#that has what they consider furry

[mareleke]

my furry hater friends keep liking anthropomorphic animal characters and using the dumbest excuses to prove they're not a furry for it. This includes:

-Taking the term furry 100% literally and saying that if it doesn't have fur it can't be a furry in any way

-Saying it's just a "mascot"

[lunarneo]

If I give you a smile please consider giving me some help!

my Patreon 

my Ko-fi

[stardestroyer81]

🥪 Introducing... Door2Door! 🥪

Door2Door stars twenty year old possum Gigi Dempster, who lives in a rather ramshackle, podunk town in Vermont called Bendersville. After sending numerous job applications all over town with no word back, she finally lands herself a delivery driver position at an unassuming locally-owned sandwich restaurant named Dine 'n Dash. With no prior experience in the art of crafting a mighty fine sandwich or running a delivery route, Gigi is strapped in to experience the whirlwind of a first time food service job firsthand, and in an unpredictable town like Bendersville, quite literally anything can happen.

(For more information on what Door2Door is— as well as a handful of progress images— please consider checking underneath the cut!)

At last, witness unveiling of my latest project I've spent the last month conceptualizing, Door2Door! What once came about as a silly idea of basing a project after an inner-city delivery driver inspired after a certain gameplay section in Spongebob Squarepants: Revenge of the Flying Dutchman, it has since blossomed into one of my dearest passion projects yet!

Though, before I get into any further detail behind Door2Door and its creation, I must stress— none of the above five images hail from a lost late nineties/early 2000s Cartoon Network show, and if by chance any of them were enough to fool you into thinking they were, then that just means I achieved what I set out for! 💙✨

Now, about a month ago, I'd been watching a retrospective on the critically un-acclaimed Spongebob Squarepants: Revenge of the Flying Dutchman, a game I had growing up. It's important for me to mention that I had seen and personally played the aforementioned gameplay section before, though for some reason seeing it again struck me with a brilliant project idea.

Anyone who's been following me for at least a year knows that I've designed a cavalcade of candied characters for my own arcade game concept, Rascal, and initially my idea for Door2Door— which I also called Project JJ (In reference to the sandwich chain Jimmy John's)— was to give it a plot simple enough to translate into an arcade game.

The idea was that you played as a plucky delivery driver who rides through the streets of a seedy city to deliver a food order to the... er, order-ee. But your progress would be impeded by a fiendish gang of mobster alley cats who are after your sandwiches, so there would have definitely been a large cartoony element to the gameplay loop.

I drew concept art for Door2Door's protagonist, then known as Marcy, though I really wasn't vibing with either drawing. For one, making the protagonist a cat seemed a bit overdone, and I already have a cat character who's name rhymes with Marcy, so that had to go. More so, I also couldn't settle on a good spriting style, which prompted me to rethink the whole project.

Well, there is a general aura of cartooniness to Door2Door, I thought, why not just embrace that vibe whole-heartedly and reshape the project into a long-lost late nineties cartoon?

I did like the idea of having an excuse to drawing more animation cels, though if I was going to make Door2Door into something resembling a cel-animated cartoon, I was prepared to go the full distance in nailing that aesthetic, in the form of how characters are designed and the way I go about drawing each screenshot.

For those unfamiliar with cel animation, essentially it can be described as a traditional form of animation and involves objects— usually characters— being hand-inked and painted on clear celluloid sheets and placed over painted backgrounds.

Above, I've provided a visual for what a standalone 'cel' from Door2Door would look like, coupled with a hand-painted background. When overlaid on top of one another...

... you would get this! This is exactly how cartoons were animated up until the era of digital inking and coloring... but that begs the question. How am I achieving a hand-drawn and painted aesthetic if everything I've shown so far has been drawn digitally?

I have my ways! It involves a lot of studying how individual cels of animation look, and taking note of recurring hallmarks; grainy textures, paint blemishes, drop shadows, etc. Above, I've assembled a small gif of my process in composing a screenshot for Door2Door, from lineart to final product!

So, that all should loosely explain it; Door2Door is what would happen if I were in charge of a late nineties Cartoon Network show, and what you've seen here is merely the beginning. Going forward, I will be posting art of Door2Door's main cast with some additional character information and concept art for each one, though for the time being, enjoy all five art pieces I've supplied for this post— they are perhaps the biggest works of mine yet this year! 💙🏳️‍⚧️✨

[felignis]

i think chappell roan enforcing her boundaries to creepo parasocial fans is so fucking awesome and based and she should be allowed to do whatever she wants forever

[mechawolfie]

it continues

[identityquest]

so um. i decided the put victor on artfight

[baka-monarch]

Tiktokers be like:

Furries: we HATE nsfw furries they are gross and shouldn't exist! >:(

Therians: we HATE furries, especially any freaky ones they are gross and shouldn't exist! >:(

Kemonomimis: we HATE furries and therians they are gross and shouldn't exist! >:(

....guys this- this isn't- this isn't how you be excepting you- you very much are doing to sister communities what haters do to your community- you know that right?

