Why isn't anyone ever just whelmed?

(Pls. Bruce having to put up with Dami’s shit is the best thing ever)

Like please. Bruce not a dad? Bruce, acting “too fatherly?” Pshh, not possible. The entirety of Batman canon would like to disagree with you. He might not know how to express his feelings all the time, but he cares deeply about each and every one of his kids, and has shown it on multiple occasions. I guess we also have to ignore that he actually legitimately has a biological child and three legally adopted children in canon. 

High fevers suck. That is all I have to say about this.

Why am I here?

He doesn’t even mean it in an existential way. For once, it’s not a question of why did I get a second chance? Why did the universe bring me back? It’s just a confused, curious question.

What am I doing in the Manor?

He hadn’t been here when he’d… gone to sleep? Gone on patrol? What had he been doing before he woke up here? Jason doesn’t like the way his memory muddles together and stretches thin over the last twenty-four hours. He’d been fine yesterday, he’s sure, and all he knows is that now he’s not.

His head is pounding, each throb making the world blur and spin a little. It makes walking down the staircase difficult, but he manages. Just. Even if he has to collapse sit down on the bottom step for a few minutes and just. Breathe. Be still.

He almost doses off like that, legs stretched out, leaning against the banister. Startles back to awareness, groaning when it cause pain to slice through his head, at the featherlight touch of a hand on his shoulder.

“Jay?” a voice murmurs. Bruce. Jason doesn’t want it to be Bruce. He wants it to be anyone but Bruce. He doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to fight right now. Doesn’t want… want…

He wants. Wants his dad to make it go away. The headache, the dizziness, the way the world just doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like he’s been drinking but he hasn’t and it’s so much worse.

“Bruce?” It’s not a sob. It’s not.

Bruce has this surprising way of reacting to distress. Not like he responds to other emotions. It’s like that special combination of almost-tears and near-panicked, choked pleas hits his ears and a switch is flipped. He knows exactly what to do.

Or maybe it’s just that Jason is his kid and his kid needs him.

He tugs Jason into a hug, curls a hand around the back of his neck, stroking a little with his thumb. He says, “Shh, it’s okay, Jason, you’re okay.”

Jason shakes his head. Regrets it immediately. There’s so much pressure in his head that he thinks it’s going to explode. The pain is seeping into his nerves, spreading through his body until everything aches. “Hurts,” he says, not even caring that tears are streaming down his face and soaking into Bruce’s shirt. Something silky and expensive and utterly ruined.

He feels thirteen instead of twenty, all of a sudden, sick with the worst sinus infection he’s ever had and missing his mum more than ever. He feels fourteen and almost delirious from fever, writhing in sweat-soaked sheets and calling out for Bruce. He feels fifteen and dying. Burning from the outside in and the inside out. In so much pain and none at all. And all he wants is a parent to hold him and make it all go away.

Bruce pulls back slightly, cups Jason’s face with one hand and brushes his bangs back with the other. He hisses through his teeth. “You’re burning up,” he says. “You should be in bed.”

“No,” Jason groans because he doesn’t want to be thirteen or fourteen or fifteen, he wants to be twenty and fine. And twenty-year-old Jason doesn’t want to be here. Twenty-year-old Jason doesn’t want his dad. Twenty-year-old Jason is fine by himself. “‘M okay. ‘M leaving. You can’t… can’t stop me.”

“You really don’t look so hot, Jaylad,” Bruce says, hands rough and gentle as they card through his hair. Jason is still leaning against his chest. He wants to leave but doesn’t want to move.

It occurs to him, through the weird shimmering quality brushed over the world, that Bruce was surprised to find him here. Alarmed that Jason was half-conscious on his staircase. Which means Bruce didn’t find him like this on patrol and drag him home. Dick didn’t, because he wouldn’t have left Jason’s side. Tim would have reported to Bruce. Damian would have had to call someone big enough to carry Jason.

He has no idea how he got here. Just that he’d woken in his old bedroom and panicked. Thought dad instead of Bruce and home instead of Manor. Words he hasn’t associated with this person or this place in a long time. Too long.

He starts crying all over again. Harder, this time, hands coming up to clutch the back of Bruce’s shirt. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know where all these tears are coming from, and it just makes him cry even more.

Bruce rubs his back. Up and down along the bumps of his spine, just like he did all those other times Jason was sick. It’s soothing. Comforting. Coaxing him to relax, melt bonelessly against his dad. “You don’t have to leave,” Bruce says, quietly, like he doesn’t want to break whatever this moment they’re having is. “You can stay. We’ll take care of you.”

