#i hope you like this anon!!!

[jazzzzzzhands]

Could you do a small doodle of Wally and Home hugging? (Clown said Home hugs wally by squishing him between the door and the door frame)

Oh!! I actually have drawn this exact thing before!! BUT!! Have another TidBit!! Wally is a little woeful that he cannot fit into a miniature Home!!!

[adam-scott]

ADAM SCOTT as Griff Hawkins Boy Meets World (1993–2000)

[technically-human]

Payneland² 

[dorothywonderland]

could you draw Telemachus and Athena?

“Need some help?”

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[oyabun-draws]

this may be in the top 3 scenes of capri for me

[justscarfy]

if you don’t mind. Could you draw Tangle wearing wedding ballgown.

Of course!

Alt and Bonus: /w Whisper!

[rainscenes]

eddie + singling out buck for anon ♡

[softaestluv]

Do you accept request? If you do can you please write something about a reader who is seen as someone kinda rude? But she's not rude exactly just blunt and easily irritated, and then become a people pleaser because she's been called ignorant (this is totally based because it happens all the time with me and it's tiring 😓) with simon or tf141

Love your writing, never even played the game but im obsessed with them 💕

Rude.

Arrogant.

A bitch.

All words and more you’ve been called, described as.

It’s not true, at least you like to think it isn’t because it’s not intentional. Really, half the time you’re not even sure what the other people are referring to.

Too blunt. Too flat. Too plain-spoken.

The thing is, you can be all of those things. Of course you can, who isn’t when people are constantly pushing your boundaries, even after you’ve asked them to stop? But all you are is too sensitive, can’t take a joke, need to lighten up.

So, you try your best to be warm and welcoming. Raise the pitch of your voice, nod your head more often, wear a smile on your face, laugh at jokes, push the irritation in your chest down as much as you can.

Simon sees through it. A pitch forced, head stiff, smile tight, and a laugh all too fake. He watches you change yourself to accommodate others, for the sake of those around you, make everyone else happy because you didn’t seem to check all their boxes.

It infuriates Simon because he’s seen the same way. Socially inept, spoken words hoarse and thunderous, uninviting and menacing, not interested in social interactions. Except he won’t change himself for those who won’t to see him.

“Why do you do that?” Simon grumbled from beside you.

You bend your head to look up at him, brows furrowed, “Do what?”

“Let ‘em get in your head.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.” You respond, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb.” He chides, shooting you a pointed look.

You sigh, murmuring quietly, “They don’t like me otherwise.”

“I like you jus’ fine.”

[meskit]

May I request two time x reader please,?

weird little cat

bonus scrapped sketch under the cut

- 🦷 -

i genuinely couldnt take it seriously because the little insert bean looked too much like a bug on its back. a friend made a comparison to sheep that get stuck on their back and so. i made the insert a sheep LOL

[mimorobo]

Could you draw Underswap Sans?

Haha!! Sure! Swap sans! He's cool, likes tacos I think? Which makes him cooler!!

... But you didn't specify WHICH underswap sans... >:)

CROSSBONES ATTACK!!

(jk I know who you meant ;D) Doodled him a lot before I got it right!

This was fun to draw!! I'm not really used to doing a proper swap sans, honestly feels kinda wrong?? :'D But I hope he captures the Papyrus-stuck-in-Sans'-body look I was going for!!

[velvetwyrme]

bringing back the question for 2025: who in the autobots would fuck a car and/or have an sti

hi i thought too long and hard about this. then i made a silly comic about it which quickly got derailed into another silly bit. and then it kept getting longer and more terrible

i don't know whether you're the same person as the original anon or not but im gonna freakin cry either way. is this my legacy...

on one hand this ask gave me lots of motivation for some reason, so thank you for that, but on the other hand it motivated me to draw a 6 page comic about robot STIs.

i put too much effort into this lmao. for my actual conclusions AND some extra notes about the comic click the read more 👍

Ratchet: No and no. Has HAD STIs before. When he was younger. True across continuities except... in TFA he would have an STI. I can see it.

Ironhide: Yes carfucking, but I feel like the carfuckin was also a one time thing specifically. No STI. To quote my notes: "Frag no, Chromia or Ratch woukd kill him". Typo included.

Jazz: Yes carfucking, no STI because if he got one he'd be on top of treatment. Originally there was a bit in the comic with Jazz and Prowl arguing about which is worse: fuckin a car or havin a STI but it got cut because its already like 6 pages

Prowl: No carfucking and yes STI. He thinks carfucking is Really Weird. Wait. Purely off of vibes because I still haven't watched ES (someday...) but ES!Prowl would fuck a car.

Optimus: Who else do you think gave Megatron the STI? (/j /j... unless?) Carfucking and STI status varies wildly across continuities imo. G1? Yes and yes. IDW... depends on what point in time. I feel like its a yes to both but not at the same time. TFA would not fuck a car but he definitely has an STI. TFP! and ES! OP is a mystery to me, you guys can tell me if you have strong opinions on them. Hm. Armada OP would fuck a car.

Sideswipe: originally it WAS going to be him in the comic but as I mentioned, it got derailed. He'd absolutely give a car an STI.

Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Hot Rod: Yeah, probably both. Maybe not at the same time though. Hot Rod was only so low on Prowls list because hes Literally Offworld but who knows what hes capable of.

Yes to carfucking, no STI: Lets see... Bumblebee, Cliffjumper (despite Prowl and Ironhide's assumption in the comic, THIS is my actual opinion lmao), I think Mirage would as well, but he'd vehemently deny it. Also *leans in close to the mic* Elita-1 would fuck a car. But she'd do it and it'd be like. Cool.

No to carfucking, yes STI: *long pause as i look into the middle distance* mmm...Smokescreen. I don't know much about TFP!Smokescreen but he can get lumped in there too. Sunstreaker as well, but more because he says he didn't fuck a car but he could be lying and you genuinely can't tell if he is. Also Brawn for some reason.

As for other characters elsewhere... Rodimus is a strong contender for giving a car an STI. So is Whirl, but I feel like he's slightly less likely to have an STI, yknow? Only slightly.

Other notable ones I think would have both but NOT at the same time: Swerve, Skids, Drift (specifically because of Rodimus because even if they don't fuck they seem like the type of friends who share drinks), I think First Aid fits in here too, and is the only medic who would have an STI that I can think of off the top of my head. Oh also Armada!Jetfire.

I also think that the Aerialbots are all contenders for this category too. Some more than others but it wouldn't matter because they all end up with an STI and it's miserable.

ALSO...

The alternate punchline to the comic, had it been set on the Lost Light, is... a meeting (in which the general consensus is that Rodimus fucked the car that mysteriously appeared on the Lost Light, AND he gave it an STI)

Then, Nightbeat bursts in with Brainstorm in tow, and he reveals that it was in fact Brainstorm's fault- NOT because he fucked the car (he's far more interested in er... lab equipment, lets say) BUT he made a gun that fucks cars, and accidentally gave the GUN a STI

ALSO SIDEBURN FROM TF:RID (2001). he would ABSOLUTELY fuck a car and give it an STI. He canonically loves red sportscars and you KNOW that mans got an STI.

[rendevok]

step into the light

what do you see?

my sun,

my stars

shining on me

[stellewriites]

every sort of day

ghoap x gn!reader fluff

when you woke that morning, the bed was empty and the flat quiet. you felt the sheets but they were cold and you huffed feeling a little frustrated that you’d woken up late even if you knew you’d needed the sleep.

pouting regardless, you got up and headed into the kitchen, shuffling along the wood floors in your thick, warm socks. your eyes went to the fridge first like every morning and you grinned when you saw the letter magnets rearranged into a message, i luv u. looking slightly lower you barked out a surprised laugh at the continued message using numbers for any missing original magnets, 4nd ur ar5e.

you shook your head and finally opened your coffee maker, feeling your chest warm when you saw a pod already inside and your mug set just to the side of it. your favourite brand of almond milk had been replenished in the fridge without you realising and you savoured the hot drink once it was made with a satisfied hum.

you’d missed johnny and simon before they’d left to work on base that morning, but they’d made sure to leave their mark behind for you to find.

you settled on the sofa in your boyfriends’ t-shirt and boxers, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. you sent a text to the pair of them, a simple love heart to let them know you’d woken up, and then turned on the tv. you’d been sick the past few days though you could tell you were on the up now, your head not feeling so fuzzy and your throat not scratching as bad. your boyfriends must have agreed given they’d set up the stuff for a coffee; simon was a staunch believer of tea only when ill and he made you stick to it too when he was around.

halfway through your trash tv show you napped for an hour or two, only waking when your stomach grumbled and complained at being empty for too long. wrapped up tight in your blanket, you yawned and headed to the kitchen to grab the soup johnny had made. you spotted it on the top shelf in the fridge and heated it up in the microwave under the brief instructions taped to the side of the tupperware. you were thankful it didn’t need too long, eager to get back to the sofa and the latest season of love island. while you waited for it to heat up you made yourself a tea and sent a photo to simon, smiling when he sent back a simple, good lass 🖤.

you sighed at the smell when the microwave dinged. spicy veg, your favourite and easy to keep down with the gippy tummy you’d had the last few days.

once you sat back down with both items, you hunched over like a shrimp to keep from spilling it, your blanket hung over your shoulders like a shroud.

you messaged simon worriedly when you’d heard nothing from johnny by mid afternoon. you knew they were meant to be in training, finishing off any vague handwavey paperwork they did and catching up with their captain after the last week off on break with you. but still. you worried.

johnny was chatty, even when he was in a meeting or on a helo, he always managed to send you a little something to keep your nerves settled.

your phone pinged and you opened the video simon sent quick sharp.

it showed johnny running laps on his own on a big field, a group of younger recruits cheering him on from the side, slightly out of frame and sat on the grass next to the track. your boyfriend’s face was beet red and his wheezing breaths could be heard even several feet away.

“talked a big game about my training program for the new recruits, said i was losing my touch,” simon’s voice came out of your speakers. he was clearly amused even if you couldn’t see him. he raised his voice for johnny. “‘ow you feeling now, sergeant?"

