#think he ruined a perfectly good dick grayson

[frogaroundandfindout]

Them always calling it “that Batman thing” is so funny to me

[anothertimdrakestan]

Jealous Jason Todd Headcanon

~loooong requested hope you enjoy some brotherly competition~

- jason had no idea he wanted you until dick called "dibs" the first night he met jason's mysterious "friend" and newest bat-recruit

- at first, jason didn't care. like at all. but that never stopped him from being an asshole

- "my brother y/n really? what's there to like? i didn't see you as a musical theatre and dad-joke enjoyer" he'd scoff anytime dick tried to make a move

- that didn't stop richard fucking grayson.

- "hey! y/n! fancy seeing you here!" .. "it's the batcave dick i work here" .. "oh, well are you working all night? maybe we can grab some big belly burger after?" .. "we have patrol together you dork"

- honestly, it was endearing being adored, worshipped even. from handwritten poems, to a little mini batarang necklace, and all the weapons your heart could desire

- and for all his dork-tendencies, dick knew a thing or too about hand placement...

- "put me down richard" .. "you literally fell into my arms" .. "i would've landed on my feet" .. "sure princess, but aren't my arms a little better?" he'd tease, sweeping you bridal style out the back door of the gala you two had just rescued

- it was somewhere in between the gift giving, rooftop dates, and stolen glances that jason realized he might want -slightly, just a tiny bit- more.

- okay; he wanted you all to himself.

- but he's always been shit at explaining it

- where dick was obvious and flirtatious, jason started subtle: always inching closer to you, keeping a longing gaze set on your every move-even if it meant tripping himself up in battles- you noticed he would sooner get shot than let you catch a scrape

- and just like dick's coddling, it got annoying

- "jace i've been on the team for months, i think i can watch out for myself" .. "i know, i protect the people i care about" his response was almost a whisper, and before you could pry further, he disappeared, replaced with a familiar cheesy grin "hi y/n! wanna catch a movie tonight?" .. "uh, one sec dick! i need to check on jace"

- but jason was never anywhere to be found. every time he let you in, he disappeared just as quick.

- when you started toying with new weaponry jason was there, you still got butterflies remembering the way he pressed himself against you while fixing your form, his calloused fingertips lighting fires as he subtly adjusted your grip on your gun

- "jay is this right?" .. "mhm your grip is perfect, but the recoil will get you, slide your leg backwards to brace for the impact of firing" .. the minute his hand touched your thigh a shiver ran across your body, against your shaking will .. "oh, sorry i didn't mean to-" .. you cut him off "no it's good, you're good" but before you could turn around to unpack the cloud of tension in the room, jason cleared his throat and gruffly said "fire" ruining any chance of an emotional conversation. three perfect shots to the targets, and with a satisfying nod he was gone once again

- so when dick asked you out on a real date, to a restaurant whose menu alone gave you anxiety at the thought of ordering, you realized you had to give jason the ultimatum

- but for once in his (second) life, jason was way ahead of you.

- "you said yes to dick?" jason was sitting at your desk when you entered your own room, overly dramatic but it was jason todd after all.

- "do i have a reason to say no?"

- "you hate fancy restaurants. you need like a week to plan what you'll order otherwise you'll just be stressed the whole time"

- you rolled your eyes, but jason wasn't finished: "and you hate movies, sitting in one place watching a film you probably haven't heard of, pretending to enjoy the nuance"

- he wasn't wrong. "whatever jace, that doesn't-" .. "i can tell you what's gonna happen. he'll order a wine too sweet for your taste, and talk to the waiter enough to make you want to crawl under the table. then after a perfectly lovely dinner he'll take you to a rooftop to 'show you the sights' and you'll have your first kiss. but you hate the city skyline, it reminds you you're far from home. you like the sound of the ocean and the rusting of the forest. you like something real."

- your heart was in your throat. but you needed something more: "say it jason. don't tell me the future with dick. fucking say it."

- jason stood up, closing the distance between you, eyes now desperate and wild: "say what? that i've loved you since the minute i lost you? that i feel like ive known you forever? that i don't need to learn to love you like he does, i was built for it? that i feel like i was made for you? how do i put it in a few useless words"

- "you just did jay." you whispered, letting him lock his lips in yours with a smile.

- "please go break richard's fucking heart and come home to me." he grumbled, to which you agreed, letting dick down softly and promising to set him up with one of your friends in return for his kindness- a deal which he wouldn't let you forget

- years later, it was more of a household joke, dick claiming he was the catalyst to your and jason's lovestory. to which jason wholly despised, but you never minded giving dick a little credit

[wufflesvetinari]

hi!! okay so i really loved that one fanfic you wrote (3:16) way back when, it's honestly one of my favorite fanfics ever but I have a question for you!! I've honestly adored your writing style and techniques and I was wondering: what is your writing process? Not just plot wise (although yes that!) but also prose-wise? because honestly, the first thing that drew me into your fic was how FUCKING good your prose was and I was just in absolute awe reading what you had written, and it sort of started me on a journey to improve my own prose and make it sound nice.

so uh yeah!! what is your writing process and if you have any advice for how you write so beautifully (Not just prose wise!! plot and character wise too haha) or just like. writing advice in general, i am ALL ears <3

oh this is so incredibly sweet, thank you!!!

i've tried to marshal some thoughts...tbh i am always envious of effective writing that is UNLIKE mine, so there are lots of ways to go about this. (and also i am just Some Guy.)

i'll focus on prose things i think about during writing/revision b/c otherwise we will be here all night...but imo some of this overlaps with effective pacing, character, etc.

Prose is character – some writing is “voicier” than other writing is, living closer in a character’s POV.  but in most cases, if you are in any way in a character’s head, your prose is part of their characterization. dick grayson will use different words and notice different details than damian will. being intentional about a character’s voice has the nice iterative effect of strengthening their characterization, which then makes your prose more confident as you understand their voice, and on and on it goes

Allow “workmanlike” phrases – sometimes cliché exists for a reason; you don’t actually need every sentence to be a poem. in fact, you NEED simple writing to string together your powerhouse lines without turning it all into purple prose/losing the reader/ruining the pacing.

Examine “workmanlike” phrases – that being said, another failure mode is RELYING on these phrases instead of digging for something more interesting now and then. i might write the phrase “a chill went down her spine” – ok this is fine, but I’ve read this sentence 15,000 times in my life and seeing it in my own document should be a trigger to slow down and decide if there’s a more specific or vivid description that conveys character or mood or theme better. or is just prettier lmao. i think to myself: how does it feel to be scared? what is a physical reaction that’s REAL that i have experienced, and am not just taking from a list in my head called “Descriptions Of Being Scared That Writers Use”?

The fucking thesaurus lmao – do not find/replace willy-nilly obviously BUT if the only word you can think of is Not Exactly The Right Word Dammit then the fucking thesaurus is a perfectly valid brainstorming tool to get closer to what you are trying to say. even if u don’t find the right word, it’s often a jumping-off point to a better way to approach the sentence

Note your “is”es – ok this is the annoying one. imo this really strengthened my writing but i hated it so so much. when revising, find any instance of “is/was/seems.” (ex: “He seems impatient, and there’s a pile of paperwork sitting in front of him.”) There’s nothing WRONG with that sentence, but it’s worth checking to see if it’s an opportunity for a more active one that gives more character detail (“He taps impatiently on a pile of paperwork.” there. done.)

Condense – ok look at that example again. i phrased things more actively but i ALSO condensed two concepts (He seems impatient + there is paperwork) into a sharper sentence that ALSO tells us a bit about how this character acts when stressed. imo you can accidentally find really interesting prose this way, in addition to improving pacing.

Vary sentence structure – that being said, sometimes the way to go is a beautiful run-on, so long as that sentence has intention packed into it! if you are writing long lovely flowing sentences, it’s going to hit hard if you drop the emotional reveal in a short, choppy, standalone one. or if your sentences shorten as the mood of the scene changes, or or or.

Use detail to let a scene breathe – personally, i never want to write the phrase “there was a pregnant pause” or “there was a brief silence” if i can help it. this is personal preference, but i think the principle stands: you can instead control your reader’s sense of timing, create an implied pause, by giving detail in the right place. the reverse is why it bothers me when a conversation is interspersed with paragraphs of introspection lmao: in my head i’m wondering why pov is taking so long to respond

Use repetition – oh my god this is my cheat code. if you are really proud of a beautiful, distinctive phrase you wrote? use it again!!! make it a callback at an important moment!!! make it thematic!! do it on purpose. trust me it’s cool

Get out of their head – ok here’s an experiment. take a concept (“Dick is scared”) and tell yourself that you have to express this, but you CAN’T describe anything about Dick himself in order to do it. you can use the way the crumbling buildings of gotham loom above him, or the weather, or the way people react to him—but you cannot say a word about his actions or thoughts or feelings. chances are, you’ve now created some interesting prose getting at the concept abstractly. cool! use that, and also go and add the direct feelings back in if it makes sense to do so

"Unconscious" writing - uhh ok this one is weird, but sometimes for a VERY early draft—like, when I am staring down the blank page—I will stop…trying to write a story? I will instead begin to write, uh…poetry about what is happening in the story? Just, impressions, details, stream-of-consciousness…this will all have to be cleaned up and made linear later. but for now, go nuts. and usually it gives me a) some workable, pretty prose and b) an entry point into what i am trying to say so i can go back and write the “real version”

Dissect!! Good!!! Writing!!! - i'm sorry, this one is so boring. but if there's a writer who really WORKS for you, read very slowly and break down what's so effective about it on a prose level. i do this with ursula le guin. also, do this with poetry!!! which poems slam you to the ground and take your lunch money? how?

i know you also asked abt plot and character but i've already written so much lmao plz forgive me. i am not a big craft book person but i did enjoy refuse to be done and a swim in a pond in the rain. i also try to collect tips i find in this tag!