It’s tempting. To let Bruce pick him up and carry him to bed. To let him tuck him in and stroke his hair until he falls asleep. To let him bring him tea and soup and that disgusting cherry flavoured medicine Alfred always has on hand. To let him read to him when he can’t sleep. To let him care.

Temptation is dangerous. A setup for disappointment.

“I’m fine,” Jason reiterates.

Bruce squeezes him. “If you’re sure,” he says.

But when Alfred finds them twenty minutes later, Bruce is still hugging him and Jason is still letting him. Eyes closed and breaths even, somewhere between sleep and awake, caught between memories and reality. He’s starting to think that maybe he found his own way here. That he’s feverish and his head hurts and he wants his dad to make him better.

But Jason isn’t thirteen or fourteen or fifteen anymore. He knows Bruce can’t fix everything, can’t heal every injury or cure every illness just by being there. Jason’s head still hurts and the world is still fuzzy. He’s still confused and miserable and sick.

But. He isn’t alone anymore. And maybe that makes the rest of it bearable.

open this if you don’t feel good today 💌

taste:

eat small fruit snacks

buy yourself a treat occasionally

make a cake in a mug

chew flavored sugar-free gum

put lemon in your water

hearing:

listen to your favorite music

or just wear earphones to block things out

listen to white noise/ambient sounds

smell:

put on some sweet-scented lotion

spray a bit of your favorite perfume

make your favorite coffee or tea

sight:

look in the mirror and tell yourself you look good today

clean the clutter in your room + throw things away

close all the unused tabs

clean the dishes + do your laundry

delete unused apps

make your bed

fold your clothes tidily

organize your books and papers

turn down the brightness of your phone/computer at night

smile and be more polite at strangers

open up the curtains, let the light in

go outside often

touch:

hug people you love

cuddle your pet

read while lying in your bed

hug a soft toy

appearance:

wash your face/use face wipes

dry shampoo if you’re too tired to shower

brush your teeth

exfoliate + moisturize your skin

change into clean clothes

brush your hair

put on some lip balm

body:

do your favorite exercises

take a nap

take deep breaths with your stomach

take a warm shower

stand up and stretch your legs

put on some music and go for a walk outside

get at least 7 hours of sleep

drink lots of water

hobbies:

always make some time to do what you love

create art, writing and music for yourself, not anyone else

don’t feel embarrassed about your hobbies

be patient with yourself, progress takes time! don’t give up

hobby ideas: cooking, reading, drawing, painting, a sport, a new language, learn a musical instrument, collect things, photography, join a class or a club

mind:

put yourself first

spend less time around people who make you feel bad

write your thoughts in a journal

stand up for yourself

stop judging people

don’t dwell in the past

concentrate on what’s happening now

don’t try for people who don’t care

stop caring about what’s not important

be a friend to yourself, rather than a bully

learn to love your body

see the bigger picture

change self-destructive habits

appreciate the good

let things go

ask for help

studying:

make lists

focus on priorities

stop putting everything off

turn off your phone if you need to

take breaks

do one thing at a time

believe in yourself!

other:

laugh a lot

get a plant and name it

buy flowers for yourself

be ok with being alone

go out with your friends

watch a movie

Except the house wasn’t empty. Tim could see into Dick’s room from where he’s standing, the disaster of clothes and paraphernalia threatening to spill out into the hallway. There’s a scuff mark on the door to Tim’s left, the result of Jason and Cass horsing around and crashing into it. The smell of freshly baked muffins wafted through the entire house from the kitchen where Alfred is busy at the oven. What’s more is that Tim could hear his siblings throughout the house, talking and moving around. The house lives, breathes and shifts and is messy sometimes but it’s alive and Tim nearly topples over at the feeling.

Because Tim feels welcome here. There’s no sense of loneliness even when the house is empty, which is such a contrast to his old house, his old life, that for a second Tim can’t breathe. Even when his parents were home, when they invited  people over for some party or another, Tim felt restricted and cut off, suffocated in the feeling of being utterly alone.

Had it only been seven years since he first stepped into this house as a thirteen year old, trying to do the right thing? No, ‘house’ didn’t really cover it. ‘Home’ fit better. This was his home. Tim was home. He’s no longer a lonely little child desperately searching for some kind of belonging in an unfeeling world. Tim has found his place, he belongs here, with his family.

Tim took a deep breath and turned down the hallway, abandoning his old plans to hide out in his room for a little while. The thought of sitting alone right now, when he has the choice to not be alone, unsettled him. Tim wanted to seek out his family, his brothers and sister, his grandfather, his father, and be with them for a while.

