Fic: Funny, You Don't *Look* Like a Vigilante (G)
D'you know what's sad? This isn't even the original crackfic I set out to write. This is just the crack vignette I couldn't resist writing. The other crackfic is still in bits and pieces.
This is a different kind of Lord King Bad Fic than other folks have posted, but I don't think you'll be able to deny that it qualifies...
TITLE: Funny, You Don't *Look* Like a Vigilante
CATEGORY: Crack. Pure and unadulterated by anything approaching a plot.
SUMMARY: "You're such a nice boy," Bubbe Rose said.
CONTINUITY: AU. Oh-so-very-AU.
NOTES: I...there's really no excuse for this, but I'm going to blame it on chevauchee anyway, for putting this idea in my head. And mtgat for pointing me to the site that started the whole thing.
* * * * *
"You're such a nice boy," Bubbe Rose said, patting Tim's cheek.
He grinned, leaning back in the overstuffed chair. "I hear a 'but' coming."
"But you never call, you never write." Tim's grandmother pushed the plate of Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies closer to him. "And you're still dating that shiksa."
"Bubbe..."
"Stephanie, she seems very *nice* for a shiksa, mind you. But what about Melba Goldberg's granddaughter?"
Tim shuddered. "She has the brains of a flea."
"Hmm, you're right." Frowning, Bubbe sipped her tea. "Then I'll look for someone else."
"No!" When she raised her eyebrows at him, he took a deep breath and moderated his tone. "Please don't. I know you mean well, but even if you found the perfect girl, I don't have a lot of time for a girlfriend. Steph and I barely see each other these days."
"Ah!" She put up a wrinkled finger. "That reminds me: When are you going to stop running around Gotham in that silly costume?"
Tim spit tea all over himself. "Wha--?"
As she patted him with a towel, Bubbe shook her head. "You think I didn't figure out immediately that you're Robin? With your mother, olav ha'shalom, gone, it's my responsibility to keep an eye on you. It's not my fault she married that idiot Jack Drake, who was such a bad influence on her."
Tim dabbed at his pants, sensibly ignoring the last statement. "I...Bubbe, I can't stop. What I do is too important. Please, don't tell my dad."
Smiling gently, Bubbe patted his cheek. "Of course I won't tell him. It's just that I worry about you."
"I know." Tim took another deep breath. "But how did you know?"
Bubbe sniffed as she picked up a cookie. "Where do you think you got your brains from anyway, bubelah? From your father's side of the family? Feh."
--end--
Final author's note: I really wanted to end this story with Bubbe expressing concern that people were going to call Tim "Faygele" but I realized that 1 in a 100 of my readers would get the double language pun.
::coughs nervously:: "Faygele" is Yiddish slang for homosexual. Literally it, uh, it means "little bird."
Oh god, I'm so ashamed.
This is a different kind of Lord King Bad Fic than other folks have posted, but I don't think you'll be able to deny that it qualifies...
TITLE: Funny, You Don't *Look* Like a Vigilante
CATEGORY: Crack. Pure and unadulterated by anything approaching a plot.
SUMMARY: "You're such a nice boy," Bubbe Rose said.
CONTINUITY: AU. Oh-so-very-AU.
NOTES: I...there's really no excuse for this, but I'm going to blame it on chevauchee anyway, for putting this idea in my head. And mtgat for pointing me to the site that started the whole thing.
* * * * *
"You're such a nice boy," Bubbe Rose said, patting Tim's cheek.
He grinned, leaning back in the overstuffed chair. "I hear a 'but' coming."
"But you never call, you never write." Tim's grandmother pushed the plate of Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies closer to him. "And you're still dating that shiksa."
"Bubbe..."
"Stephanie, she seems very *nice* for a shiksa, mind you. But what about Melba Goldberg's granddaughter?"
Tim shuddered. "She has the brains of a flea."
"Hmm, you're right." Frowning, Bubbe sipped her tea. "Then I'll look for someone else."
"No!" When she raised her eyebrows at him, he took a deep breath and moderated his tone. "Please don't. I know you mean well, but even if you found the perfect girl, I don't have a lot of time for a girlfriend. Steph and I barely see each other these days."
"Ah!" She put up a wrinkled finger. "That reminds me: When are you going to stop running around Gotham in that silly costume?"
Tim spit tea all over himself. "Wha--?"
As she patted him with a towel, Bubbe shook her head. "You think I didn't figure out immediately that you're Robin? With your mother, olav ha'shalom, gone, it's my responsibility to keep an eye on you. It's not my fault she married that idiot Jack Drake, who was such a bad influence on her."
Tim dabbed at his pants, sensibly ignoring the last statement. "I...Bubbe, I can't stop. What I do is too important. Please, don't tell my dad."
Smiling gently, Bubbe patted his cheek. "Of course I won't tell him. It's just that I worry about you."
"I know." Tim took another deep breath. "But how did you know?"
Bubbe sniffed as she picked up a cookie. "Where do you think you got your brains from anyway, bubelah? From your father's side of the family? Feh."
--end--
Final author's note: I really wanted to end this story with Bubbe expressing concern that people were going to call Tim "Faygele" but I realized that 1 in a 100 of my readers would get the double language pun.
::coughs nervously:: "Faygele" is Yiddish slang for homosexual. Literally it, uh, it means "little bird."
Oh god, I'm so ashamed.