[stararch4ngelqueen]

ngllll was listening to Partition by Beyonce and thinking of Dick Grayson and fem!reader having a bit of fun in the back of a limo 😫

Never heard that but I feel like I listened to it on a Brenton Thwaites tiktok edit 🧍🏽‍♀️

- -

You wore that dress to tease him, he just knew you did.

The silk, the low neckline leaving room for your minimalist diamond necklace. The slip along your left side, revealing a flash of glistening, moisturized skin, ankles decorated by flashy gems on your heels.

The color.

A beautiful, dark cerulean blue.

Dick could only keep his hands off you for so long, maintaining his composure as he watched you lean down to crawl inside the limousine. He told himself to keep his hands off you at the Gala, but one of his mistakes was inviting you to a dreadfully boring event.

Or, was it really a mistake?

The second the limousine began rolling out of the lot, you sat up out of your seat, reaching over to pull the privacy screen shut, boxing away your view of the driver.

He didn’t even need to question why you did that, his hands practically grasping your hips when you rose out of your seat, squeezing that gorgeous ass.

Another mistake was sitting you in his lap, ruining your perfectly done lipstick as his hands securely roam down along your back.

His gravest mistake was sliding his hand higher than the exposed slip revealed, coming to a surprise when his hand continued to glide across smooth, bare skin.

No underwear. Not even a thin, expensive thong he had bought you plenty of after ripping each one you owned.

What a shock.

“Goddamn, baby,” he grunts against your lipstick smeared lips. “You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?”

Your only response was a smirk, admiring his rustled up hair from your relentless hands. Lipstick stains smeared along his plush lips, scarcely along his chin from your eager make out.

If the limo were to drive over a speed bump, or accidentally come across a pot hole, this would mean your perfect little cunt would make a complete mess of his raging hard on, poorly hidden by his dress pants.

Now, not only does he have complete eye candy sitting in his lap; you went ahead and unwrapped yourself for his pleasure.

“You know I don’t like big parties, Dick,” you purr, manicured fingers working on undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. “You don’t wanna go either. Admit it.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the headrest while rubbing circles along your skin. Pretty little thing like you has a perfectly good head on your shoulders, and judging by how you looked at him, you eagerly wanted to give him some of it.

“No. No, I don’t.”

No way is he letting you roam along at the Gala like this. The both of you should’ve stayed home.

[lolotheparagon]

Rating Every TNBA Redesign Cos Why Not

The New Batman Adventures was the last season of the infamous Batman the Animated Series, although it moved to another less strict network. Because the producers wanted to do crossovers with the Superman animated series, they gave the series and its characters a more streamlined style to it. Now I dont wanna blame Bruce Timm entirely since there were many artists on staff back then who did the redesigns but because I hate this coomer, Im going to anyway. In BTAS, you can tell each character apart and they have their own unique outfits and looks to them. But here, these are some of the most unimaginative superhero/villain designs Ive ever seen. Although some did surprise me and were not that bad. So, for a bit of fun, here's my look at each Batman character's redesign in the final (and worst) season of the show.

(Not counting Robin cos he's a different character to Dick Grayson or characters that had very little changes like Clayface or Harley Quinn)

Batman

The big emo rodent himself. For his redesign, I like the more sleek look to Batman's cape...thats it. His original design is really hard to perfect. Its got everything. Why tamper with perfection?

Batgirl

I actually kinda like Batgirl's redesign. The yellow gloves and boots really help her stand out and its the one of the few times the darker toned outfits actually accentuate a design rather than ruin it. Too bad Bruce Timm couldn't stop salivating over her and the rest of the women in this show. So next time you see someone consider Bruce Timm this legendary storyteller of Batman, give them a healthy reminder that he shipped this college girl character with her mentor/surrogate uncle figure FOR YEARS.

Alfred

Its like they sucked away all of Alfred's snark and replaced it with a cardboard cutout. Literally, he looks so sterile and empty. Who had the idea of making Alfred look more bored and done with everything? Also whats wrong with his chin??

Commissioner Gordon

Good ole Commissioner Pringle got off pretty much unscathed but I think they made him a touch too old considering they gave him a more lanky body, which makes him look more feeble and weak. Dude looks old enough to be Babs' grandad

Joker

Ohhhhh boy. So Joker's redesign is infamously considered by fans as one of the show's worst redesigns, to a point even the showrunners were like yeahh. And thats not unwarranted. He looks like an inverted Dr Draken and im so glad they redesigned him again for Batman Beyond and onward.

Seriously he's A CLOWN WHERES THE MAKE UP?!!

Two-Face

I know Two Face is just a redrawn version of the original design with the TNBA streamlined art style but I want to draw special attention to the monster side of Dent's face. Notice in the original it looks more manic and feral? Heavily contrasted with the conflicted, guilty look on Dent's normal side? But here, in the redesign the monster side is less scary and Dent looks way too bored and angry. The overuse of black lines doesnt help.

Catwoman

She looks like Harley Quinn or Barbara wearing a catsuit. Starting to see a pattern here?

Baby Doll

Its a tough call cos they both look very good but Im gonna lean towards the redesign cos shes got that creepy doll look down to a T (Annabelle would be proud) whereas her original design looked more like a Tiny Toons character.

Scarface and the Ventriloquist

I like the redesign cos of the exaggerated style of the rest of the show perfectly captures Scarface since he's, yknow, a puppet and having the Ventriloquist be shown to be scared and submissive really does show how the puppet is ironically the puppetmaster.

Penguin

Actually I like both of them. They both give off that sophisticated element Penguin is known for and after so many reiterations of him being this crass Scouse-talking crime boss, its nice to see versions of him going back to his rich asshole roots.

Bane

In the original, he has a luchador-style mask and wrestling suit fitting his Spanish roots. Here, he straight up looks like a gimp. Its really bad. Embrace your heritage, Bane!

Riddler

They went from Frank Gorshin to Jim Carrey for Riddler (fitting cos Batman Forever came during TNBA's development) and I love that. So I love both of them. Nice to see a villain with some fucking colour in TNBA cos im tired of seeing all this black outfits. Also his cane being an extended question mark instead of a question mark on top of a regular cane is genius.

Mad Hatter

Both of them fit Hatter's deranged stalker vibes perfectly, but I wish they kept the colour scheme for the redesign cos Hatter's new colour scheme looks too rounded and doesnt stand out.

Poison Ivy

Killer Croc

Finally, now he looks like an actual crocodile instead of whatever the hell he was supposed to be!

Scarecrow

Okay, who the fuck decided to make Scarecrow look like the Babadook? Cos I want to give them a raise. Holy mother of piss, that is terrifying. That shit belongs in the Arkham games. I still prefer the old design cos it has that perfect blend of goofy and gothic. He looks like a Cacturne now that I think about it.

Mr Freeze

HONEY WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU?!! WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING FUTURAMA HEAD?!! WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?! YOU HURT MY HUSBAND, TIMM, NOW ITS PERSONAL

[sobbingscripter]

DICK GRAYSON (AS NIGHTWING) X READER

WARNING: 18+

MINORS DNI

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Note: I'm gonna be honest. This is part one. I don't know when they're gonna do it. Highkey thinking of Jason Todd just kicking down the door or something.

Do NOT Repost.

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Dick Grayson (as Nightwing) x Reader

Tags: [hesatoplol] [spanking] [theresnoplot] [likewhatsoever] [welp] [exhibition?]

×××××××

"Such a tight and pretty little cunt." Nightwing's voice was unusually gruff, his gloved middle finger tracing the seam of her entrance, coating the Kevlar-clad digit in her liquids.

Her voice was muffled, her underwear having been stuffed in her mouth and her face pushed into his lower abdomen.

She wasn't really sure how she had gotten into such a compromising position, her knees and palms digging into the biting concrete floors of a holding cell, his torso, toned and marble, leaning over her and toying with her throbbing heat. Y/N whined, thighs quivering meekly as he pushed two fingers into her, her seam splitting for him and her walls hugging him tightly.