[orionis13]

Need to make a fursona but I can never decide on A Beast how do yall do it

[evilevilevilnotevilevilagain]

im doing very well mentally

and by that I mean I'm thinking of expanding my surgical body horror furryverse to include more rabbit girls

[weirderscience]

ok secondlife is actually really fun i forgot how customizable everything is

[knighthelmetgirl]

I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT

WHY DO I FEEL SO BAD

[leadendeath]

Ok anon. I listened. I don't want to post the message because it has uncomfortable subject matter (which I don't want to trigger-tag for lest it attract those kind of freaks to the post), but I didn't want to look like I was ignoring the message. Kinda backed me into a corner there.

That sure is a bad guy alright, very bad. I don't want to dig around, I have heard as much as I need to, and I believe you, I don't need sources. Nasty. I wonder if there's a petition or something to get him removed, but he'd probably have a tantrum about that.

I agree, it is definitely important to know.

Can you recommend me the next best site? I do think that almost every website has a ceo/boss/whatever they are who is a bad person though- I'm not going to stop using f.a. because of this. Sorry if you wanted to argue, that won't be happening. You probably weren't but I have a hard time interpreting things. This is the first time I've received this kind of message ever about anything like this, so I'm trying to handle this in a way that shows you I care while also finding compromise.

You won't see this now, but I hope if you do come back to check up on things I hope you see that I responded. I don't do well with time limits and I hope my slowness to respond was not interpreted as "I don't care" or "domain owner man not a bad guy at all actually", I would hate for the wrong assumption to be made.

[feybeasts]

What you need to understand about me- and what most of you all do understand about me, is that I will be aggressively enabling of living your weirdest, fullest truth, and I think it's bullshit that people act like it's detrimental to you to do so

I don't give a shit if me being a weird furry online loses me any job prospects or if people talk or whatever- maybe it's fucked up that we hold something as minor and meaningless as that over someone's head, that we give it weight it doesn't deserve, you ever thought of that? Maybe I see the culture of belittling a person as "cringe" for having interests counter to the norms as a failure of society, and I'm gonna throw myself onto the damn pyre and fight to my last breath against it, ever considered that?

I'm not just being cute and funny when I say "live your truth no matter how weird it is," because you know what?

If you're not hurting anyone in a real and tangible way, if you're respecting the rights and comfort of others, nobody- NOBODY has the moral grounds to stand against you, and to hell with them if they try.

That's my spiel.

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[amaranthineghost]

—23 GOING ON 33 oscar posts a couple of tiktoks which leads to the entirety of internet making fun of him for his millennial behavior

oscarpiastri has posted a tiktok!

[caption: come on then, give us your best #askoscar]

user what's your favorite type of bread

user hey oscar, why do you have a millennial pause even though you're technically gen z

user when is the carlos diss track?

ynusername why do you have a millennial pause, i thought you were better than this 😓

user how is your relationship with drs going??

user oscar do you perhaps know what a millennial pause is

user would you ever consider becoming a full time tiktok influencer

user do you think alex is pookie

logansargeant mate im older than you and i don't even have a millenial pause

⤷ logansargeant but when's the diss track

user how do you maintain the swirl in your hair?

user he's so millennial with that pause

user im not even surprised

user someone please teach him

oscarpiastri has posted a tiktok!

[caption: reply to @/randomuserdontask]

ynusername oscar sweetie i thought we talked about this

⤷ logansargeant the training we taught him got him no where! he's still acting like he was born 10 years before he actually was!

