#on whfagt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vermillioncrown · 1 year ago

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THIS IS WHAT I MEAN. every time i rant about oats in my posts, roz fucking keeps me fed

enabler friend then inspires me to dump 3k in return lmao

(when we get to a point, ttbh should get posted on ao3. but later. hooo boy. there's a lot getting implied in our bits 😎)

It’s uncomfortable when Kui-Wing wakes up—like he’s missing something. His bed feels bare. Did the mink blanket get kicked off in the middle of the night? And it almost feels like the window was left open for too long, with how chills run down his back. As awareness trickles back into his body, he can feel how he’s not on a bed at all. It feels like a medical cot.

Hospital? What’s happening? Who’s there with him?

“He’s awake.”

“Okay, grab B. I’ll get him something to eat and drink, just in case.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long night.”

The whispers around him don’t sound like the clinical way medical staff talk around their patients. He’s being monitored? Nothing seems to be hooked up—

“Hey, hey—Korv, it’s okay.”

Who? Do they think he’s someone else? Kidnapping? Where’s Ma and Ba?

The owner of the first voice hurries over to where he’s lying. “I know, I know, it’s confusing, You’re safe, okay? Let’s wait for Tim to come back down before we start explaining things?” A large hand pats down on his hair, and he can’t help but open his eyes and give up the ruse (not that it seemed to be working).

Woah.

One of the prettiest guys he’s ever seen, in both of his lives, is smiling affectionately down at him. Why’s he looking at him like that?

Kui-Wing feels his face getting red hot and reflexively turns to bury himself into the uncomfortable padding under him.

“Gosh, I”—the pretty guy muffles a whine—”I am trying so hard. Okay, okay, be cool, Kon. No squeezing.” The hand comes back down even softer on his head. It feels good, but he still doesn’t know who this pretty guy is. He doesn’t seem dangerous…but he could be delusional. And he’s really observant, with how attentive he is towards Kui-Wing.

“It’ll be okay. Hang tight, Korv.”

Something about the pretty guy, how earnest and gentle he’s being, makes him feel safe to tell the truth.

“That’s…that’s not my name. You have the wrong person, Mister,” he tells him, squirming out from under his hand and sitting up. Hm. He’s in a medical gown.

The pretty guy falters and his face goes through a brief emotional journey. “Right…not yet. Shi—shoot. I don’t think you ever said when…”

“Ten,” the second voice from before says before the person rounds the corner of the stark room he’s in. “He goes by ‘Kui-Wing’ right now. I’m Tim, by the way. And that’s Kon.”

Oh no, the second guy, Tim, is also super pretty. He’s smiling down at him, a bottle of water and a packet of nuts on hand. And he said Kui-Wing’s name right, which is utterly bizarre for a white guy. He’s paying too much attention to him and it's giving him indigestion.

“Tim, that’s rude as hell,” the first guy, Kon, lectures. “I know Alfred’s out right now, but you could’ve asked me to make something. I think even economy flights treat their passengers better.”

“These”—Tim holds up the water and snacks—”are sealed, so he’ll know it’s safe. And you didn’t get Bruce like you were supposed to.”

“Got distracted.” Kon’s hand finds its way to Kui-Wing’s head again, and this time his hair gets ruffled. It’s not painful or rough, but it’s not something he’s used to and his reflex is to squeeze his eyes shut and move with the hand.

“Very fair.” Tim sounds even closer now. He’s amused. “Grab him now, Kon? Actually, make sure he recalls Dick ASAP.”

“Gotcha,” and Kon leaves the room after another hair ruffle. This time, Kui-Wing feels it coming and holds still.

Tim doesn’t start fussing with him the same way that Kon did. Normally, it’s like when old aunties and uncles poke and prod him, and Kui-Wing knows how to tolerate it enough. But the way the two of them look at him is…it’s way more than the patronizing interest of typical adults. There’s intent—nothing weird, but it’s like they’re completely focused on him. So, in a way, that’s still weird.

“Water,” Tim extends his offerings, flipping the bottle slowly twice and squeezing. Bubbles stream from the air pocket but nothing from the sides. He then peels off the plastic tab and hands the bottle over. “And some salted almonds,” he adds, shaking the little packet in his hand. “I don’t know if you have an upset stomach right now, though.”

