#I'm aware he's not this big actually

[secretdazedragon]

[demaparbat-hp]

Zuko looked up and locked eyes with his cousin, who was struck speechless. Then, ever so slowly, Lu Ten's lips twitched upwards. And then he smiled. And then he beamed. And then he nodded proudly once, just once, and vanished.

Lu Ten comes back in For the Spirits Chapter VII: Take Me South, only to leave Zuko with more questions than answers. Just how much is he truly aware of? When will he return? What is Zuko going to do now?

(What will the South bring?)

[butchtwelfthdoctor]

ok so death and the queen in Really Really good and you should all listen to it ( here it is!!) but there another one of those bits where donna gone off to do something and ten thinks shes leaving Forever but THIS. THIS. LITERALLY HE JUST SAYS THAT?

(sorry for the bad audio quality i was recording it off my computer speakers into garageband lol its wayyy better than that in the actual thing)

Transcript

[end of doctor who theme]

Ten : I'm sorry, because, I lied to you.

Donna : Oh? About What?

Ten : I said... I was fine. Fine about you leaving, and, I'm not. So many of you have come and gone, I never get used to it, you'd think I would've done by now, but, but, but, no... just when I think it's all going well, and we'll be... together forever, you're wandering off to go and save another universe, or, get married - How do you lot fall in love so quickly?

Donna : Well,

Ten, interrupting : I just don't get it!

Donna : Funny you should say that,

Ten : It's- ehhhh short lives I suppose - still! So long as you're happy, and, you're with the right man, and, and, he is the right man,

Donna - *starts to speak, gets cut off*

Ten : Yeahhs yes of course he is-

Donna : mhm-

Ten : -course he is I mean - I mean, well, no man ever gonna be good enough for my Donna, but yes, yes! Off you go, every time, one of you leaves, I'm not ready, I never am. You lot. Euurgh. *sharp inhale* Every one of you a heartbreaker.

Donna, indignantly : That's why you've got two of them, stupid, listen, I'm -

Ten : I mean yeah, I s'pose, but it doesn't make it -

Donna : mHMHMmm

Ten : - make it any easier, you all leave... even the robot dog left me. Twice.

Donna : Alright, Doctor, I'm trying to tell you-

Ten : And another thing - the universe never gives me a break!

End Transcript

[vyingeyes]

Happy belated Ace Day of Visibility! I should've posted something yesterday but I kept trying to wait until the boys got their paint before I posted anything with them in it. Unfortunately, the 2014 tumblr asexuality discourse has found its way to Twitter (in large part thanks to a certain disgraced author) and I had to turn my chair and make this real shitty overlay from a panel Monarch drew 90 years ago because she's too swamped for me to request a dedicated piece of her son. So, have her boy you haven't met yet (his name is Meter, he is lovely, and he is aroace) and a boy you have (Course is probably most like me of my sons, and therefore has inherited the asexuality umbrella). Bonus Myth in the background (not ace, but very supportive 😌).

For those curious, this likely takes place around chapter 7/8ish? It gets fuzzy with an intermission after chapter 6.

[mwolf0epsilon]

I have some major gripes with the premise of 'Day of the Diesels' and honestly think it could be fixed if, for once, the stale 'Steamies vs Diesels' plotline had been disregarded and the movie actually showcased the diesels in a more sympathetic light.

I'm not here to say characters like Diesel, Arry & Bert, and Diesel 10 are completely blameless in their acquired bad rep. Lets face the fact, they're deceitful, have a rather aggressive approach to things, and more often than not they are out to cause trouble for others because they think it's funny.

But come on man... Going for the same kind of storyline where Steam Engines and Diesel Engines are at each other's buffers just for the fact they're different types of engine is kind of lazy at this point (especially considering the fact this was done before in 'Calling All Engines').

Wouldn't it be much more compelling if, for once, the diesels actually do have a rightful reason to be causing a ruckus (their home is decrepit, unsafe and lacks basic amenities for maintaining them) and (because they feel like they can't be upfront about their concerns due to their past misbehavior), they end up making this grand convoluted scheme that goes terribly sideways, but that ultimately gives way for some actual exploration of why Sir Topham Hatt's management of the diesels feels so underwhelming in comparison with the great care he takes in tending to his steam engines?