⤷ ynusername a true tragedy we must save him

user yn and logan plotting against oscar in the comments 😭

⤷ user he needs to be stopped

user the millennial pause is killing me

user he keeps avoiding the carlos diss track questions

⤷ user well ofc! he's got to keep it a secret for when it comes out

⤷ user TRUE

user i bet oscar is collaborating with lewis considering he took his seat at ferrari

user oscar, please take some advice the millennial pause is funny BUT PLEASE

user someone save him

⤷ ynusername 🤫🤫🤫

⤷ user GIRL PLEASE WORK YOUR MAGIC

⤷ ynusername IM TRYING HE DOESN"T LISTEN VERY WELL (this is the same man that was a car furry for the first few years of his life so)

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername and 406,703 others

oscarpiastri photo dump

view all 1,092 comments

ynusername oh dear

⤷ ynusername okay but wait this is actually hilarious, i think i might stop breathing

⤷ oscarpiastri please breath

user when oscar posts a photo dump that's literally just the same pictures repeating in no specific order

logansargeant a tragedy that not even william shakespeare could write

⤷ user DIABOLICAL

user oscar buddy we have devolved instead of evolving from the millennial pause

⤷ user the teachings ain't working

⤷ ynusername IM TRYING MY BEST

⤷ ynusername but also millennial oscar is pretty funny

⤷ user we dont blame you yn! 🙌🏼

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri and 10,498 others

ynusername this is how you post a photo dump

view all 57 comments

user yes please teach him how its done

oscarpiastri maybe its all part of my master plan

⤷ ynusername oscar lets be fr, you can't come up with any master plans

⤷ oscarpiastri you never know

⤷ ynusername i mean i never knew you were capable of a millennial pause

⤷ oscarpiastri ouch

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername and 724,294 others

oscarpiastri thanks for the help pretty ☀️

comments have been disabled

[batchilla]

Your new partner is Grayson.

He’s a weird guy.

Not necessarily a bad guy, but a weird one.

He’s not cold, in fact he’s rather friendly. However, when you really consider it, he volunteered very little information on his personal life. Reasonable, you suppose. So long as he has your back in the field and gets his reports done, you don’t need to be best friends.

Your new partner Grayson is a recent Gotham transplant. You’d never personally been, but you weren’t oblivious to how utterly mad the city was. You could hardly blame him for getting out.

Your new partner Grayson, tenses up whenever someone mentions the Batman, or any of the nutcases he fights. You don’t pry.

You do your own research.

Your new partner Grayson watched his parents die. He’d been taken in by Gotham’s favourite son, a man he seemed reluctant to speak of. He’d had, and lost a brother, to the most deranged man Gotham, if not the world, had ever known.

You stop mentioning Gotham around him after that.

Your new partner Grayson is a weird guy, who seems constantly surprised whenever you demonstrate competency.

At first you’d suspected sexism. It wouldn’t have been your first partner to have that failing.

After a few days though, you catch him being equally surprised when officer Jackson makes a connection on a string of breaking and entries, and realise that perhaps he’s just not used to the cops not being utterly reliant on a very scary angsty furry and a small child without pants.

Your new partner, Grayson, is a weird guy, who disappears sometimes. Middle of a chase he’ll be gone, and you won’t see him again for sometimes as long as hours, before he’s back. More often than not, somehow through some insane luck, the perp will have been taken down by Bludhaven’s new vigilante, and tied to a lamppost for you to find. You both hated and envied his luck.

Your new partner Grayson was a weird guy… and he was a damn good cop.

He made connections like no one else. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense. You’d asked him once, about how he seemed to know all he did. How he seemed to have access to a whole other database of clues you just couldn’t see.

And he’d smiled that cheeky smile of his, and told you he’d been consulting an oracle.

Your new partner, Grayson, moves like nothing you’ve ever seen.

You’d initially attributed it to his past as an acrobat. The way he could simply parkour over and around anything in his way, run faster then he had any right to, chase down a perp like a bloodhound.

It was more than that though. You’d say without hesitation that if you were in a firefight, he’s who you’d want at your side. You must’ve owed him your life three times over by now. Even in those situations though, when no one would have blamed him for the use of lethal force, he never had.

You’d been pinned down by a smuggling ring. You, Grayson, and ten of them - all armed to the teeth.

He’d been incredible. Superhuman, almost.

Someone had shot out the lights. He’d told you one of the smugglers must have missed. You’d never once believed him.

Ten smugglers. You’d managed to knock out and cuff one, unwilling to risk taking a shot blind.

The other nine? Those had been your partner. He had them unconscious in a heap by the time your eyes had adjusted.

No bullet wounds. He’d done it hand to hand.

You didn’t know exactly what he was hiding, but you knew he was hiding something. You decided not to call him out on it. Not as long as you trusted that whatever he was using his … inexplicable skills for was good.

And trust you did.

Grayson was a good man. Even knowing little about him

Which was why this betrayal hurt so badly.

“Say again?”

You’d sat in relative silence in an unmarked police car for about half an hour on a stakeout, and Richard Grayson had just said the worst sentence you’d ever heard. You’d never been so utterly horrified.

