I Want To Explore The Bernard-as-the-third-Robin Idea A Little More.

I don't know how to look up the actual Tumblr thread so here's a Reddit screenshot of a Tumblr post. I am so down to see some cryptid batfam, I love seeing those chaotic worlds

BATFAMDON, I NEED ASSISTANCE

Firstly, I’m calling you the BatFamdom now

Secondly, I’m BOORRREEDD and wanna draw some furrified bat people sooo uhhh send me sum memes, art bases or random shit, either through reblogs or my inbox :3 TY <333

Hello, yes, I'd like to slam the entire 22 Redwall novels by Brian Jacques down onto the counter and then add several picture books, recipe books, and supplemental mini-series.

I would like to look the Internet at large in the eye when I say the following.

These books are an excellent way to see cruel people from their own points of view just as you can see the kind and heroic people's perspectives. It might royally piss you off, even, to realize that you have motivations in common with a scoundrel. That you will have sympathy for the power-hungry murderer. That you might mourn for a monster even as you're so glad the monster is dead.

And you're going to love these characters. You're going to love the camaraderie and the jokes and the squabbling. The coming-of-age stories and the parents seeking to protect their children. You're going to cry so fucking hard at some point, guaranteed, and it's going to feel so cleansing.

Also! Brian Jacques wrote these books with massive feasts and was particularly descriptive about taste. This is because he often volunteered to read to blind kids and became frustrated with how so many books relied on visual descriptions, so he made it a point to focus on a different sense.

I think every single book worm had that series that got them through shitty teenage years. For me that series was Tigers Curse by Colleen Houck. The series quite literly was my source of hope and joy during my early teen years. Was my lifeline. It's definitely YA and a little cringe to read as an adult but it's like a found friend that holds nothing but fond memories💙🖤.

What was your hard time book series?

Wanted to write out something not-so-heavy, so I'm gonna borrow @arandomao3user's freaky Tim and Bernard pair.

Kink and Bondage go hand-in-hand, but there's a constant problem in the TimBern household. And it's all Tim's fault. He's a fucking escape artist. He keeps getting out of the ropes, the cuffs, the zip ties, the soft restraints, the chains, the really fancy bondage knots that took forever to actually get him into, the specialty restraints, the straitjacket from that one undercover op that went really weird...

It was cute at first when he could play-tackle Tim back to the bed (or floor or table or counter or chair or deck) for a different sort of game, but at this point it's become a problem for the both of them.

Because Tim genuinely can't stop escaping, even when he's into being tied up. Bernard, with equal amounts of frustration and affection, calls it Tim's Robin Reflex. He does it by habit, by accident, and while asleep, on one memorable occasion. Tim's always very sorry, of course, and he is trying so hard to be good for Bernard. It's just that they haven't found that sweet spot yet, that mystery thing that can keep Tim relatively helpless and at Bernard's mercy, but won't trigger the not-fun sort of sense memories that come with years of vigilante work.

So, at a loss and desperate for ideas, Bernard calls his bff.

Jason, actively falling asleep after patrol: "You want advice... On tying up Timmers? Like, shibari 'n whatever? Fucking. Didn't need this in my life, Burn Notice."

Bernard, entirely too awake: "C'mon, Jason; you're one of the most creative people I know and I'm out of ideas. You used to fight all the time! And you have major connections, my man, my buddy, my bestie. Don't you have any alien tech or magical stuff that might work?"

Jason, so tired: "I can ask around later, you freaky...I don't know. I never tied Tim up when we were fighting; I shot him in the thigh once and that slowed him down."

Hearing nothing but dial-tone, Jason sets his phone aside and promptly falls asleep

Three minutes later, Jason sits up in a cold sweat and scrambles for his phone to text Bernard.

J: DO NOT SHOOT TIM

J: BERN. FUCKING ANSWER ME.