“cannae feel ma legs, lt.” johnny slowed down on his lap until he was just walking, coming to a stop opposite simon, though still a ways away on the track. “pain in ma lungs is—“ he hacked a rough cough before leaning over his knees.

“still think i’ve gone soft?” simon asked as the video zoomed in comically and unflattering on johnny panting and suffering.

“ah think yer a petty bastard,” johnny grumbled, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard by his lt. cheeky. “ah think ah might’ve pulled somethin’ permanently.” he stood back up and tried to stretch his back with a wince.

“cheer up,” simon said unsympathetically. “and say ‘ello to sunny, they were worried f’ya,” simon said softer.

johnny perked up at the mention of your nickname and you grinned at his wobbly smile on the screen, his chest still rising and falling with his quick, deep breaths. “missin’ ya, sunshine.”

the video flicked around and you were being shown simon’s work mask and his deep dark eyes hidden in the shadows of it. “be ‘ome soon,” he promised.

the video cut off as you heard simon yell at johnny to keep running and you relaxed back with a laugh; johnny would be thoroughly knackered by time he got in so you were guaranteed a puppy pile the second he stepped through the door. you turned back to the tv and settled in for another possible nap, eager for the day to go by so you could see your partners once more.

——

you blearily rubbed at your eyes as you heard the door open and peeked over the side of the sofa to see your boys shuffling in. slowly and clumsily, you made your way over with the blanket still tangled around you.

you let one arm escape the warm cocoon to help simon with his coat, tugging at the sleeve as he shrugged it off. you weren’t much help but he liked that you tried even when you weren’t feeling 100%.

johnny leant in to kiss your forehead and you sniffled with a smile as you looked up at him. simon’s hand was warm where it gently squeezed the back of your neck before trailing down to the small of your back over the blanket.

“kept warm?” he asked before heading to the kitchen and leaving you to be wrapped up in johnny’s arms. once he had a good hold around you he led you behind simon faithfully. your small steps tied in the burrito blanket hindered his longer strides so he swayed side to side on each foot to slow down and stop you from tripping in his eagerness.

“yeah, i’ve been wrapped up all day, hardly moved,” you said.

“lucky for some,” johnny groaned into your neck. “si ran me bloody ragged.”

you laughed and reached and hand up to pet sympathetically at his hair. your laugh soon turned to a racking cough and you ducked your head into your elbow and away from johnny.

he rocked you gently on the spot as he leant against the kitchen top opposite where simon was lining up three cups of tea.

once the kettle popped, johnny led you forward and squished you between his front and simon’s back as the larger man poured the boiling water into the cups.

you let your free arm curl around simon’s stomach, pawing gently like a cat at his bulk beneath the thick hoody until his own hand raised to hold it. he ran his thumb over your knuckles before lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, lingering.

“and did ya eat today?” he asked.

you nodded and hummed the assentive.

“our lovely bonnie, knows how t’ take care ah’themselves when we can’t,” johnny hummed, pleased and proud, into your hair.

“missed you both today,” you admitted.

you felt johnny grin against your skin and simon squeezed your hand tighter.

“ye’d a’been asleep all day, sunny,” he joked.

you pouted. it was true but that wasn’t the reaction you wanted.

johnny tugged you back a few steps and simon let your hand slip from his; the scot guided you out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom, and when you checked over both of your shoulders for simon he chuckled fondly.

simon had all three mugs in his hands and was close behind as johnny gently shoved you back onto the bed, your knees sinking into the plush duvet and mattress as you climbed to the centre.

you got yourself snuggled against the pillows with johnny to your right and then helped simon with the mugs on your left before he too collapsed against your side, shoulder to hip.

“put some honey in yours,” simon murmured softly as you blew on the hot tea. you smiled gratefully and leant in to kiss his cheek. “think we should order in, can’t be arsed t’cook.”

“aye, that’s fine w’me,” johnny agreed as he turned on the tv opposite your bed. he flickered through your watchlist before landing on young frankenstein and pressing play.

you pulled the blanket up high and held on to johnny’s hand, keeping your tea up high to inhale the steam while simon petted at your thigh under the covers. you didn’t know when you’d nodded off, but simon must have taken your mug before it could spill and johnny must have laid you lower on the bed to get you comfy. you woke to the sound of football playing on the tv and you groaned and curled further into simon’s side. he’d always managed to stay still better than johnny could, even if he was just as invested in the game. you felt johnny’s hand rub up and down your side, before gripping the fat of your hip in excitement and patting it softly but rapidly when a goal was scored.

“easy, johnny,” simon reminded him and johnny leant over to kiss your brow with a wet smooch.

“sorry, sunny,” he whispered. “go back to sleep. i’ll be quiet.”

you snorted softly, knowing he’d do his best but would be unable to keep the promise. you managed to fall asleep again regardless with a small smile, cuddled close between the two of them; simon’s arm around you both and his aftershave gently breaking through your stuffed nose.

being ill would be so much worse if you didn’t have these two lugs keeping you comfortable and cared for.

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[direpunk]

i adore the way you draw jay so very much. he is like a baby seal to me

highkey this is my favorite ask i’ve ever gotten