“Peeps popcorn.” He says, holding up the tupperware containing an atrocious biohazard, grinning from ear to ear.

“One more time please?” you fight to keep up your faked anger, but fail in the face of that fucking smile.

Honestly, it should be some sort of crime to smile like that. Like everything would work out in the end, so long as you could keep him smiling at you.

“Peeps. Popcorn.” He says it a third time. He’s trying and failing not to laugh at her, at the way her mouth twists and flails to maintain a frown.

He was tempted to tell her it was in vain. He’d broken Batman, and he’d make her smile too.

Honestly, she had such a pretty smile. Not that he’d say that, she was his partner, and they needed to keep things professional.

“It’s my turn to provide stakeout snacks, and so,” he lifts the lid of the peeps popcorn balls.

“Peeps popcorn.”

She rolls her eyes, and looks out the window of the passenger side. But she’s smiling. “It is one of life’s great injustices,” she huffs “that you can eat like that and maintain your… impressive physique.”

Dick feels his chest puff out a little. While he had been able to tell all along that she had a crush on him, but he’d never risk acting on it. Still, it felt nice to be complemented by her.

“Seriously, do you clock off and just do the ninja warrior course all night or something?” She muses, her head against the window, looking at him out of the side of her eye.

“Not exactly,” he replies, sitting back in his seat, bringing his foot up onto the cushion. “Try one.” he presses, poking her side with the container.

She takes one, rolling her eyes and nibbles at the neon cluster of popcorn.

“No. no.” she gags, “oh that's nasty. Oh, it's so sweet. Why? Why Grayson. Why would you do this to me?” she asks, setting the sticky concoction on the divider between their seats.

Dick just laughs “I am determined to make you a peeps convert.”

“Never, regular marshmallows are fine.”

“Peeps are rainbow.”

“How old are you?”

“There is no age too old to enjoy whimsy, Detective.” he responds, biting into his own.

“Besides, are you implying that rainbow marshmallows are irregular? In this day and age? Tut tut.”

“We are not making me out to be a homophobe over peeps!” she protests, still laughing, slightly taken aback at the audacity.

“If you say so.” he says, stretching his arms over his head and into the backseat. Stakeouts were terrible. He was not built to sit still in a confined space for hours at a time. However, this one provided a useful opportunity he cannot afford to waste.

Not to torment her with his war of attrition for peeps supremacy - though that was fun.

He needed to be sure of something else.

“Well. You being wrong about peeps aside. I … wanted to check back on a file from a few months ago. You uh… you didn’t move the Holt murder file, did you?”

“Holt.” she clicks her tongue in thought “the guy with…” she gestures to her chest.

“That's the guy.”

“Not knowingly. I haven’t had cause to reopen it. No new leads. I tried to track down the kid… He didn’t want a bar for me. Guess I can’t blame him. I offered the help I could… but well… the last time someone helped him his dad got brutally murdered. He’s staying in the tent city by the docks, best I can figure.” She seems to feel guilty as soon as she says it, but Dick doesn’t blame her.

He had paid for that room. If he hadn’t… who knows what might have happened?

“But if someone moved it?” he prompts, not wanting to dwell on that gnawing guilt.

“Wasn’t me.”

Your new partner, Grayson, was a weird guy who ate strange and terrible foods.

He blames himself for what happened to poor Mr Holt. Because he was good to the core, and somehow that had led to something utterly twisted.

He’s also standing on your balcony. On the 20th floor.

And it all makes sense now.

Your apartment isn’t particularly nice. It was small, and frequently disorganised. Especially when you got overly invested in a case.

You’d been texted many gifs of the conspiracy board meme by friends over the years.

Work life balance? Not something you’d ever seen much value in.

And now, your unfairly attractive new partner Grayson was in your apartment, in full vigilante getup.

You need to find a way to be normal about that in ten seconds or less, because he’s staring at you, and you're staring at him, and it's starting to get awkward.

“Hello.” you eek out.

He greets you as Detective, followed by your first and last name.

Unusually formal, for him. Unless… unless he somehow thinks a few inches of fabric in the shape of a wingding is going to fool you.

Unless he thinks he’s got you hoodwinked.

“Nightwing… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He leans in the doorframe, his hands braced against its top, so he is leaning into your space without touching you, and giving you plenty of ability to step back if you so chose. You don’t.

“I have reason to suspect there’s a serial killer moving though Bludhaven. And that whoever they are, they have someone in your precinct on the payroll.”

You fold your arms, bristling.

“Not sure I appreciate the accusation.” Sure, the bludhaven police department was ridiculously corrupted. But you’d hope that your partner would have at least the trust in you not to think you’d help a serial killer.