It could even be that the fat controller doesn't realize he's neglecting them a bit because he's so focused on trying to keep the steam engines from ever wanting for more (I mean, the time of steam has come to an end in the mainland, so of course he'd be worried about the future of his beloved steam engines he's had for so much longer!).

On a logical standpoint, it's considerably easier to get diesels and new parts for diesels nowadays, so Sir Topham Hatt would postpone something he feels like can be done in the snap of a finger versus something that might potentially take much too long... And that's the mistake here.

The fact the diesels can get new stuff so easily but don't, could be the crux of the issue. Prioritization, procrastination and perhaps a bit of forgetfulness and obliviousness to the mess one has made...

[moe-broey]

Moe Whore Moments (ignore the first pic it's so Fully In Control and NOT scared about it 😤😤😤😒😒😒😳😣😒)

[karokawwo]

I don't think his hair is his grayest feature

[deviousdiesel]

.

[normalbrothers]

i'll periodically harp on this until i'm dead in my grave, but i genuinely love the idea of arthur as the siegfried figure torn between his wish for normativity, to be a good (christian/traditional) man who's respected for embodying acceptable, controlled (heterosexual) masculinity and how linda, as the white swan, was meant to shape him that way and it would be his redemption, and yet it doesn't work out, because that desire for all things dark, wild and hungry, that inacceptable erotic compulsion of his own violence always pulls him back, how tommy, the corresponding black swan, at least in his mind if not always actively, represents this eternal seduction.

and a part of him is so keenly aware of this, and it's shameful, so he tries to numb this knowledge with heroin - right until tommy attempts to pull him back towards the light, towards awareness, through reminding him of the boy he once was, through reintroducing linda into his life - how tommy himself speaks of his redemption here, because he loves him - and the recital of the act of contrition is supposed to be that cleansing act, but it only brings him (final) clarity.

and by the end, despite being given another chance, by being allowed the opportunity to rebuild a life with his wife, the way it should be, he chooses differently; and chooses tommy and dark and death.

[strawberryseeded]

NOOOOOOOOOOOO IT ALL WENT BACK TO HOW IT WAS NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GIRLS WHEN THE STATUS QUO IS RESTORED ETC ETCG

[drowzyscatterbrain]

damn, another dream about meeting WH character in a weird place huh-

it was howdy this time. guess my brain decided that obsessing on one puppet ain’t enough /hj

anyways imma copy paste it cuz i don’t really have the energy to wrestle it into a more refined shape asdfghgfd

I woke up standing in a forest, it was ridiculously dark. 

Anything beyond my focal point are just pitch black. But that didn’t bother me too much, cuz either my face or my eyes were flashlights. So besides feeling slightly uneased, at least I didn’t have to run into trees every 5 seconds.

And I was tasked with placing / maintaining lights. Had to make sure every corner are bright so no scary creatures will spawn. The air was moist, chilly and smell of earth and dead leaves. I was shivering a little bit from only wearing a T-shirt and pants. But otherwise, not much thoughts were in my head, I just started working right away.

It's like one of those level editor games, just pull up a hover screen and boop one of those 'light' icon, then one would pop into existence, already set up and working. All I had to do was adjust its angle by facing the same way the light shined, touching it with my hand and tilting my head, as the light follows my head as long as my hand is on it, then let go to keep it in place.

About a couple dozen lights later, a new task was assigned when I was squatting on one of them and spacing out: Howdy got drunk from tap water and wandered off. (how tho) And now I need to find him and lead him back to safety.

So I set off, there were lots of speed walking, gets chased by a few smaller 'creatures' a couple of times, but eventually I found our worm man. Stumbling around aimlessly and mumbling nonsense under his breath.

Can't remember if I opened my mouth to talk or not. But i managed to get his attention, while standing a couple meters away. After I made sure his focus is on me, I told him it isn't safe in here, and we need to go. Took him a few moments to process, but eventually he did, as he started to approach me. 

Crinkles of dead leaves almost echoed through the darkness with each of his wobbling footsteps, stopping when we're at one step away from each other. He was oddly silent, as he stood there swaying slightly with half lidded eyes, trying to focus on my face.