Luckily, unlike the cold, empty house of his childhood, this home is bursting at the seams with people. Tim nearly runs into Bruce as he turned a corner, jolting backwards just before crashing into him.

“Whoa there,” Bruce said, placing a steadying hand on Tim’s shoulder, “In a rush?”

Tim stared up at Bruce for a second, searching his face. He’s older than when Tim first met him, the lines around his eyes deeper, but Bruce is softer now, more content. He’s not quite as hard and brutal as he was in those weeks that pushed Tim to stubbornly insisting that Batman needed a Robin and he’d do it if he had to whether Bruce liked it or not.

It’s with a twinge of guilt that Tim realized that Bruce was the best father he’d ever known. Jack had tried near the end, he’d tried so hard, but that couldn’t erase the years Tim had suffered, and he never quite kicked his bad habits. It had taken Tim so long to realize that Jack was not a good father, even if he loved him dearly. Bruce’s subtle support had meant so much to him over the years and Tim wasn’t sure he’d ever said so.

“Tim?” Bruce asked, face falling into an expression of concern, “Are you okay?”

Tim moved without thinking, leaning forward into Bruce’s body and pressing his much smaller body against it. He wrapped his arms around Bruce’s strong chest, clinging to his shirt, “You’re a good Dad,” he mumbled, resting his ear over Bruce’s steady heartbeat.

Bruce didn’t tense up or hesitate, only brought his arms up to encircle Tim, squeezing him tightly, one hand resting at the back of his neck, tangling slightly in his hair. He said nothing, never good with words and not needing them anyway. Tim felt the press of lips to the top of his head and let out a long sigh, melting into the embrace.

ESTP: You ooze tactile, and touch, something about your very down to earth and hands on persona is so tantalizing, you’re so full of passion and willpower, it’s hard not to find you sexy at all.

ISTP: Enigmatic, Aloof, brooding, with a low-key childlike humor is very intriguing you’re hard to miss, and something about your handiwork is beyond magnetizing, You’re an old soul and child in one.

ESFP: You are radiant, glowing with excitement and vivacity. Your inner strength and pure willpower are unbelievably attractive and admirable, you have this earthy, “I know what I’m doing” vibe.

ISFP: Your shyness hides this intense need for physical action and connection. Your independence and ethereal mystery create this atmosphere of depth and raw love of pleasure. You breathe sex appeal.

ESTJ: You have a commanding presence, something strong and secure and people wish they could handle anything thrown at them the may you do, you’re in control, and it’s hard to miss you with all that confidence.

ISTJ: You have a natural rhythm and go with your own flow, it’s insanely intoxicating. You have an air of structure and intensity, you’re willpower is undeniable, and your thoughts are like wildfire.

ESFJ: You are warmth, and generosity, something about your need for beauty and harmony is beyond desirable. You create a haven of light and love and are so sensual it’s beyond sexy.

ISFJ: Your discreet charm, and smitten smile is beyond attractive, you are tender hearted, but have this hidden strength that others can feel. They love your shelter and you radiate this intense love of sensuality.

ENTJ: you are usually perceived as confident in your thoughts and actions, you know what you’re doing and go into it without questioning, you’re calculated, and usually quite charismatic.

INTJ: You’re meticulous and observant, you work hard and play harder and people love that mystery of your very detached presence, something about you is both fully present and other worldly.

ENTP: You’re witty, charismatic, and novel. You’re like a flame and people are drawn to you. You have a sharp and piercing humor that is so magnetizing. You know how to persuade and are usually very smooth.

INTP: you’re lowkey, dreamy and so interesting. Something about your independence and aloofness is so interesting and people want to know the way you’re thinking, or what you’re thinking about at all.

ENFP: You radiate positivity, charm and electricity, your youthful need for adventure and possibility are contagious and you are so magnetic and sensational because of it.

INFP: You feel so deeply and ardently, you get swept into a dream world that others only wish they can touch. You’re full of romance, and saccharine that so many people feel drawn to your vulnerability.

ENFJ: You’re a warm, and uplifting spirit. Like the sun, you radiate certainty in yourself and something about your devotion to those you love is so incredibly attractive, you can’t be missed.

As the son of Bruce Wayne, the richest and most influential man in Gotham, it pays to be prepared for anything. Unexpected interviews, invasive paparazzi, and of course, the occasional kidnapping for ransom. Tim can’t count how many times he and his siblings have been held at gunpoint by crooks– from the higher ups such as Two-Face, down to inexperienced newbies looking for what they hope’ll be some quick and easy cash. Frankly, it’s getting annoying at this point.