“I feel fine,” Kui-Wing says carefully. It seems these people know him, somehow, and aren’t…hm. It’d be best to work with them for now. “May I have some, Mr. Tim?”

Show respect, don’t draw too much attention.

“Oh—Jesus, I don’t know how Dick survived this long. Serious psychic damage,” Tim mutters even as he opens the packet. “You can just call me ‘Tim’, Kui-Wing.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re an adult. I gotta be respectful,” he explains. Adults are less likely to bother with him if he doesn’t give them anything to complain about.

This time, Tim also comes in for a hair ruffle. “No wonder you were winning since day one—you’ve had years in the game. ‘Respectful’,” he snickers to himself.

Kui-Wing tries to not let a frown show. They’re too observant. It’s honestly a bit alarming, and only not more so because it’s clear they’re trying very hard to make him comfortable and not like some weird psy-op. He takes a sip of water to stay calm.

It really helps. So, he starts on the almonds, too.

“Did I get hurt, Mr. Tim?” That would be the obvious reason why he’s in a medical bay. It’s more cramped than he’d expect at some hospital, though. No windows, either.

“We don’t know yet,” Tim answers and it sounds honest for its uncertainty. He takes out a small heart rate monitor and another device. “And that’s what we’re trying to find out. But something did happen, which is why you don’t remember me or Kon right now.” He looks at Kui-Wing expectantly until he holds out a hand for the monitor.

Plausible. If they wanted to run some weird Truman Show experiment on him, there were so many ways to have staged it better…unless they were so deep in his head they were staging it like this to look uncertain and genuine. But then, Kui-Wing would be completely outdone in that it wouldn’t matter.

“Okay.”

Tim is nice, otherwise. He tells Kui-Wing everything he’s doing, and within three explanations vacillating between overly complicated jargon and veering towards patronizing, he seems to figure out exactly what Kui-Wing understands.

Maybe it finally happened—his Ma and Ba realized he wasn’t normal enough and gave him to an institution. And Tim is actually a doctor studying him, which is why he’s able to clock him immediately. But he’s being nice about it, so there’s no point in making life rough for himself if he doesn’t need to. And if the doctors are hoping he’s something special like the people on the news, the heroes, well…they’ll be disappointed.

Another voice becomes audible. “—okay?”

“He’s fine, Tim’s checking for residuals.”

Kon returns with an older, very handsome, man in an expensive, perfectly tailored suit. It’s slightly rumpled like he’s been sitting and moving too fast without time to straighten himself. The man stares down intensely at Kui-Wing, brows furrowed and mouth in a stoic line.

Kui-Wing stills. Kon leaves the older man’s side and plops himself down on the medical cot, right next to him. “It’s okay, Little K. Bruce is just surprised.” His hand rubs down his back. It’s surprisingly nice, so he doesn’t move away.

Tim passes by the man, Bruce, and snaps his fingers in front of his face. He continues on the way to some machines on the other side of the room. “You’re freaking him out, B.”

That seems to reanimate Bruce. He gives one glance back before moving towards the touchscreen that Tim was originally working on. All the technology around seems to imply this institution is really advanced.

“…he’s so small,” Bruce finally says.

“Wasn’t Dick eight? He couldn’t have been that much bigger.”

“It makes a difference.”

“Tim, you done?” Kon impatiently calls out to interrupt their conversation.

“We should do blood work,” Bruce suggests abruptly. He’s now frowning at the screen.

“B, we can’t keep holding off—I know that look on his face. Brain on overdrive.” Tim rolls his eyes but his tone is fond as he tidies up and walks over. “Explanations now before anything else. Where’s Dick?”

Bruce shakes his head minutely. “Nearest Zeta tube is hours away.”

Tim frowns. “Then it can’t be helped.” He sits down on Kui-Wing’s other side.

Kui-Wing looks up at Tim, and then at Kon. And when Bruce doesn’t come over to box him in, he feels himself relaxing again. Kon’s hand is back on his head, carding through his hair. There’s something about him, despite being so overwhelmingly beautiful and solicitous, that makes it not creepy. It’s a grounding point as Tim starts to talk.

Tim’s explanation is careful, deliberate, but for the three times Kui-Wing requests he reiterate certain points, it doesn’t seem like he’s lying. The way he's trying to contain his personal feelings about the situation is very earnest in its restraint.