Then as I reached out to take one of his hands, he did something I never expected: He closed the distance, dropped to his knees, and pulled me against him with his 4 arms. His face smushed against my shoulder as he almost squeezed the life out of me, both of us almost toppled over from him putting half of his weight on that hug. Had to take a step back to prevent that. I still remember hearing & feeling my shoe scraping against the forest floor for saving us both from getting mud on our clothes. He was warm, the embrace instantly chased away the cold. He didn't have a heartbeat, but I heard, and felt him breathe during the entire time I'm trapped  against him. He said something after I adjusted my balance, and a few seconds later I responded, while reaching behind his back to pluck off some leaves and twigs that stuck on his apron strap.

At one point I hugged back with my right arm, cuz my left one was squished between us and the position didn't really allow me to break it free. Our convo was fairly short, yet it felt like forever. As we both needed a few moments before coming up with an answer, and me having to keep making sure no creatures were lurking nearby at the same time. He gave another squeeze at some point during the converse, but much weaker this time.

  Eventually he calmed down from whatever was going on in his head and let go, albeit rather slowly. Ending our conversation along the way. The feeling of pins and needles exploded in my left arm as he put one of his hands on my shoulder to stand up, then after he's back on his feet, I bent down, and flicked off the leaves and debris on his pants.

After that, I took him by his second left hand, and started leading him out of the forest.

  I woke up before I get to see if I ever got him out of there, smh-

[alexanderwales]

I'm a big fan of wizards-as-programmers, but I think it's so much better when you lean into programming tropes.

A spell the wizard uses to light the group's campfire has an error somewhere in its depths, and sometimes it doesn't work at all. The wizard spends a lot of his time trying to track down the exact conditions that cause the failure.

The wizard is attempting to create a new spell that marries two older spells together, but while they were both written within the context of Zephyrus the Starweaver's foundational work, they each used a slightly different version, and untangling the collisions make a short project take months of work.

The wizard has grown too comfortable reusing old spells, and in particular, his teleportation spell keeps finding its components rearranged and remixed, its parts copied into a dozen different places in the spellbook. This is overall not actually a problem per se, but the party's rogue grows a bit concerned when the wizard's "drying spell" seems to just be a special case of teleportation where you teleport five feet to the left and leave the wetness behind.

A wizard is constantly fiddling with his spells, making minor tweaks and changes, getting them easier to cast, with better effects, adding bells and whistles. The "shelter for the night" spell includes a tea kettle that brings itself to a boil at dawn, which the wizard is inordinately pleased with. He reports on efficiency improvements to the indifference of anyone listening.

A different wizard immediately forgets all details of his spells after he's written them. He could not begin to tell you how any of it works, at least not without sitting down for a few hours or days to figure out how he set things up. The point is that it works, and once it does, the wizard can safely stop thinking about it.

Wizards enjoy each other's company, but you must be circumspect about spellwork. Having another wizard look through your spellbook makes you aware of every minor flaw, and you might not be able to answer questions about why a spell was written in a certain way, if you remember at all.

Wizards all have their own preferences as far as which scripts they write in, the formatting of their spellbook, its dimensions and material quality, and of course which famous wizards they've taken the most foundational knowledge from. The enlightened view is that all approaches have their strengths and weaknesses, but this has never stopped anyone from getting into a protracted argument.

Sometimes a wizard will sit down with an ancient tome attempting to find answers to a complicated problem, and finally find someone from across time who was trying to do the same thing, only for the final note to be "nevermind, fixed it".

[keeps-ache]

thinking about that stupid. squish

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[psychemochanight]

For some reason, I can imagine that Dick actually has NO IDEA how attractive he really is.

Sure, he knows he's "a little" handsome, after all, he was even mistaken for a model before, Of course, in his head, it's not a big deal either. Models are not always the most attractive, but the ones with the most presence, and he, as the son of Bruce Wayne, knows how to act to impose his presence in front of the rich (plus, he is an artist, he acts for life).

Other people don't know that he has no idea how attractive he is. As he always makes satirical comments like "I know I'm handsome, but...", "if you're done admiring me", etc., people think he is actually aware of this... He is not.

He probably thinks it's normal for a lot of people to flirt with him, he thinks it's something that happens to everyone. If anything, he thinks it's because he seems like someone nice and open to chatting. Like, he thinks they're just playing around with him.

His family is the first to notice that Dick doesn't know he's extremely handsome. But of course, his brothers would eat their own weapons before confessing to their older brother that they have heard (horrified) their friends talking about how handsome Dick Grayson/Nightwing is.

[witherby]

The Littlest Wayne

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

Platonic!Reader and Batfam

"Bruce."