"You know, you're kinda cute when that mouth of yours is stuffed." Letting out a raspy chuckle, his Adam's apple bobbing faintly as he pulled his fingers out of her, the cold air brushing against her entrance.

Sucking his fingers, he sated his tongue in her flavour, the taste causing a low, pleasing hum to escape from his chest, a rumble.

"You taste good, pretty pickpocket." He complimented, tipping her chin upwards and staring into her eyes, his piercing gaze savouring her flushed expression.

"Well, I guess just 'pretty pocket', since hopefully, you're done with crime." He hummed, running his tongue between his fingers, the wet muscle nimbly whipping around the digits.

"Finger pocket, tongue pocket, cock pocket. You're not really in the position to be picky, pretty little cock pocket."

Muffled curses barely escaped her lips, before she found herself thrown over his broad thigh, cords of perfectly carved muscle supporting her. She swallowed the saliva that pooled on the flat of her tongue.

"Such a filthy little slut. Ruining my night," he swatted her, the collision of his palm causing a stinging sensation to spread through her body, "making me doubt the faithfulness of my, admittedly loose girlfriend," a second whack, the feel of her ass burnt, "making me think of that tight little cunt of yours while patrolling," another collision, "and just being a dick."

She whimpered, the rough, grippy fabric of his gloves teasing the sensitive flesh.

"Dick-flicking a hero is a federal offense in the States. And dick-flicking an officer of the law, well, that's obstruction of justice. Naughty, naughty."

With a third collision, she quivered and squirmed, liquids trickling down her folds, low, landing on the concrete in slow, tentative droplets. A muffled cry fell from her lips, and he cooed, running his hands along her plump, bruised flesh.

Lifting her onto his lap with ease, he parted her thighs, placing them on either side of his legs.

"Awh. Look at that cute little clit of yours.

She felt her core tighten, the feel of his finger circling the sensitive nerves causing her mind to go blank, with his tentative, slow strokes.

He cooed, and shushed her, thumb pressing into the delicate fabrics of her nerves as his fingers pushed into her, a quivering whimper falling from her saliva coated lips.

Her jaw ached, from constant clenching and unclenching, and the tightly balled underwear having pried her mouth open for far too long. She was a pained mess of sexual desire and lust, mewling and whimpering for any ounce of attention he gave.

How had she come to this?

Y/N was such a prideful petty criminal, narrowly avoiding law enforcers, managing to even nick something of said officers.

Discreetly, she even sported a fabulous Tamaranian bracelet stolen from Starfire, who had saved her from being crushed by a building. Silver and studded with emeralds, holding scriptures Y/N hadn't cared enough to decipher yet.

"Empty that pretty little head of yours, cock pocket."

She could feel his gloating expression behind her, heat radiating through his spandex getup and she gulped, the feeling of something uncomfortably solid poking into her.

"Look out the window." He ordered, and she complied, turning her attention to the large window that looked into the precinct.

"If any of those people, few as they may be, decided to look in here, they'd catch an eyeful that that pretty, pretty pussy. And they'd get to watch me, fuck you with these nimble, 'baton'-wielding fingers, as you called it.

You remember when you said that?"

Y/N couldn't remember shit. Not because she felt the tantalizingly slow build of her orgasm, inching closer with each pump of his fingers, but because she had the mental capacity of a goldfish. And currently, the goldfish had done a pound of meth. So nothing, was functioning.

"When you," he enunciated his word with a powerful thrust of his fingers, grinding his palm into her throbbing clit and she moaned, stifled though it be but still, causing his cock to stir even more, hardening and becoming almost painful, "fucking," again, "called," again, "me a goddamn," he ground his palm unnecessarily hard, almost causing her to cry, "cheerleader."

She giggled, and he clicked his tongue, annoyed with her ability to find herself hilarious in this type of situation.

Pulling the saliva coated underwear from her mouth, he set it aside, before a wicked grin spread on his face.

"Well, guess what, pocket? You're gonna spell my name," snaking his other hand around the front her waist, he parted her majora (fuck, I can't think of any other word// meat curtains, no), allowing the cold air to tentatively stroke her reddened clit, "and you're gonna love every fucking letter."

Pulling his fingers out of her, dripping her liquids, he lifted his hand into the air, dropping it onto her pulsating heat in a light yet domineering slap.

She yelped. "Spell it." He gritted, his tone husky and low, while still toying with his carefree boyish charm, just a bit.

"N-I-G-H-T-W-I-N-G." She rushed out the letters, breaths bated and chest rising abnormally fast. The cell was hot. The air was heavy, thick with lust and the scent of her, laced with an underlying smell of his precum, soaking through the front of his suit.

"Ah, ah, ah. One letter at a time."

She inhaled sharply through her nose, a mewl resting on her tongue as saliva dripped down her plump, bottom lip.

"N..." A collision, and she whimpered.

"I..." Another.

"G..." She gasped, his gloved hand making contact with the sensitive flesh again.

"H... Oh, fuck..." She whispered, her chest heaving as she wracked her brain for the next letter.

"T..." He stroked the flesh, fingers running between the delicate folds and lightly tapping the bundle of nerves, quivering beneath his touch.

"W..." Another slap. The sound echoed through the cell, along with her pants and the low moans that seemed to escape his lips, from merely watching her.

"I..."

"N... oh god.." She felt her core tighten, a heat pooling in the pit of her stomach, and she barely breathed, when his hand made contact again.

"G..."

"That's a good girl. Now, come for me, pretty little cock pocket."

He allowed no time between the spanks, before he moved his hand at the pace of lightning, the skilled movement of his fingers circling the bud caused her toes to curl in her shoes, and her mind to turn fuzzy as she came, a cry escaping her lips.

Y/N's legs shook, liquids dribbling down her reddened cunt, slit throbbing and clit pretty and pink, unlike its usual colour.

[Lisa Stansfield do be a mood. Been around the world and ayayayay can't find my baby.]

"Ooh, you did so good, pocket. So, perfect for me. But you could do better."

[ladytauria]

2 from the hurt/comfort prompts and dickjay pretty please <33

thank you sm <333

picturing this as the sequel to this prompt fill from @this-was-a-terrible-idea (ao3 link if you prefer) but it should stand on its own~

[ the prompt list ]

Jason is not nervous, and screw anyone who suggests otherwise. This is far from his first fancy party and, unfortunately, far from his last, either. It's not even his first fancy party as a Wayne---and before he went and got himself blown up, he'd gotten pretty fucking good at them, at least if you asked him.

Not that he's going to this party as a Wayne. Just... with a Wayne. Even if said Wayne still called himself Grayson.

The point is. Jason knows what he's doing. He knows how to be charming, and just the right amount of roguish to make the high society folks titter instead of clutch their pearls. He knows how to walk, and talk, and eat, and even dance. (Much as he'd wrinkled his nose when Alfred first suggested the lessons.)

It is, he'll admit, a little different going with Dick as like---a date, not because they both just happened to be connected to the same man.

Good different, though.

Means he doesn't have to hide the way he stares, when he gets an eyeful of Dick wrapped in a blue-and-black tux, perfectly tailored to the lines of his body. The display isn't helped, or is helped too much, by the way he's lounging against one of Jason's favorite sportscars. He must've borrowed it (or "borrowed" it) from Bruce.

Dick catches his eye and grins, like the cat who got the canary. Jason whistles obnoxiously, just to pretend he's not half as flustered as he feels.

"Not so bad yourself, handsome," Dick says, dragging his own gaze over Jason's body.

Jason shivers, a blush stinging the back of his neck. "Keep lookin' at me like that, Dickface, an' I don't think we're gonna make it t' the party."

"Well. It'd be a shame to waste all your hard work, little wing," Dick says, and this time, when he looks Jason over, his gaze lingers. He feels warm in the chilly night air, like he's wearing a sweater in summer.

Before he can think of something else to say---or maybe just grab the tie around Dick's neck and haul him up the stairs to Jason's apartment---Dick is opening the door for him, inviting him into the passenger seat of his sports car.

Jason slides in, rather than embarrass himself, or ruin their plans for the evening.

Dick slips gracefully into the driver's seat; reaching out and taking Jason's hand as soon as they're on the road. For once, the drive is absent of 80s power ballads, disco, and musical numbers. Jason is grateful for the peace. It gives him time to compose himself. This is important. He wants to do it right. For Dick.

The drive takes less time than Jason expected, even with Dick---for probably the first time in his fucking life---obeying all traffic laws. Before Jason knows it, Dick's hand is untangling from his as they exit the car. Dick passes the keys along with a smile and an extravagant tip, shoulder brushing Jason's arm when he comes to stand with him.

"You good?" he asks, under his breath.

"Peachy. Just tryin' to remember how I let you convince me to walk into a viper pit."

That gets a laugh from Dick---though he suppresses it quickly. "You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer," he offers.