J: ISTG IF ONE OF YOU FUCKERS IS SHOT WHEN I GET OVER THERE I WILL GET YOUR HORNY ASSES NEUTERED

“The last time I checked my textbooks, the specific therapy for malnutrition was food”

—

Dr. Jack Geiger, quoted in Rebecca Onie’s Ted Talk  What if our healthcare system kept us healthy?

“In 1965 Dr. Geiger founded one of the first two community health centers in this country, in a brutally poor area in the Mississippi Delta. And so many of his patients came in presenting with malnutrition that be began prescribing food for them. And they would take these prescriptions to the local supermarket, which would fill them and then charge the pharmacy budget of the clinic. And when the Office of Economic Opportunity in Washington, D.C. – which was funding Geiger’s clinic – found out about this, they were furious. And they sent this bureaucrat down to tell Geiger that he was expected to use their dollars for medical care – to which Geiger famously and logically responded, “The last time I checked my textbooks, the specific therapy for malnutrition was food.“”

(via mdintraining)

The only acceptable reason for this is if this character is actually a demon who seduces men and then eats them. [source]

...who wants to bet that part of Robin-training with Bruce was micro-dosing different drugs, both on their own and mixed with drinks, so they could identify if they've ever been dosed in the field?

That would explain so much about Nightwing's "licking things" habit.

Jason is the most impregnate-able Bat because we all know by instinct that he'd rearrange his entire life to take care of his kid.

He's not just a Daddy, he's a Father. He would nurture the fuck outta that kid. He would read all the most accredited books, he'd be active on the parenting blogs, he'd be there at the PTA meetings.

Jason would be that special mix of terrified and excited to help this child grow up. He's the parent that a kid won't be too afraid to call when they've done something really stupid and they need help now. He's the parent who will work so hard during arguments to try to say the right thing.

We can all see Jason "Get Him Pregnant" Todd being such a loving dad at every milestone in his kid's life that we can't help but want to give him that kid.

(This message was sponsored by the supporters of @arandomao3user's campaign to get Jason Todd Pregnant.)

I love this, I love this, I love this, I-!

This is my favorite kinda thing. Taking accepted canon and asking yourself, "but what if Unreliable Narrator? What if fronting?" Taking fanon interpretations and tilting them sideways a bit, looking at character traits from a different perspective.

And crossovers are just so much damn fun to do this with! The rules of engagement change around. The timeline becomes more of a suggestion. There is resting potential energy in every interaction!

The idea that John Constantine uses his rumpled, chain-smoking, tired lech of a person as a work uniform? Genius. Brilliant. Machiavellian.

Batman's disguise is being stupid. Superman's disguise is glasses. John Constantine's disguise is business casual fatherhood.

I am so excited for more of this! I've not seen this be explored before!

I love love all your writings!!

I like your depictions of John Constantine.

I'd like to see you write the sad trenchcoat persona as just that a persona in the same fashion as how Brucie Wayne is a persona.

Maybe he's been the de-aged Danny/Dannies father for years and is an actual functional adult. The sad trenchcoat is just used to keep people from calling on him to frequently because he's a dad and has dad-like things to do.

He could help tim with the time stream thing, like 'oh, yeah that does look like Bruce. Alright kid pack a bag we're going in the time stream I know a guy. No Nightwing I'm not joking this looks like solid proof'.

Maybe Bruce has a oh shit he's actually competent and could kill me, that's hot moment. (Kids I have found your other father, help me get him home)

"I would love to offer more of my time to waste on monitor duty, but I have a previous engagement. A particular fit lady needs help getting her dress on the floor. The cloth always gets stuck on her horns. " John leers, wagging his eyebrows at the grimaces his words cause.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke like a drowning man. He never smokes at home, not with Danny's sensitive lungs or Dani's general disgust at smoking, so he only had the chance when called away on missions.

Plus, Danny was trying out for ballet soon, and he wasn't going to ruin his son's chances of being a star because of his own poor habits.