"Don't freak out."

"Bruce."

"You're freaking out. I can see it in your eyes, but don't do it."

"This is a problem. This is an actual addiction and you need help."

"You're overreacting. I need everyone to take a deep breath, in and out, and not freak out."

Dick crossed his arms and glared at his father, narrowed eyes shifting up and down in an extremely pointed manner. Tim and Jason were wearing similar expressions, looking either at Bruce himself or the bundle in his arms.

Damian walked across the room and peered down at the bundle, expressionless.

"Father, come on."

Bruce carefully brushed the edge of the blanket away from your face. You scrunched your tiny nose, disturbed, then settled back down without issue. The billionaire had found you abandoned outside the garage doors of the Gotham Fire Station, left there by some overwhelmed mother no doubt. Unfortunately, that particular station was closed on the weekends, because of course this damned city couldn't staff a fire station 24/7, and if he hadn't found you on patrol, you would have frozen to death on the ground.

"They were in danger!" Bruce insisted firmly, but kept his voice soft so as not to frighten you. "Look — they don't have black hair or blue eyes. You can tell I didn't do it on purpose."

"Why not take the baby to the GCPD, then? Or a hospital?" Jason piped up, unamused. "B, cut the bullshit. You can't keep 'em."

"I brought them here first to ensure they didn't need any immediate medical attention."

"Which is something a hospital could do," Tim said.

"An overcrowded and understaffed hospital, that doesn't have the time to spare to give them direct and undivided attention?" Bruce argued. "The med ward in the Cave is just as efficient as an emergency room, if not more so."

"And the fact that you aren't down there with the baby — the baby you are not keeping," Dick chimed in, holding out his arms for you, "means that they're perfectly fine and can be transported safely somewhere else."

"They're sleeping right now," Bruce said, completely deadpan, and made no move to relinquish his hold over you. "We can't put them in a noisy car and upset them. We can drop the baby off in the morning."

"He's getting dangerously attached," Dick hissed to his brothers. "We need the big guns."

"I'll alert Pennyworth," Damian declared, already ducking out of the room. Bruce scowled, aware the battle was quickly turning against his favor. But he could play dirty, too.

He dropped his shoulders and the furrow of his brow turned slightly down, weary and forlorn. He stopped looking at his boys and instead studied all your tiny features, tracing a finger down the bridge of your nose, gently across your lashes, and over your plump little cheeks. You were absolutely adorable. He was already thinking of names for you in his mind.

"You know, I never got to raise any of you from infancy," he stated, not in any pointed manner, just as objective fact. Just quietly enough that they could think Bruce hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Not that I would've wanted to steal that experience from your birth parents. I would never. But...I don't even know what Damian looked like when he was this small."

Dick's eye twitched. The glare was still in place, but his frown was less severe. One down.

"I'm sorry, boys," he sighed, acting as though he were giving in. "The Mission has taken up so much of my time, it's hard not to wonder what I would have been like as a normal father. Just the formative things, like... like changing diapers, and doing Tummy Time, and helping you guys learn to walk."

Tim's eyes grew distant, likely thinking of his own parents and the loneliness he felt growing up in Drake Manor all by himself. He was no doubt recalling how much he wished his mom or dad had been around, to play or to talk to or just to physically be there with him, instead of off traveling the world and leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Two down.

But Jason, despite all that had happened over the years, despite the strain on his relationship with Bruce, had always been the most emotional of his children. He would not be hard to win over.

"This would be a mistake," Bruce stated, looking his second oldest right in the eyes. "They'd be happier somewhere else, somewhere normal. Maybe...maybe one of you could hold them and I can go start the car? I can feel myself starting to get attached, and that's not fair to you, boys. I didn't mean to stress you all out. I wasn't thinking."

Jason huffed, lowering his feet from where they'd been propped up on the coffee table, and stood from the couch to come take you from Bruce. His arms carefully held you to his broad chest, your weight settling against him pleasantly.

He made the mistake of watching you scrunch your face and whine softly, itty bitty hands poking out from your blanket and gripping onto his shirt sleeve with all the strength your small body could muster.

Jason's expression dropped immediately, and he practically melted as he tucked you closer.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Damian and Alfred walked into the living room to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, and Tim all cooing and fawning over you, and the war was lost.

Welcome home, Littlest Wayne.