It takes effort on Tim’s part to stifle a bored yawn, despite the pistol that’s pressing into the side of his head. The rope around his wrists is cheap and loosely knotted; it wouldn’t take more that a second to slip it off and take care of the men surrounding him. They’re obviously new at this. But right now, he’s Tim Drake-Wayne. He’s supposed to be hapless and frightened as the crooks broadcast a video, threatening Tim with violence if they don’t receive a bajillion dollars from Bruce within the next two hours, blah blah blah.

It only takes about ten minutes before Robin shows up. Another two for him to incapacitate the men, tying them up nicely for the cops to pick up later.

“About time,” Tim sighs, letting the rope fall from his wrists and standing. He brushes imaginary dust from his suit, grimacing at the wrinkles garnered from the rough way the men had handled him.

“I was busy,” Damian says mildly. “Press is waiting outside. Who does this in the middle of the day?“

“Amatures,” Tim responds. He peers out the window, and sure enough there’s already a throng of people with cameras waiting for him to come out. Broadcasting a video for pretty much all of Gotham in order to get Bruce’s attention was like, top tier stupidity. Great. Now Tim had to put on a show. He casts a look at Damian and suddenly grins; might as well have fun with this.

The press is on them as soon as Robin kicks the door open, gritting his teeth as he supports most of Tim’s weight.

“Mr Drake! Mr Drake, were you terribly scared? Are you injured? Did they get the money?”

Tim fans himself dramatically, stumbling and forcing Robin to practially carry him. “Oh dear, it was horrible!” He cries, making sure to sound appropriately shaken. “Thank God, Robin was there to save me. I’m not sure what I would’ve done!”

“This is embarrassing,” Damian hisses, cheeks stained red.

“Mr Drake, as your father is Batman’s primary funder, do you know Robin personally?”

Tim splays a hand over his heart and shakes his head, mouth twisting into a forlorn smile. “I wish! It would be nice to have someone on call, considering how many times us Waynes find ourselves in these situations.”

A paramedic pushes her way through the crowd and asks Tim to come with her that she can provide a couple of check ups. Tim lets her take his arm, but not before he turns, clasping Robin’s hand in between his own, says, “I really can’t thank you enough-”

Damian glares from behind the mask. “Don’t-”

“You’re my hero, Robin,” Tim finishes, as he let’s the paramedic pull him towards the abulance waiting for them.

He gets a text from Bruce later, scolding him for the theatrics. There’s also a text from Jason, a jumble of letters that Tim translates as Jason’s inability to type properly due to laughter. Tim grins when he sees that Damian’s texted him, opening the message that contains nothing but the middle finger emoji. Tim’s thumbs fly over his screen as he shoots a quick response.

Books read in 2017: Warcross (Warcross, #1) by Marie Lu

shower. not a bath, a shower. use water as hot or cold as u like. u dont even need to wash. just get in under the water and let it run over you for a while. sit on the floor if you gotta.

moisturize everything. use whatever lotion u like. unscented? dollar store lotion? fancy ass 48 hour lotion that makes u smell like a field of wildflowers? use whatever you want, and use it all over. 

put on clean, comfortable clothes. 

put on ur favorite underwear. cute black lacy panties? those ridiculous boxers u bought last christmas with candy cane hearts on the butt? put em on.

drink cold water. use ice. if u want, add some mint or lemon for an extra boost.

clean something. doesn’t have to be anything big. organize one drawer of ur desk. wash five dirty dishes. do a load of laundry. scrub the bathroom sink. 

blast music. listen to something upbeat and dancey and loud, something that’s got lots of energy. sing to it, dance to it, even if you suck at both.

make food. don’t just grab a granola bar to munch. take the time and make food. even if it’s ramen. add something special to it, like a hard boiled egg or some veggies. prepare food, it tastes way better, and you’ll feel like you accomplished something. 

make something. write a short story or a poem, draw a picture, color a picture, fold origami, crochet or knit, sculpt something out of clay, anything artistic. even if you don’t think you’re good at it.

go outside. take a walk. sit in the grass. look at the clouds. smell flowers. put your hands in the dirt and feel the soil against your skin.

call someone. call a loved one, a friend, a family member, call a chat service if you have no one else to call. talk to a stranger on the street. have a conversation and listen to someone’s voice. if you can’t, text or email or whatever, just have some social interaction with another person. even if you don’t say much, listen to them.