Mostly."

"You okay down there?" says Dick, and there's something threaded through his tone that Tim can't quite place.

"No," says Tim, before he can think about the answer. "I'm doing pretty bad, actually."

The realization starts somewhere in his chest. It lodges there like an icicle; Tim's fought Dr. Freeze enough times to recognize the sensation of something impossibly cold burrowed into flesh, slowly melting from your body heat.

This feels exactly like that.

It's slow-spreading horror, every bit as biting as those jagged shards of ice.

Tim turns, in what feels like slow motion, toward the supply cabinet he'd planned to stuff the man into.

There it all is, the office caddy and the pens and the paperclips — and there, tucked down on the bottom level in among the printer paper replacement sheafs, right where Tim had been standing, are a half dozen bricks of what Tim can only assume are plastic-wrapped pollen.

Progress is being made.