"Baby," Jason says, "I always wanna hold your hand." But this time, he puts his hand on the small of Dick's back, smiling when Dick wraps his arm around Jason's waist in turn.

"Stop, you're going to make me blush," Dick says. Despite the sarcasm, his ears look pinker than usual.

"Well, can't have that," Jason says, and he's grinning now. "I'm the only one who gets to see you blush."

Dick laughs again, and this time, he doesn't bother suppressing it, despite the way it turns a few heads as they walk in the door. Dick ignores them, looking up at Jason instead. "You're a menace," he says, fondly.

"Just don't forget, bringing me here was your idea," Jason reminds.

"Oh, I know," Dick says. He stops them, just before coat check-in, and rises onto his toes. His lips brush the corner of Jason's mouth. "Still think it was one of my best."

There's no stopping the blush that blooms across his cheeks. "Night's still young," he says, proud when it comes out at least mostly even.

Dick looks at him through half-closed eyes, smile still on his face. "I could never regret a night spent with you, Jason."

[amaraangelicus]

WIP game ♡

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence / excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @paprikadotmp4

Word: WRITE

W- From ‘On the Edge of Holiness’ ch3

WinterBones

“Whaddya mean, Buck?” Steve asked, feeling his heart sink to somewhere around his stomach.

“You're gonna be upset,” Bucky responded, still calmly as though he wasn't confirming all of Steve's fears. “You can't act on it. Got it?”

“Buck….”

“You are not allowed to try to ruin this for me!” Bucky snapped. “It won't work, and it'll just piss me off. Understand?” Steve jerked at the sudden flare of anger, but it did relax him some. If Bucky was this willing to defend what he wanted, then maybe it would be alright.

“Okay, Buck. I won’t try to stop you.” Bucky relaxed with a slight smile, darting in for a hug that was over almost before Steve had registered he was being hugged. He followed Bucky into the house with a bemused smile.

R- from my as yet unnamed Halloween fic

WinterBones

‘Rumlow, the Asset has left containment. We’re hoping it’s heading to you.’

“What the fuck do you mean ‘the Asset has left containment’? The Asset was in cryostorage! What the fuck did you dipshits screw up now?!”

‘There’s a video clip in your email, sir.’ Brock grumbled to himself as he cued up the attachment, but quickly fell silent in shock as he watched the perfectly functional cryostorage tank explode open from the inside. He’d verified that tank when they’d put the Asset into cryosleep, and from the image it looked like it was working just as well when the clip started as when he’d left it.

“What the fuck is that?” he demanded, feeling almost hysterical at the sight of the icy apparition that he could barely see his Soldier in even before it was shrouded with fog.

‘We don’t know, sir. Something’s happened to the Asset.’

“You fucking think?”

I- from my as yet untitled IronSoldier fill

Tony Stark/ Bucky Barnes/ Jason Todd

‘I'm glad you guys are learning to work together.’ Oracle’s voice was painfully neutral, and Jason knew that no matter what she said she didn't approve of him being around Tim. It was understandable. He'd tried to clip the little bird's wings once, and there wasn't any real reason to think he wouldn't do it again. It was a good bit of why he avoided all the bats as much as he could. They said they wanted him around, but they were always afraid he would fall back into the violence of the early days of his return to Gotham. Honestly Tim was the one who talked to him the most, and he only called when he needed help. Tim trusted him to get the job done at least. It was more than he got from anyone else.

T- from ‘Blame it on the Pollen’ ch2

Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd/ Tim Drake

Tim woke slowly, luxuriating in the unusual warmth surrounding him. Gentle hands were stroking lightly across his torso, making him smile. He was pulled up against a warm body that he thought he would recognize even if he were dead.

"Dickie, that tickles," he murmured, too content to actually try to move away.

"Tickles, huh?" Dick murmured into his ear. His hands slid softly to settle on Tim's stomach, and then over to take Tim's hands in his, letting Tim thread their fingers together. Tim gasped as more hands slid up his sides to pluck gently at his nipples, l his eyes to see Jason smirking wickedly at him. He leaned forwards as far as he could to press his lips to that smirk, enjoying the way Jason immediately softened to kiss him. The Red Hood may be harsh and violent, but Jason was so… soft. Gentle. Tim could hardly believe they were the same person. It was hard for him to believe that his Robin would kill, despite the logic of his arguments. Though, given how annoyed Robin had been at the revolving door policy at Blackgate and Arkham, maybe it shouldn't be so surprising.

E- from working title ‘MultiRobin’ DC/ Leverage/ Criminal Minds crossover

No ship

Elliot shook his head fondly as he listened to Parker and Hardison squabbling amicably over whatever it was that they'd found. He wasn't sure what it was, didn't think they knew either, but they were both interested. That was rare enough that he was headed up to look. The building was completely empty anyway and he was bored. He walked through the door and his heart almost stopped.

“Hardison, Parker, get out of there!” He rushed to the zeta tube the other two were standing inside. Harrison looked up from his tablet, taking in the panicked expression on his friend's face.

“Elliot, it's alright. I've almost got it.”

“It's all- It's not all right! Get the hell out of that thing, now!” Parker dropped from the ceiling of the tube, looking at Elliot curiously. Elliot had almost reached the door to drag them out when it activated. “Damnit Hardison!”

Elliot approached the zeta tube cautiously, eying the control panel wistfully. Surely they'd removed his zeta access by now. It has been almost two decades since he'd last had contact with anyone from the hero world. It would be beyond careless for them to have left his access, and if there was one thing Batman wasn't, it was careless. He stepped into the zeta, putting his hand on the pad automatically.

‘Welcome, Honeybadger. Destination?’ He reached out with his other hand to tap the screen, looking for where his friends had been sent as he tried to find his voice through the rush of emotion. He sighed. 

“Watchtower.”

‘You are cleared for Watchtower access.’

Tagging @gyokujyn @thepiper0fhameln @illogicalkat with the word COMFY

[robin-nightwing-agent37]

The idea that relationships in fiction have to portrayed as “good and moral” is so absurd. I don’t think Dick and Barbara are toxic, but I do think that they are a match that I don’t care too much about reading. Their relationship conflicts are less interesting than other conflicts between other relationships and their confessions for one another are just bland. Because this is comics and characters are not making their own choices, it is up to writers to be the ones who are making creative decisions and when it comes to these two you can tell the well is dry. I’ve come to be more open about the Jason and Barbara pairing, but not really as a last resort pairing or “well I guess if she has to date someone then make it Jason” way. I would be open to seeing them having a relationship where they can love each other enough while bearing witness to what the other has become. Both these character being prickly and honest with each other but also not feeling as judged because they both make messed up decisions. But DC fandoms and especially Batfamily fandoms are so against change that it is no wonder that there continues to be so much racism and other problems that DC continues to have when so many writers and fans are still clinging to writing and dynamics that no longer exist or are outdated.

I AM SO SORRY I AM JUST NOW SEEING THIS! Please forgive ♥♥ If you want to come off anon so I can apologise properly you can xD

I do agree that relationships in fiction don't have to always be portrayed as "good and moral," however you don't put oil and water together and call it a match. If a relationship is supposed to be good and moral, it should be portrayed as such. If a relationship is supposed to be a rollercoaster with negative energy, it should be portrayed as such. You don't portray a good and moral relationship as one that is a rollercoaster with negative energy and vice versa. For me, this part is about context.

I don't read their content because I am not fond of them, but lately I do find myself speaking up more about it largely because it's the current plot in Nightwing and it keeps popping up. I dont think there is really anything else worth talking about with Nightwing right now. And I do blame TT for that because he specifically forced a Batgirl and Nightwing run on us lol. The well is dry AF for Nightwing in general. Imma need him to get some new and interesting content ASAP.

I love how you interpret Jason and Babs. I understand Nightwing and Red Hood fans are destined to be at war for all eternity, but we do need to start putting more respect on Jason's name. lol he is not taking Dick's sloppy seconds nor he is a last resort. He has just as much right as Dick to date around. If a genuine connection happens with Jason, what is the issue with that? Don't we want Dick, Babs, Jason, Bruce, ect ect to be happy? If Jason and Babs are happy, why ruin it? And before someone says 'Dick and Babs are happy," yes Dick and Babs are happy. But the difference is that there are more times Dick and Babs were not happy together vs times that they were. And Dick and Babs were both perfectly happy with other people before being torn apart from them and pushed together. The difference is that Jason and Babs don't have that history. Writers literally have a clean slate with Jason Babs as a couple to work with.

I think fans are more open to change than most realise. I think it just depends on how the type of change is and how it's implemented. I think the onus here is more on the writers refusing to live outside their nostalgia and forcing everyone to relive their favorite periods over and over again. Tom Taylor really had a chance to do something unique and different with Dick, but what does he do? He did the same thing that Dixon, Grayson and Seeley did with Dick. DC is going downhill fast and the only thing that will save it is likely a hard reboot with A LOT of new original content.