It helped that the rest of the heroes believed he was consistently pumping nicotine into his system. Rather irresponsible for the hero to publicly commit frowned-upon activities - at least in the States. Back home, no one cared that much.

It didn't matter that the Justice League was a global team; the main hard hitters and founders were nearly all American, and they tended to uphold those social expectations, either subconsciously or not.

One more reason why they shouldn't bother John, he can't have him smoking at a big awards ceremony or seen going through an entire pack of cigarettes mid-fight. Oh no.

John Constantine was one of the best magic users of this universe, but he was a last resort. There were plenty of other magic users like Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Zatara, or even Etrigan that came to mind first.

John was likely too busy drowning his misery in bottles or the arms of any willing partner. That's what they all thought.

Or more importantly than what he wanted them to think.

"Well, this has been a time." He announces, snapping his fingers to open a portal to his house. "But I have to run. My lady needs a knowledgeable hand to help her-"

"Enough," Batman growls. Though he has complete control over his emotions, John can tell he's irritated by the meaningless detail. He smirks as the hero waves a hand, "Just go."

He offers the rest of the meeting room a cheeky two-finger salute as he struts out, letting the portal close behind him so his trench coat flares dramatically. It's a nice view, he's sure, but it's also unnecessarily showy, and he is sure at least three pairs of eyes are rolling at his exit.

A chuckle escapes his mouth, straightening from his slouch to properly stand straight and bend it far enough to pop. Goodness, his act always leaves him with a sore upper back; maybe he shouldn't hunch over so much, even if he was playing the part of a no-good punk.

John only had a few seconds to shiver at his own thoughts- he was a punk. A real one! He was in a band!- before he heard the tell-tell sign of a rapidly approaching double set of footsteps echo down the hall. He scrambles to fling his lit cigarette into a water portal, chucking the pack for double security, while summoning a random suitcase from thin air.

All that's left is his rather eye-catching coat, a little too worn down and old to work well with his well-put-together outfit underneath. Without it, John has a clean, pressed white shirt, a respectful tie, and a pair of slacks that make more than one head turn as he walks.

All in all, he looks like the office businessman his worthless father always wanted to be.

John throws off his coat over a chair at the same time the door is thrown open with a pair of excited yells. "Welcome home, Dad!"

A grin stretched across his face before he could think about it, feeling his heart swell at the sight of them, as he knelt down, arms open wide. Two tiny bodies slam into him without a second of hesitation, nearly knocking John backwards.

He lets out a soft grunt as Dani's arms attempt to wrap around his left arm and right shoulder. She clashes against Danny, who's trying to bury himself into John's right side, little face squished against one of John's pecs, like a bunny burrowing into the snow.

"Hello, my little lambs!" He gushes, squeezing the kids close. "How was your day with the House of Mystery? Did you two behave?"

"They were angels," Black Orchid confirms, gliding into the room at a much slower pace. They had their regular, impassive expression on their faces, but John could tell that Orchid was happy with the kids by the way they gently tapped the tops of the children's black hair.

"Dad! Dad! Now that you're home, can we please go get my new ballet shows?" Danny begs, bouncing on his toes.

For a moment, John doesn't see his son, but rather his own blue eyes staring up at his father, when he was also five, begging to join Lily, the next-door neighbor, in beginners' ballet class.

His father had beaten him nearly to death for wanting such a girly interest. It was the last time they spoke about it. It was also the last time John ever bothered asking to start new hobbies.

"Dad! Dad! Can I do Karate?" Dani asks then, snapping John from his memories better left buried, as she presses her check against her brother's in an attempt to get John's attention. "I want to break a board with my fist!"

He gives the children another squeeze, laughing at the squeals he gets. "Of course you can do karate, little lamb. We're going to get your brother his shoes, and then I'll find a gym that offers the classes at the same time."

"I already provided that service." Orchid cuts in, holding a flyer for Flying Graysons' gym, founded and run by the eldest Wayne in Gotham. "I took the liberty of signing Danny up for a class with Casnadra Wayne, and Dani will join Duke Thomas's class. It starts in a week."