So...

Magic. Magic that made him forget, that changed him so fundamentally—that’s just this kind of fucked up world now. Kui-Wing hoped he’d never have to deal with any of it if he kept his head down.

“I know this is a lot to ask for you to trust us on top of everything,” Tim tries to wrap up, his expression growing more hesitant. He’s looking at Kui-Wing like he’s waiting for him to say something.

What is there to say? Even if things are true, it’s not like it feels like that for Kui-Wing. He…he feels as fake-seven as ever. To know he has a whole new family here to help him, outside of just Ma and Ba, sounds unbelievable.

“Do you like frogs, Little K?” Kon segues, breaking through his ruminations.

The question comes out of left field. “They’re nice, Mr. Kon,” he ends up admitting.

“You like catching them?” Kon’s pulling something out of his pocket, his tone knowing and amused.

Well…

“It’s fun.”

“Here. Big-You thinks so, too.” Kon holds his phone, a picture blown up on the screen, in front of Kui-Wing.

There’s a guy in the photo. East Asian, glasses, but hair curlier than Kui-Wing’s waves. Same mole by the lip. He looks really cool—tattoos everywhere, as he’d expects for someone that’s supposed to be Kon’s friend. The guy is standing in murky water in the woods, face grinning and streaked with mud, and he’s holding a huge frog.

No way.

“That’s…me?” Kui-Wing looks up at the adults’ faces to track any bit of deception.

Bruce makes a little noise at the back of his throat. “Send that to Alfred,” and the words are softened from a demand to a request by the subtle amusement in them. “He’s annoyed we don’t have enough photos of everyone.”

“That’s you,” Tim confirms over Kon and Bruce negotiating photo distribution. He takes the phone and pans the photo with his fingers, pinching and zooming in on maybe-Kui-Wing’s face. The naked fondness with which he studies the photo is far too much to act out. “You never get sick of catching them, and yet every time we tell you to keep one as a pet, you say no.”

Kui-Wing doesn’t like the implications of that anecdote. “It’d be unfair to the frog to keep it solely for my amusement,” he reproaches Tim.

“That explanation also never changes,” Tim nods along with a chuckle.

Because Tim seems to not disagree, Kui-Wing goes back to analyzing the photo. Metadata shows a date in the far future. When Tim doesn’t stop him, he swipes through the neighboring photos and sees that the dates are consistent. He goes back to the photo and looks at Big-Him. Seeing the running script tattooed on the guy’s forearm confirms everything. No one else would know what it says.

Or, he’s already insane and this is all a dream. In that case—nothing better to do than to go along for the ride.

An hour later, he regrets going along with everything. The adults taking care of him—Kon, Tim, and Bruce, along with a bunch of others he’s yet to meet—all know him as ‘Korvin’ or ‘Korv’, so he’s okay answering to that. Korvin. It’s a pretty cool name.

They all want turns holding him when they see him tolerate Kon’s head pats. He doesn’t get the appeal but fine. They agree to ‘no cheek pinching’—small mercies. He feels like a cat being manhandled by their overenthusiastic owner.

He gets real clothes—new clothes—Tim delights in picking out too-nice everything for him, perfectly fitted and styled. Meticulous. It’s obvious that they’re well-off, with how he texts his order and there’s a huge delivery within the hour, but it feels like a waste. He’s still grateful, though.

But his personal toll—

“This is undignified,” he complains and raises his hands. The voluminous sleeves of the green hoodie given to him barely roll down to his wrists. “You’re just doing this because you can’t bully Big-Me! He’s gonna make you pay when he—I—”

Damn, this is confusing.

Kon’s curled up against the wall like he’s dying, clutching his phone to his chest. Bruce is sitting at the bench by the foot of the guest bed, looking to be daydreaming ten thousand miles away. Tim’s squatting in front of him, expression trying to remain earnest and sincere but giving a poor showing of it.

Korvin should just push the big jerk over.

“If this happened to me, oh—Big-You would be even worse,” Tim refutes. “I’d be menaced to within an inch of my life. He’ll understand.”

Okay, fuck it, pushing time—unfortunately, Tim’s also really fast along with being observant, and catches onto Korvin’s hands before he can be toppled. He holds him in place, no matter how hard Korvin steps and digs his feet into the carpet.