And lastly, Dick should be with someone outside the Batfam not in it. Same for Babs and Jason.

[sweetestgrethan]

You can just see in certain videos that Ethan just wants Grayson’s approval

Literallyyyy!!! Here’s a little drabble for ur patience 😌💕

(Also warning for dom/sub dynamics, degradation, a bit of forced feminization, and handcuffs)

Something Ethan is relatively proud of is his convictions, his personality, and his ability to stand firm in the face of judgment or hardship. He never folds to what people want him to be. He and Grayson have had to develop that facet of their personalities as a defense mechanism, but it ultimately helped them become the men they were today. 

Sometimes, though, Ethan would admit, the feeling of acceptance and approval made something ignite inside of him that was impossible to extinguish. Something about hearing that he was good, that he was perfect, that he was the best, it made him so soft and pliable, ready to obey at the drop of a dime.

This held true especially now, as Ethan sat on his knees on the floor of Grayson’s bedroom with his hands handcuffed behind his back, wearing the most ridiculous little bikini he’d ever seen. The blue and white striped fabric barely covered his dick or his chest at all, purposely small for that reason. Ethan was hard too, bulging out of his bottoms a bit, a wet spot on them from his precome.

Grayson stood towering above him, staring down at the delectable sight before him and trying to think of all the ways he could take Ethan apart. He loved having his older brother like this, fully immersed in being his little bitch, his toy to play with, his personal sexual release.

Ethan was staring up at him expectantly, excited and scared for what Grayson would make him do. He’d do anything he asked, though, especially if it meant making Grayson happy and hearing those words of approval from him.

“You’re pathetic,” Grayson started, looking down at the bulge in the skimpy outfit and having to wrangle himself in. Ethan was truly beautiful, in every way. He was perfect to him, every inch of him deserved to be worshipped. But, Grayson always tore him down first, always made him work to get any praise. “Can’t believe you actually put that shit on,” Grayson laughed boldly. “Maybe I should take a picture, just so I can show everyone how gone you are for me,” Grayson hummed, taking his phone out to do just that.

Ethan felt his heart clench at the words, feeling so small under his gaze but still trying his best not to let it get to him. “Gray, I-“ Ethan tried to get out, before feeling Grayson’s hand slap across his face sharply, making the older twin gasp in response.

“You know you’re not allowed to call me that,” Grayson said lowly, gripping Ethan’s jaw firmly and forcing him to look up at him. “You call me anything but sir again I’ll make you wear that for the rest of the week,” he warned, letting go of his face and continuing to take the picture, perfectly capturing the red mark on Ethan’s cheek and the tears that welled in his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said obediently, lip quivering as his picture was taken. “Can I suck you off, please, sir? I promise I’ll do it really good,” he begged softly, wrists struggling against the cuffs for just a moment as he scooted closer.

“Oh, baby, you’re that desperate to make me happy?” Grayson smirked. “You won’t gag, will you?” He asked, reaching down to grab a fistful of Ethan’s hair and forcing his own hard-on against Ethan’s face. “You’ll take all of me like a champ, like I know you can, my pretty boy,” Grayson purred.

Ethan let out a soft noise as Grayson grinded his cock against his face, Ethan mouthing at the bulge in his pants, so ready to taste and feel it ruining his throat. He almost came when Grayson called him his pretty boy. “Yes, sir,” Ethan said after Grayson let him breathe for a moment. “I like it when you call me that, sir,”

Grayson was working on unzipping and pushing his pants and boxers down, letting his dick spring out like a present for his twin. “You do?” Grayson teased softly. “It’s just the truth, baby,” he hummed, tugging Ethan’s head close so he could start sucking him off. “You’re my pretty boy, no one makes me feel so good, not like you do.”

Ethan could feel himself leaking profusely in his bikini bottoms, mouth open for Grayson to slide into. He easily took Grayson down his throat, bobbing his head up and down and looking up at him to see his rugged, beautiful face above him. This was the part he loved. He loved feeling like he was the only person in the world that knew how to satisfy his brother. In many ways, he was the only one who could. He loved Grayson so much. Ethan made soft noises around him as his gag reflex was pushed to its limits, eyes closing when Grayson pushed his head all the way down, making his nose press against his pubes. Ethan took full advantage and breathed his scent in, intoxicated by him.

Grayson kept him pressed there for a few seconds until Ethan gagged around him and fought his grip, letting him pull off to breathe. Ethan was already covered in his own spit, coughing and gasping for air. “You make me wanna come, just looking at you,” Grayson murmured, reaching down with one hand to rub at his nipple over the fabric, pinching and squeezing as Ethan lapped and kissed his length. He felt himself pulse when he heard Ethan let out a soft moan, not being able to help himself against Grayson.

Ethan surprised both of them when he pulled away completely and went to pitifully turn in place, bending himself over and pressing his cheek into the floor, ass up and on display for Grayson. “Please fuck me, sir, please,” he begged. This was a new low for Ethan, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be filled up by his brother. He couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m so hot, sir, I need it, please,” he whimpered, wiggling his ass to entice him even more.

Grayson was thoroughly enjoying this. Never had he seen Ethan like this, so easily trading his autonomy and comfort to please him. “Wow,” was all Grayson said at first, astonished at how hot Ethan looked right now. He loved how helpless the handcuffs made him. Grayson would definitely be using them again. “You know just what I want, huh?” Grayson smiled big, already stripping the rest of his clothes off so he could join him on the floor, coming up behind him and playfully snapping one of the strings of the bikini against Ethan’s skin. “You stretched yourself for me already, right, baby boy?” He asked, pulling the string that ran between his cheeks to the side to fully see his glistening entrance, clenching around nothing.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said quickly, feeling his breathing get faster at the smallest touches. “Almost came while I fingered myself, couldn’t stop imagining you inside of me,” he purred.

Grayson went to test the give of the entrance, sliding in two fingers and pleasantly surprised at the warm wetness that lay before him. Ethan was such a slut. “God, Ethan,” Grayson said, almost breaking for a moment. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He couldn’t wait to tease him about this when it was all over. He took his fingers out slowly, wanting to be sheathed inside of his brother already. Grayson stroked himself a few times to spread the spit around, making sure not to waste any time as he pressed the head against him, sliding in with ease.

Ethan’s toes curled in excitement as he was filled up, moaning uncontrollably, like the slut he was. “Fuck me, fuck me,” he babbled, knees spreading a little more so Grayson had as much room to work as possible.

Grayson held Ethan’s hips in a vice grip as he began to thrust in and out of him, already fast-paced and rough. He knew they wouldn’t last long, but that didn’t discourage him. “Like this, baby? You like it when I fuck you like this?”

Ethan’s moans fell in time with Grayson’s thrusts, high-pitched and loud, music to Grayson’s ears. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t going to come, extremely embarrassed that it had happened in a matter of seconds. “Grayson!” He shrieked in pleasure, eyes rolling back as he came hard, spilling into his bottoms and onto the floor. “Don’t stop,” he gasped. He didn’t even care if his brother punished him for calling him by his name, or for coming without permission, just wanting everything Grayson had to give.

Grayson barely had enough self-control to keep up his dominant facade, fucking into his brother like a man possessed, ravenous, craving Ethan’s demise. “Fucking whore,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of Ethan’s hair and pulling him up so his torso was up in the air, a feat of Ethan’s core strength, really. “I should have you lick that off the floor,” he threatened.

Ethan was fucked speechless, pain and pleasure mixing to make something truly wonderful inside of him. It felt so good to give himself up for Grayson‘s pleasure, and it felt even better to know Grayson loved him for it, to know that he and his brother were perfectly entwined in a way that could never be broken.

Grayson didn’t let up until he came as well, filling Ethan to the brim with his come, just as he’d wanted. Ethan had come a couple more times, and once more as Grayson finished, nothing left in his balls when he did. He could truly say he was properly used by the end of it, crying softly as he slumped against the cold floor. He wasn’t crying because he was upset or because anything really hurt him, just because he was happy, overwhelmed and overstimulated, just how he’d wanted.

Grayson was quick to act after they finished, picking up his weepy brother from the floor and uncuffing him, bringing him to the bathroom to clean him up and care for him after such an intense night. Grayson let Ethan slump against him in the shower and only said sweet nothings to him. My pretty boy, my angel, you’re so perfect, so beautiful. You did so good for me. Grayson scrubbed his body gently and let him relax in the shower for a good while, content with taking care of him for as long as he needed.

Ethan didn’t feel like he came to until hours later, when they were both cleaned up and cuddling in bed, a dull ache present between his thighs. He was holding onto Grayson quite tightly, not giving him any room to pull away while they rested. It was a bit embarrassing, now that he was of sound mind, so he did loosen his grip, turning his head to look behind them at the alarm clock, surprised to see it was only 2 AM. He felt even more embarrassed as the night’s events came flooding into his memory, letting out the softest groan in frustration. A normal person would see his attachment and desperation for Grayson’s approval as unhealthy and pathetic, but he knew for a fact that Grayson enabled him on purpose. He loved it just as much, mutually beneficial. It was that fact that helped quell some of his shame as he pressed his nose against Grayson’s neck.