"Plenty of time to go get them everything they need and a new book series for our bedtime stories," John announces, loosening his arms so his children can cheer and bounce up and down in excitement. His knee is starting to cramp up, but he ignores it so he can hold his kids.

It's moments like these, so small and mundane, that John is grateful he thought of his persona. When he first learned how to use the magic he was gifted, he always made himself available for any crisis.

This was before the Justice League days, so anyone who sought him out was familiar with the occult world. He adored helping, and he built an incredible amount of skill and knowledge in magic, but soon John was facing disaster after disaster, dragging his exhausted body from one place to another.

Those who came searching for him never cared. They wanted John to jump at the drop of a hat. He tried for years to always be ready, always be willing, but years of isolation and desperate battles tried him to the core.

Then he took in Danny and Dani, finding the pair of babies in a basket at the feet of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. He had gone to investigate the legends of the famous King Pariah Dark, only to find what he assumed were originally sacrifices, well and truly alive.

Their names were attached to their feet with a letter written by a Jazz Fenton begging the two to grow and live well. She had died to save them. In her honor, John kept their names.

Daniel "Danny" Fenton and Danielle "Dani" Fenton. He often wondered what Jazz had been to the kids, with their identical last names. It is a question he will never get the answer to.

They could have been no older than five months, but when they opened their eyes and reached up for him, John realized he no longer wanted to be the go-to man of magic.

He wanted to be their father.

To discourage people from calling him away from his children, John created his persona of a man barely honorable enough to join a team. Over the five years of his raising his kids, his reputation plummeted until only Batman called to him unless absolutely necessary.

It was a breath of fresh air. John had fought for too long and too hard. He was retired now, just like his band days, the days when John would speed off to save the world were behind him. He only stepped in if a friend asked for a favor.

He had other priorities now.

The best part? The Justice League would never know that.

"Dad!" Dani screamed into his ear, making him grimace.

"Inside voice, darling."

"Sorry." She twirls her fingers, a nervous habit she picked up from John, before brightening up "I'm just super excited. Orichad said Mr. Bruce Wayne will be at the gym! Do you think he'll sign my Wayne Space shirt?"

Ah, yes, the man who was funding some space program or another. He only knew about this because his twins adored anything to do with space travel, as if though he couldn't just teleport them to a different planet.

"I'm sure he will, darling."

No notes, just joy

Thinking back to this panel, I think Tim has an opportunity to be the biggest little shit if truth serum gets involved.

Villain: With that truth serum flowing through Batman's little sidekick's veins, he will have no choice but to reveal the bat's deepest secrets.

Tim (as Robin): So whatever I say now will have to be accepted as the truth, no matter what?

Villain: Yes, because you have no other options.

Tim:

Tim: Batman called me dad once.

Sometimes I really love being an old fuck and remembering when Tim Drake was just a clever kid who was part of a loving middle class family living in a brownstone in Gotham City. The parents were gone often, but that's why he was in boarding schools. He only followed Batman around to take pictures when the guy was crashing out and Tim needed proof to bring to Dick.

The fanon zeitgeist has mushed him around a bit and now he's seen as an abused little stalker who lived alone in a mansion because his parents are so neglectful.

And you know what? You do you, boos. Your writing and art and everything mean something to you. You go ahead and use this little guy to work through whatever it is that you're struggling with in life. Make him hurt so the hugs feel better. Combine your special interests and make that au that only three people will understand.

It'd be wild to do a study on writers and their Internet search histories. Not secretly or anything, like, they'd sign up for it, clearly.

Writing fic is wild bc this is an incomplete list of things I've had to look up for fics in the last couple weeks:

Best universities for psychology degree

McCarthyism

WikiHow wedding planning

Sunrise times in New Jersey

When were long-distance phone calls invented?

Whiteboards

1950s pajamas