“It’s so comfy, though, isn’t it?” Tim tries to coax—more like, taunt him. “Don’t you want to wear the hood?”

“Oh, please, please wear the hood,” Kon begs from the sidelines. His hand tries to hold up his phone, red light indicating a recording, but it’s too shaky. He switches to stabilizing the device with his fancy telekinesis.

Okay, to be fair, the frog-shaped hood (the whole hoodie, in fact) is…it’s really comfy. But this is why people should love nothing and no one, lest their sentiments be used against them.

“Go pound sand, Mr. Tim,” he bites out at Tim, and the man looks about to burst either into tears or hysterical laughter.

Bruce actually lets out a little huff and Kon smacks the wall and rolls along the surface. The adults’ mischief is interrupted by a cacophony of alarms, all from their individual pockets. They pull out identical devices. Communicators?

A tense silence permeates the room once they’ve all checked their devices.

“Shit,” Kon curses, looking at whatever the device is displaying. “It’s that bad?”

“I did think it was weird we’re the only ones not”—Tim bites his thumbnail, brows furrowed in thought—”luckily, we decided to stay behind. Korvin’s presence is doing a bit to keep the distortions from us.”

Korvin looks down at himself. Besides the not-obvious obvious thing, he’s never been anything special-special. “I’m not doing anything?”

“That’s kind of the problem,” Tim says with a grimace. His hand comes up to brush Korvin's fringe. “Or more like, you can’t do anything right now.”

Bruce stands up and something about his posture shifts. Suddenly, he’s the most dangerous man in the room. “That dampening effect won’t last forever. And when the distortions gain enough strength to break through—”

Tim grabs onto him. It’s almost tight enough to hurt. “We can’t let that happen. And we don’t know how much time we have left.”

What’s going to happen? He can feel how tense Tim is, hear how his heartbeat starts to speed up with how he’s being crushed to Tim’s chest. From under Tim’s arm, he sees Kon float over and stand close. Protective.

Korvin squirms in Tim’s hold. “Mr. Tim,” he calls out. “Mr. Tim!”

He’s released from the crushing embrace only to have Tim latch onto his shoulders, face worried and scanning Korvin from head to toe. Kon doesn’t look any calmer.

“What’s gonna happen, Mr. Tim?” he asks out loud. They probably don’t want to say he’s dying. Nothing hurts, really…so there could be worse ways to go. He's a primary source on that.

After a moment of intense inspection, Tim seems to have figured something out. “Doesn’t matter—I won’t let it happen.” His words sound heavy like how he’d imagine a magical oath to feel. Tim stands up, lifts Korvin by the underarms and passes him to Kon’s telekinetic hold. It’s all so extraneous and while Korvin feels uneasy, it’s clear that the adults are much more rattled by the proceedings.

Kon grips him tight, both with his arms and power. His hand comes back onto Korvin’s hair. It…it does feel safe, for once, being held like this.

“What’s the move, Rob?”

“You have the simulation from last month, B?”

There’s an implied nod, and Tim answers Kon. “I have a plan. We’re calling in some help from outside.”

the time being had is of ambiguous quality, but we're certainly here

(ttbh for abbreviation purposes)

below the cut is the scene i wrote as gift fic for @vermillioncrown as a spin-off of our collab 'we're here for a good time, not a long time,' which we've hinted around in previous posts. (we were talking abt our beef w kidfic and this happened.) abt 1.7k words

to re-cap, general premise is that allie and korvin got de-aged in their respective universes, have to camp out in canon-verse for a little while as things settle down at home. whfagt events were abt six months prior.

Allie doesn’t think it’s unreasonable that when the very beautiful man who told her to call him Conner attempts to set her down amongst a group of vigilantes that she’s been assured are an alternate universe version of her family—and whom older her has apparently visited before?—she tightens her grip on his t-shirt and her knees around his hip.

The even more (somehow?) beautiful man who is first to approach them makes her hide her face in Conner’s shoulder because he’s so nauseatingly good-looking. Well, it’s a combo of that and people staring at her in general. Is everyone stupidly pretty here?

Someone makes a cooing noise.

“Jason filled us in,” says the Even More Beautiful Man. “This is Allie?”

His voice is all cheerful-gentle and Allie hates it, she does not want this man paying her his undivided attention, it’s mortifying, it’s even worse than when Duke and Jason had had to calm her down from a panic attack a few hours ago and had treated her with kid gloves and looked at her like she was the saddest, wettest kitten out in the rain.