“Are you up?” Grayson asked softly, having been awoken by Ethan’s stirring, wanting to make sure he didn’t need anything before continuing to sleep.

“Mhm,” Ethan said, not pulling away to show his face, still feeling timid.

“You should rest, sweetheart,” Grayson scolded quietly, though it wasn’t demanding, he wasn’t disappointed. It was only laced with love and genuine care.

“Yes, Grayson,” Ethan said obediently. Even now, out of his subspace, back to reality, he couldn’t help it.

Grayson smiled proudly at that, gently pushing himself away from Ethan so he had enough room to lean down and kiss him, reassuring his twin that he was okay. “My boy,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “You make me so proud to call you mine.”

Ethan was so glad it was dark. He flushed red as soon as Grayson spoke, knowing he was going to say something sappy like that. “I’m proud to be yours,” he said in return, seeking out another kiss, this time making sure to move slowly against his mouth, relishing in how right it felt. “I’ll always be yours,” Ethan reiterated against his mouth and reluctantly pulled away so he could rest his head on the pillow again, needing a moment to gather himself. It was overwhelming, the love he felt for him.

“I know,” Grayson murmured, pressing one last kiss to Ethan’s forehead as he also relaxed against the sheets again, one hand reaching up to stroke Ethan’s hair and run through his wavy curls.

Who could ever contest such a kindred union?

[fridayfirefly]

A New Start

Read A New Start on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 15 - New Start

At the age of twenty-three, Dick Grayson was used to being called names. Playboy, asshole, womanizer - people liked to make assumptions about him. The press only ever saw him as a reflection of his Bruce's public persona, another rich airhead who thought of nothing except sex and alcohol.

Dick tried to rise above it all. He graduated from Gotham University School of Business with a 4.0 GPA. He earned his job at Wayne Enterprises instead of letting it simply be given to him. He never went to parties, never went to nightclubs, never got caught doing anything unsavory by the press. Despite every reason that made him entirely unsuitable gossip material, Dick Grayson was still splashed across the front page of every Gotham Gossip Magazine. They created speculation over every little aspect of Dick's life. When he took a week off of school due to the flu, he was actually partying his way through Europe. When he ran to the campus convenience store at 2 am to buy a new phone charger, he was actually buying a pregnancy test for his one-night stand. When he went to his Bruce's Spring Gala alone, it was actually because he was having a secret affair with one of the married models. Dick knew that nothing he did would change the way the press viewed him.

Dick hated the press. He hated being seen as a rich, air-headed playboy who earned none of his success. He hated how so few people saw past the headlines to get to know the real him. It seemed like no one could see the Dick Grayson who made dumb jokes and loved his slightly dysfunctional family and fell in love with his whole heart unguarded. No one could see the Dick Grayson who just wanted to be loved back.

------

Dick was running late. Any other day, he would be perfectly prompt, but that morning, everything went wrong. The subway got delayed. The uber driver tried to take a shortcut down the wrong way of a one-way street, adding another twenty minutes to Dick’s commute. The barista at Starbucks messed up Dick’s americano not once but twice (Dick still tipped her, but he was still resentful about it). When Dick finally got to the office thirty minutes late, he found out that he had a meeting in twenty minutes all the way across town.

Overall, the whole morning seemed to be fated for disaster. Dick caught a taxi outside of Wayne Enterprises, chugging the last of his americano before he got in. On the drive to the Gabriel Fashion building, Dick got himself up to speed on the topic of his upcoming meeting. Ever since the arrest of Gabriel Agreste two years prior on charges of domestic terrorism, Gabriel Fashion had lost more and more money until it was simply impossible for the company to remain afloat. However, despite the catastrophic failure of the parent company, one branch of Gabriel Fashion was still doing incredibly well. Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s line of sustainable, environmentally friendly fashion, named Miraculous Fashion, was widely regarded as the best thing to come out of Gabriel Fashion in the last fifteen years. Wayne Enterprises wanted to use Miraculous Fashion to get into the fashion business. Bruce was willing to offer Adrien Agreste, CEO of Agreste Fashion (though not for much longer, as the company was on the verge of declaring bankruptcy), just about any amount of money Agreste could ask for in order to acquire Miraculous Fashion. However, that meant getting the approval of Ms. Dupain-Cheng first, which was the reason that Dick was meeting with Ms. Dupain-Cheng that morning.

Dick's horrible luck wasn't through with him yet, though. As his taxi pulled up in front of Gabriel Fashion, the vehicle drove through a huge puddle, splashing street water all of a young woman walking past. Dick could hear her surprised shriek even from inside the taxi.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dick muttered as he shot out of the taxi. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

The woman blinked up at him, wiping the icy water off of her face. "I'm fine. It was an accident."

"It's not fine." Dick's already foul mood even worse after seeing the state of the woman. Her coat (originally cream-colored, as Dick could tell from the dry spots) was now covered in wet, gray stains.  "I can pay any dry cleaning expenses."

The woman shook her head. "It's not a big deal."

"I'll pay for your cab ride if you'd like to go home and get changed," Dick offered. He knew better than to throw money at a problem, but he wanted the guilt he felt about ruining the woman's morning to go away.

She shook her head, wet strands of hair sticking to her face. "No, it's fine. I have a change of clothes in my office, and I can get cleaned up in the bathroom."

"Okay. Sorry again Miss..."

"Dupain-Cheng. Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Dick winced. Of all the disastrous coincidences... "I'm Dick Grayson, your 9:30 meeting."

Marinette stared at him for a moment, before starting to laugh. "What a terrible first encounter we had. Why don't I walk you up to my office? My secretary can show you around while I get changed."

"Sounds great, Ms. Dupain-Cheng."

"Call me Marinette."

"Only if you call me Dick."

Marinette tried and failed to hold back a giggle. "Right this way then, Dick."

------

Dick had the sneaking suspicion that despite the fact that Marinette had lived in Gotham for the past six months, she had yet to encounter any of Gotham's many gossip magazines. When she looked at Dick, there was no judgment in her eyes. Dick was used to the underhanded insults, the subtle ways that people tried to undermine him because they didn't think he was qualified for his job. Marinette never acted like that. She was interested in everything he said, offering both praise and criticism to his ideas as they negotiated the terms for a potential merger.

"I want Miraculous Fashion to continue past the end of Gabriel Fashion, but to be honest I was hoping to be picked up by a company more experienced in the fashion world. Miraculous Fashion has a lot of potential, and I don't want to let that go to waste with a company that - no offense - might not know how to operate a clothing company."

"I understand your concern, but Wayne Enterprises is dedicated to expanding into the fashion world. I swear to you that Wayne Enterprises will do whatever it takes to ensure that Miraculous Fashion prospers. I can't promise that we won't make any mistakes or screw-ups, but I can promise that Miraculous Fashion won't be abandoned when times get tough."

Marinette nodded thoughtfully. "I'll think about it, but there's a pretty good chance that I'll agree to this. I've gotten a few other offers from different fashion companies, but none quite as enthusiastic as Wayne Enterprises."

"I hope to see you again soon," said Dick as he left her office.

Even though it was riddled with disaster, Dick couldn't help but feel good about his morning. His meeting with Marinette felt special. It felt like a new start.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[catxsnow]

CHRISTMAS MORNING D.G.

Request: I would like to request a soft Christmas morning with Dick where everything feels right. There's snow falling outside, nowhere to be and he's just get babied by his love, he deserves it.

Warning: fluff

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! I hope everyone has a wonderful day today! Sending my love to every single one of you :)

Word count: 1.4k 

Dick Grayson loved to spend Christmas mornings with you. From the moment that he woke up to the moment he went back to sleep - he loved the entire day with you. It was the only day of the year that it seemed he could go uninterrupted with you and he put good use to it too.

It was cold that year in Gotham. The snow that never seemed to end, frigid winds that always had you pulling him a little closer at night for warmth. Christmas day was no different. Snow fell from outside your apartment's windows. Dark, gray skies allowed for your small tree to shine bright in the cramped space.

The presents that were once perfectly wrapped under the tree were scattered around the living room. Dick, as always, managed to find a way to spoil you. He didn't care about the value of the gifts, just the sentiment behind them. Besides, being with you was all that he could really ask for.

Some cheesy Christmas movie played on your TV, but at the moment your attention was solely on Dick. He laid in your arms, snuggled into the crook of your neck where his warm breath sent chills up your spine. Without even needing to see his face, you knew he had that loving smile plastered on it.

He was already half asleep once more. Between your fingers massaging at his scalp and the warmth of being in your arms he was ready for a nap again. It had been an early morning too, Dick had woken you up just past the crack of dawn with excitement of finally being able to give you the gifts he had been so desperately waiting for.