“No accusation.” he reassures “a request for help. I need someone I can trust inside the department. And my source says that’s you, sherlock.”

His source? Was he kidding?

No. No he wasn’t.

Oh this was madness.

This was hysterical.

He really, truly thinks that you can’t know him outside of his streetwear. And he’s trying to pass it off like he doesn’t know himself either.

Perhaps you should tell him you know.

But… Grayson and his peeps tomfoolery isn’t the only one who can have fun.

“So… you’re asking me to… what, exactly?” You prompt, unfolding your arms, willing to give him a chance.

Nightwing offers you a smile. It’s slightly different from Richard Graysons.

It’s just as sunny, and it makes you feel just as warm and fuzzy and giggly inside. You have to fight even harder to stop yourself blushing, given how much less this getup leaves to the imagination then his usual dress pants, shirt and tie.

But it’s a little more … brazzen. Flirtatious. More… cocky. Sure, He was always at least a bit of a show off, but as nightwing? He was one of the most capable, incredible people alive, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Oh, you were doomed. But that was a problem for later.

“I’m asking you to keep an eye on the ‘heartless’ case. Holt… he’s not the only one and I think there’s going to be more. And, to be blunt?”

He stands up straight, and puts an arm on your shoulder.

“It’s a big request. But you might be the only person in that station who I have real confidence in.”

You wonder what that says about his relationship with himself, but like so many things with Richard, you don’t ask.

“I can do that.”

“And I understand that it’s dange— I’m sorry, did you just agree?” he cuts himself off, staring at you.

You laugh then, just the once.

You owed him your life many times over as his partner. But as nightwing?

Since he’d come on the scene, you’d actually felt like something mattered. Like change could happen.

Like someone was willing to help the people of Bludhaven not to reap a profit, but because the system you’d once hoped to help restore was broken at its very core, and restoration wasn’t the solution - reformation and fundamental change was. And you didn’t know how to do that.

But then Nightwing had come onto the scene, and started kicking the asses of the worst of the worst, and you had felt like you had when you’d joined the force, bright eyed, bushy tailed, and determined to make a difference.

Before the incident. And every other day, when you’d felt that optimism slowly being crushed to death, into a fine powder and blown away in the wind.

“Yeah.” you say, and agreeing to help is one of the best feelings in the world. You get to help. To make a real difference.

“Bludhaven owes you a hell of a lot, Nightwing… seems like the least I can do is tell you if anything weird comes up.”

“Right. Thank you.” he clearly wasn’t expecting this. Maybe he’d thought it would be a harder sell.

“If I do… have anything for you, how should I alert you?”

He passes you a wingding. “Put this in your window. I’ll check in every few days.”

You raise an eyebrow “all your fancy tech and you don’t have a phone”

He shrugs “phones are traceable. Plausibly just something you picked up on a case as a trinket that you ‘forgot’ to log in evidence left on a windowsill? Lot harder to trace.”

“Fair.” you acknowledge.

“Besides.” he steps backwards onto your balcony once more “your place is on one of my main patrol routes. Can’t let anything happen to the best looking detective Blud’s got.”

You scoff, without any real offence. You know he’s only playing, and that he does, as Richard, respect your intellect more then your appearance - but you suppose as ‘nightwing’ he doesn’t know you that well.

“I think you mean best detective full stop.” you respond, and he gives a small bow of playful deference.

“But of course, sherlock.”

And then he’s gone.

That night, you don’t sleep.

You felt so stupid. He’s nightwing. He’s been nightwing the whole time.

The skills. The disappearing. The way he seemed to just… know things.

The way he tensed whenever someone mentioned Gotham.

… the timing of Robin reportedly becoming a child again.

Had your new partner, Grayson, been Robin?

Had he been using the Batman's archives to solve cases? Was that his so called oracle?

… wait.

Was Bruce Wayne the FUCKING BATMAN?

You screamed into your pillow. You were laying awake, face down in your bed, because now you had realised far too many things in one night.

The first: Your new partner is Nightwing.

The second: Bruce Wayne might be Batman.

The third: you, enchanted by that fucking perfect smile, had agreed to help track down a serial killer stealing hearts.

The fourth: Your new partner, Richard Grayson, between his stupid snacks, the Alfred Pennyworth foundation he’s been working to get off the ground, and his work as Nightwing, will save Bludhaven, you know it to your core.

And the fifth. The worst, and scariest part of your night: You may very well have fallen in love with him.

Chapter two

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Divider credit: @strangergraphics

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First time writing Dick! Feedback is welcome.