But part of what he says makes her perk up, and she looks around the cave which is apparently called the Batcave because everyone sucks at naming things. “Jason?”

Conner snorts. “The more things change…”

“—I just don’t think it makes sense to leave me in an alternate universe with people I don’t know,” comes a child’s voice, only barely petulant, and Allie’s distracted from her search. “Can’t I be protected at—home? Don’t you have superpowers?”

“Yeah, but you’re extra squishy human right now, Korv,” says a fond-sounding Conner. A Conner who is not her Conner, or at least not the one holding her. It’s a Conner carrying a little boy piggy-back who looks about her age, walking down a set of stairs. Hm. She had gotten flown in through an entrance directly into the cave. It had been really cool.

“And the true dynamic duo is reunited,” mutters another pretty boy, trailing behind. He catches Allie’s eye and smiles.

Allie wants to die. Just how many beautiful people’s company can she be expected to endure?

“Reunited?” Allie redirects her attention. She looks at the little boy who looks back at her with equal discernment, and doesn’t recognize him though the preternatural canniness is viscerally familiar. “We’ve met?”

The Even More Beautiful Man clears his throat. “You and Korvin met the last time you were both in this universe, Allie.” He sounds slightly constipated. Unfortunately, it doesn’t diminish his charm.

“Yeah, and now it’s something something, latent agents of chaos and order, multiversal shenanigans never letting up, achieving balance in the force,” says Korvin’s Conner. “Easiest if you and Allie are in the same place for the time being while the rest of us do clean up. You two even each other out, existentially speaking.”

“That’s a stupid explanation,” Korvin grumbles. He darts another look at Allie, scans the cave.

Anything his Conner might say in response is drowned out by the sound of a motorcycle engine echoing, and Allie’s attention is stolen by the figure on the bike, who, besides Conner, is the only one she recognizes thus far. Though that’s not saying much.

Jason—or this universe’s version of him, and wow this is all getting confusing—eyeballs her once he’s parked and takes his helmet off, hair mussed and a little sweaty. He gives a little wave. “Hey, Allie.”

“Hi,” she replies, and she can feel her cheeks reddening again. She turns away.

“No memories at all?” asks Jason in a tone of confirmation more than interrogation, and she’s not a hundred percent on who he’s talking to, but she decides it’s not her. Besides, he should already know this since her Jason is the one that initiated contact with him about her coming here.

Conner answers. “Nothing past the age she is now.” He rubs his hand on her back.

Time to lean in.

“I’m seven,” she announces in her best ‘I’m baby’ impression.

“Me too,” says Korvin.

“Fascinating,” says the pretty boy. “You had at least a ten year age gap last time.”

“So, this is a situation that is potentially hilarious, and I’d love to stick around for multiple reasons not even to do with the hilarity, but unfortunately there’s a time crunch.” Korvin’s Conner sounds genuinely apologetic.

“Ditto.” Conner is similarly regretful. “Believe me, I want to hang around, and you are wicked cute as a kid—” he directs this part at Allie “—but the universe-saving thing. Kind of pressing.”

“They’ll be safe here,” assures the oldest man in a gruff voice. He’s handsome, but in a dad kind of way where he looks like he needs a nap and a shave. Allie bets he gives really good hugs if you’re able to surprise one out of him.

“Hopefully less mayhem than last time,” says the Even More Beautiful Man with a laugh. “Admittedly not a high bar to clear, though.”

Everyone has been extremely vague about what had happened the last time Allie had universe-hopped, her Jason especially, and he had seemed to know the most. Maybe she’ll get some answers here.

“This is child abandonment, I’m pretty sure,” protests Korvin when his Conner detaches him and sets him down. His Conner winces deeply.

“I’ll be back, Korv,” he promises, crouched down to eye level and more serious than an adult making those kinds of promises to a kid usually is.

“Hm,” is all Korvin says.

“You too, now, Allie,” says her Conner. He’s wearing a reassuring expression. “Back soon.”

She doesn’t put up a fuss this time, though she feels a little silly standing there in the Wonder Woman t-shirt her Jason had given her—older-hers, apparently, and she swims in it even with the hem tied in a knot at her waist—and the jeans and shoes that had been hastily purchased in her home universe.