"We can go back to bed, babe," You chuckled as he hummed with content. The couch was far too small for the both of you but he still managed to trap you on it every other day. "You seem tired."

As if he wanted to defy you, Dick popped up. He no longer looked exhausted but rather full of energy once more. December always reminded him of his time with his parents and the circus. The extra bright lights, joyful music - not to mention there were always more people at their shows.

As hard as his first holiday season without them was, he was sure as hell glad to have you to enjoy them with now. Every year it brought out the kid in him and it was always great to see him filled with so much joy.

"Babe, if I go back to bed now we're not getting back up at all," Dick joked. He pecked your lips before climbing off of you completely. His hand extended to grab yours - and just to get the warmth of him back - you accepted. Dick twirled you around to the music playing from the TV.

He swayed you around the living room, one hand on your hip and the other enclosed in yours. After all the years of being in Bruce's home, Dick had perfected the art of slow dancing. As cheesy as it was, you were glad that he had the skill for moments like these. Just the two of you, and nothing but an intimate moment.

As the song came to an end, Dick dipped you. He brought your lips to his when pulling you back up. He tasted of the hot chocolate that he had made for you both earlier. "Pretty out there today, huh?" you asked. The snow fell in large flakes, covering everything in its path white.

"It is," Dick agreed. He wrapped his arms around you from behind so he too could appreciate the view. It wasn't much, but it was your home. "However, I'm far more glad to be here inside with you where we can be nice, warm, and cozy." He kissed the side of your face. The hoard of blankets on your couch proved that.

There was a plethora of blankets everywhere. Your living room, bedroom - hell there was even one in your kitchen half the time. Dick loved to pull you into him and cocoon the blankets around you both. He had you snuggled up against him that morning with three extra blankets covering you both.

He was stuck between wanting to get up and a deep desire to hold you for several more hours. After several kisses and promises that you were his for the whole day, he allowed you to get out of his arms and the intense warmth of your bed.

"Do you think I can pull off making Alfred's candy cane hot chocolate?" Dick asked, pulling you out of your thoughts of your morning with him.

As much as you loved him, whenever he tried to mimic a recipe of Alfred's it always ended in failure. However, you weren't particularly in the mood to visit the big bat and his manor that day - which meant one of two things: let Dick try to make it or get no hot chocolate at all.

"Give it your best shot, my love," you reluctantly agreed. Dick kissed your cheek once more and dragged you to the kitchen. The two of you rummaged through your cabinets to hopefully find the right ingredients to make it. Although it probably wasn't what Alfred used - Dick threw it all in a pot anyway.

His phone buzzed - probably a text from the big man himself. Dick asked you to check it as he (struggled) to make the drinks. Just as you expected, it was a text from Bruce wishing you both a Merry Christmas. You tossed one of the Santa hats resting beside you over to your boyfriend and put the other one on.

His chin rested on your shoulder and a huge grin was plastered on his face as you got ready to take a photo of you both. As soon as the flash of the camera was gone, Dick peppered your face with kisses. "Hey, come on. I'm trying to send this to Bruce," you giggled at his distraction. "Awe, look how cute we are."

"You're the one making us cute, babe."

"Oh shut up, Grayson," you rolled your eyes at his flirting. Before he could distract you again, you send the picture off and wished Bruce and Alfred a Merry Christmas back. Dick still rested against your shoulder, arms tightly around you. "I hope Damian likes the gifts we got him."

"He will," Dick assured. He was close with his youngest brother, and by that point, he knew that the new Cheese Vikings game was going to be the best gift he was going to get. Besides, Damian would love anything that came from either of you. "So will Bruce, and Alfred, and everyone else we bought for - now stop worrying. We're supposed to be enjoying today."

"I am," you spun around in his arms. Any moment with Dick was an enjoyable one - especially on days like those. You kissed him once more that morning, showing off your love for him in ways that words simply couldn't. "I love seeing you happy like this, you know."

"I'm always happy when I'm with you," Dick told you. He opened his mouth to speak once more but a smell had caused you to cut him off.

"Do you smell something burning?"

"The stove!" Dick panicked. He completely forgot that he had turned the stove up to high to get the hot chocolate heated. Lumps of melted chocolate stuck to the bottom of the pot and the milk that was in it was tinted dark from being overheated. As upsetting as it was that your drink was ruined - it came as no surprise. "This was not my fault! You distracted me."

Your mouth fell open in shock. Your fault? As if. "Look at that you've ruined Christmas, Dick," you joked. Dick set the pot back on the counter and reached his arms out to grab you. Thankfully, you expected him to pull this kind of move and ran out of the way just in time. You stood on the opposite side of the tiny island as him.

In one swift move, Dick leaped over the counter and captured you with ease. Your laughs echoed through the apartment. They stopped when Dick's playing ended and he pecked your lips.

"Don't worry babe, I know how to save our Christmas."

[ri-ahhh]

bff grayson getting hard while taking a nap or while falling asleep after a movie or something 😍🥺

Your foot taps impatiently as you wait by the microwave for the popcorn to finish popping. The smell of it combined with the sound of the two distinct notes of Netflix opening echoing from the living room are making you anxious to hop on the couch with Grayson. You both agreed to have a movie night in after a stress-filled week for both of you.

“What are we watching?” he yells from the other room, his voice booming and distinctly audible even across a large surface area and the loud popping in the humming microwave. “If you tell me Clueless, I’m going to bed!”

You smile and roll your eyes, pushing the button to open the microwave door as the time between kernels exploding gets bigger. Admittedly, you had subjected him to your favorite movie many, many times since it had been put on Netflix.

“You pick, then!” you call back, ducking down to retrieve a big bowl for the popcorn, hissing when the steam burns your fingers as you open the bag. You grab a couple of Zevias from the fridge as well, tucking them into the pocket of Grayson’s hoodie that you’re wearing and grabbing the bowl to join him in the living room.

His bare back is to you when you walk in, and you smirk as you clutch a handful of his dark hair to yank his head back gently. Grayson yelps dramatically and pouts as he looks up at you upside down. Your belly swoops; he’s too cute. 

“Can we cuddle?” you ask sweetly, trailing your manicured nail over his arched brows, down the bridge of his nose, tapping his puffy pink lips playfully. 

It’s been this way for a while, the two of you dancing around this idea that maybe there’s more between you than being best friends. You’ve both been finding reasons to touch each other innocently lately, or to stay half-naked in your swimsuits long after you’ve retired from the pool outside -- anything to just be closer and put out those signals. It hasn’t manifested into anything, though, both of you too afraid of losing a best friendship to act on it.

His lips pucker against your finger with a little grin, and the tiny gesture sends an inexcusable wave of tingles to your belly. “I guess,” he sighs dramatically, sitting upright again as you smile down at him happily and make your way to the other side of the couch. 

“Ooh, Af-er!” you shout behind a mouthful of popcorn you had just shoved in as you plopped next to him. He stops scrolling on After and looks over at you amusedly. You blush a little and swallow, retrieving the cans from your pocket and handing him one. “Trust me, it’s so bad it’s good. Please?”

He’ll put it on whatever you ask, even if it did end up being Clueless for the millionth time, and you both know it. But he really can’t resist when you utter that little ‘please.’ 

Cut to half an hour later, you’re spooned in front of him, a giant fuzzy throw blanket cocooning your bodies and Grayson’s arm thrown lazily over your waist. You’re only half invested, because the feel of him behind you, so big and warm and solid, is making you a little dizzy. You want him to hook that muscled arm tighter around you, pull you to him and tangle your legs together. There’s enough space between your lower halves for some of the blanket to collect and bunch up there, though.

He shifts behind you and nuzzles some of your hair out of his nose when he does. His breath tickles and you suppress a shiver. It’s even harder when he speaks, and you can feel the vibrato of his voice as much as you can hear it.

“Wait, so that’s supposed to be Harry Styles?” he asks as Hardin takes his shirt off on the lake dock on the TV screen. “They went that far to copy all his tattoos and shit?”

“Yep,” you answer, letting a piece of popcorn dissolve on your tongue slowly.

You both watch for a few more minutes in silence, then his arm lifts to reach for the bowl on the floor. “Popcorn, please.”

You pick it up, but hold it out of his reach last second with a mischievous grin. Grayson scoffs and lunges further this time, trying to reach over you to grab the whole thing. He must lean a little bit farther than he intended, though, because the blanket slips a little and your ass brushes against something hard and... distinct.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you turn back around to face him and see he looks almost as shocked as you, only with raging red cheeks. You have two options here: tease or confess. Expert problem solver that you are, you go with the former.

“Really?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it! It just...happens. And the lake thing is kinda hot.”

“So all it takes for you is a glimpse of a bra and you’re ready to go? I expected more stamina from you, Gray,” you tut, referring to the scene of Tessa’s own state of undress. You hope it’s from more than that, but you’re not about to put your own neck on the line if you’re wrong.

He’s still blushing, but he rolls his eyes. “Really, are you gonna make me say it?