The two Conners eye each other, and then Korvin’s Conner says, “Good to know I can pull off a nose ring.”

Her Conner scoffs. “I can pull off anything.”

Korvin’s Conner grins. “It's true, I can.”

“See you in a bit, Allie.”

“Real soon, Korv.”

The two of them have some universe-traveling bracelet doohickey and vanish in short order, and Allie looks around the gathered inhabitants of the Batcave—seriously such a stupid name—and then at Korvin, who looks back at her, and, in unspoken agreement, they move closer to each other.

“I think this means we’re best friends now,” she says solemnly.

Korvin nods back with equal solemnity.

The Even More Beautiful Man squats down and smiles at them. “Either of you hungry?”

“Is Steph here?” Allie ignores him and peers around the cave for effect. ”Or Duke?”

“Steph and Duke?” Korvin asks her, also ignoring the Even More Beautiful Man.

“They're nice,” Allie informs him. ”And Steph's really pretty.”

The Even More Beautiful Man makes a noise in the back of his throat, apparently of confusion or dismay, because he quickly clears it and that noise is different. “Steph's wrapping some things up and Duke has class. He'll be back for dinner.”

“Oh.” Allie stops looking around. She still doesn't look at the Even More Beautiful Man; it'd be like looking at the sun if the sun wasn't an indifferent ball of burning gas and instead actively liked you.

“Who are you, anyway?” says Korvin to the Even More Beautiful Man, though Allie notices that he doesn't look at him straight on. Still. Respect.

The Even More Beautiful Man smiles again. “I'm Dick—”

Allie chokes, shares a frantic glance with Korvin.

“That's a bad word,” Korvin accuses instantly.

“I can't say that, I'll get in trouble,” Allie follows up.

“Are you trying to get us in trouble?”

“That's not nice.”

“You shouldn’t try and trick people.”

“I don’t like this.”

Korvin latches onto her hand; she squeezes back. They shuffle even closer to one another.

The pretty boy is clearly biting his cheek in order not to laugh, his face pinking. Dick—and not only is everyone pretty here, the bad names aren’t limited to places, apparently—just stares at them, shell-shocked.

“I—it’s not a bad word, my name is—Dick is short for Richard. It’s a nickname.” He sounds thoroughly lost.

“Sure, Mr Richard,” returns Korvin derisively.

The pretty boy loses it at the same time as Jason bursts into a full-on cackle and Dick’s expression turns to one of horror. Allie, trying not to observe everyone else laughing so that she doesn’t crack, manages instead to make eye contact with the old guy, who gives her the most subdued yet intense smile she’s ever seen, causing her to reflexively smile back.

“His name really is Dick,” the old guy says, subdued-amused. Wow, everything about this guy is subdued, but strictly in a lurking-under-the-surface kinda way. “I’m Bruce. Allie, you’ve met Jason. Korvin, you’ve met Tim. The others will be by eventually and we’ll do further introductions as needed.”

Smart, not offering up information until it’s immediately relevant. Also, paranoid. Allie notices Bruce noticing that she notices, and, judging by the grip on her hand, Korvin notices, too.

“Holy shit, this is great,” Jason wheezes.

“Language,” Tim wheezes back, setting them both off again.

With an air of trying to regain his equilibrium, Dick looks to her and Korvin, jokes, “What, you’re not going to reprimand Jason for using a bad word?”

Korvin scuffs his foot on the concrete, looking down, hand swinging in hers. “Not my business.”

Allie, feeling a little emboldened by the general good humor, interprets: “He’s not trying to make us say anything bad, so it’d be rude to reprimand.” Then, enunciating as clearly as possible, she continues, “And we have fucking manners.”

Even Dick loses the ability to hold it together in the face of such impeccable logic; he snorts loudly, claps a hand over his mouth.

Korvin grins and laughs, then, and Allie grins back.

#friend bits #folie a deux #on whfagt #on ttbh #phd-verse #verm bits #we made up a whole meta-worldbuilding for reconnecting the 'verses bc when we were talking themes and motifs in the chat #realized some realizations. tldr we tend to approach the same/similar theme from opposing ends #two sides same coin type of shit in the coolest way #edit: also yes on agreeing w never looking dick grayson straight in the eye if you're not inured to it

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