“Say what?” you ask innocently, biting your lip and looking up at him with big eyes.

He pauses, looking down at you with dark, heated eyes. He reaches up and tugs your lip out of your mouth. “It’s not that girl in a bra. It’s you in my hoodie, in my arms, on this couch. It’s every time I see you. Every time I get to be around you.” He stops, and huffs out a little puff of laughter, his thumb stroking your cheek softly. “And I can’t believe I’m about to steal knock-off Harry Styles’ line but...I don’t think we can just be friends. Not on my end, anyways.”

Your chest feels tight, your head in the clouds, your body on fire. It’s only hitting you now how long you’ve wanted to hear him say those exact words. You turn around to face him completely, trailing your foot up his calf as you hitch a leg over his. Your hand snakes up to cup his angular jaw. “Remember what he does next?”

Confusion lights his eyes, then understanding, and he gives you a crooked smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

With that, he’s dipping down to kiss you for the first time, and his lips taste better than you could have ever imagined. Even if they are veiled by the salt of the popcorn, they’re sweet and soft and work in tandem with yours perfectly. 

Your leg shifts higher up his waist, allowing your hips to meet, and you moan instantly when the hard ridge of him meets your pulsing center. He groans back, his hand coming to cup your ass to pull you even closer against him. You push his chest, a silent indication for him to roll on his back, and you grin down at him as you straddle his waist once he’s there.

Your pussy grinds rhythmically over his cock, and when your mouths meet again you delve your tongue past his lips this time. You take your time exploring, licking every crevice and sweet spot you can find as you blindly build that pressure in your pussy. You can’t remember the last time you had a good, old-fashioned dry humping makeout on the couch, but it’s just as amazing as you thought it was however long ago.

“Fuck,” he rasps, ripping his mouth away from yours. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, but your voracious for him, and can’t stand the idea of not having your lips or teeth or tongue on him now that you have that pleasure. You move your kisses to his stubbled jaw, then down his neck, stopping with a grin at the place that makes his breath hitch all over again.

Your hips haven't stopped this whole time. Your thin, tiny shorts and equally small thong, and his athletic shorts are practically useless barriers to the heat of your pussy against his raging hard-on. He lets the both of you indulge for a minute before he’s letting out this animalistic growl and a sharp smack to your ass, both of which go straight to your clit, and lifting you clean off his dick.

“You’re gonna make me embarrass myself if you don’t slow down,” he mutters, his face and chest flushed adorably, a little purple mark already blooming on his neck from where you maybe got a little carried away.

You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you whisper heatedly, sitting back a little and hooking your fingers into the waistband of his shorts. “Can I?”

He nods at once, and you smile at his eagerness. You tug them down just enough to let his dick spring out, your mouth watering instantly when you see him for the first time. 

“You’re big,” you admit, spreading his precum around the sensitive tip. You giggle when the whole thing jumps in the air. “You like that?”

He nods again, his hair flopping with the movement, and it only endears him to you even more. You lock eyes with him as you lick your hand and wrap it around his shaft, watching with pure desire how his eyes roll at the simple touch. You start stroking him steadily, your hand twisting at the head while the other makes his eyes shoot open again when he feels it start massaging his balls. 

Grayson starts moaning, and the soft sounds are music to your ears, but you want them louder, more desperate. You lean over and drizzle a stream of saliva onto the head of his thick cock, spreading it all over with a grin when you achieve that and an uncontrollable thrust of his hips at the added wetness. You feel his balls tighten in your hand. “Gonna cum for me, Gray? I want you to. I wanna lick it off you, all off --”

You’re interrupted by a loud moan of your name, and suddenly he’s shooting all up his stomach and chest with these grunts and groans that have your panties ruined for sure. You murmur soft encouragements and keep true to your word when he’s done, releasing him and dipping down to lick up the streaks of white with broad strokes of your tongue. 

When he’s all clean, you show him the last pool of cum on your tongue with a smirk before swallowing. Grayson grins up at you, and hooks a big hand around the back of your head to bring you down to him for a deep, thorough kiss. He sits both of you up, securing a thick arm around your waist and flipping you over, smiling into your mouth when you let out a little squeal and giggle of surprise.

“My turn.”

[fancyfade]

so ive been debating editing chapter 3 on my fanfic to make 1 scene line up more from canon. (chapter 3 is this one, where the characters deal with the aftermath of battle for the cowl, Tim finds out Damian’s Robin, and Dick and Damian move to the penthouse)

I’m debating making the Tim finding out Damian’s Robin scene a little more canon compliant along what happened in Red Robin (link) for a few reasons, the main of which is in the scenes that I’m writing next (like... chapter 47 lol), Tim and Dick do have to talk about what transpired when Dick made Damian Robin. Potential reasons for change

In my fic Tim kind of just left on his own without a push, but I’m not sure if Tim would have left on such bad terms if there wasn’t the complication of Damian antagonizing him and him feeling as if Dick was picking Damian over him (even though in the comic we saw Dick trying to de-escalate and get Tim’s back, it still felt that way to Tim)

I dislike the way some of this was handled in the comic and I can’t really comment on it in my fic if I just retcon it out

it seems fair-er I guess if Tim is allowed to have flaws just like Cass and Damian and Dick all have flaws in this fic. i know many tim stans think otherwise, but punching a ten-year-old victim of child abuse in the face out of anger is wrong.

the con side is obviously this involves Damian getting hit and that kid has been through so much already. I’m really trying to figure out how it works with character dynamics vs like. give the poor kid a break-ness.

anyway if I did decide to replace the current chapter 3, this is what it would be replaced with (only the first scene, the second would be the same). If you are a reader of the fic feel free to leave your comments. I would do an “oh and I edited chapter 3″ note before the relevant stuff was mentioned if I go through with this, I wouldn’t like expect everyone to know what happened. Some of the dialogue is not like exactly like in canon (cuz thats boring and also to match with what I wrote the first time) but the feeling/ beats should be similar

Gotham’s finally had a bit of lull in the violence, and Dick is just wondering how he’s going to do this.

He’s accepted that Damian’s his responsibility – seeing the kid shot in the chest made that perfectly clear, as much as he would’ve liked it to be otherwise. He felt like he was way too young to be watching out for a kid in any capacity other than cool older brother, especially a kid who’s as difficult to get along with as Damian. He was a great fighter, of course, and he knew it – Dick’s not sure he’s ever heard the kid be humble about anything. To make things worse, Dick feels like he’s constantly stuck in the middle between Damian and the kid he actually views as his younger brother – Tim, who Damian tried to kill. Evidence in point:

“Robin?!” Tim asks once he’s gotten back on his feet and Dick's explained his plan – away from Damian, who's still recovering from surgery.

“You made Damian Robin?!” Tim asks again.

Dick sighs. He’s in the cave, in a Batman costume he feels doesn’t fit right at all with the cowl off, and Tim’s still in his regular clothes. He has no idea how to explain this to Tim – no idea how to make him feel like he’s not being replaced. Dick never wanted to be the one doing the replacing – he remembers how much it hurt to find out that Jason was Robin from the papers, and that was after he officially stopped being Robin. Tim never quit – and Dick’s not about to make him – but he has to come home to the guy who tried to kill him getting his name.

“Tim, I know this looks bad, but Damian needs this.”

“Remember when we thought Bruce was going to retire after Crisis?” Tim asks. “Batman and Robin was supposed to be us. You and me. Not you and the psychopath that tried to kill me.”

“Tim, you’re not my sidekick, you’re my partner – ” Dick takes a step towards Tim with his hand out, prepared to offer sympathy, but Tim shakes him off angrily.

“Obviously not!”

“And Damian needs me way more than you do. If we don’t keep an eye on him, he’s going to kill again.”

Tim scowls intensely. “That should really not be an endorsement for being Robin, Dick! He’s a killer! He belongs in jail!” Tim swallows a little and then lowers his voice out of shouting range. “Dick, he didn’t try to kill me because he for some reason thought it was the only way to stop me from doing something bad, as far as I can tell he just wanted to replace me. We’re talking about someone with absolutely no sense of right or wrong.”

“Of course he doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong. He’s a ten-year-old child who was raised as an assassin from birth!”

“Lots of our villains have really sad or sympathetic reasons for doing crime, that doesn’t mean we team up with them.”

“Are you serious?” Dick asks. “This isn’t the same, Tim.”

“How not?”

“Well for one,” calls Damian's voice from the stairs, and Dick can't help but cringe and think not now – “I'm a lot better than them.”

Dick's cringe only intensifies when he turns around to see what Damian is wearing. His new Robin costume.

Tim's hands clench into fists the instant he sees Damian. Dick knows he has to de-escalate things quick before Tim and Damian have another fight.

“Damian,” Dick says, trying to keep himself carefully neutral-sounding. “Shouldn't you be resting?”

Damian lifts his head up slightly so his nose is in the air, and walks down the stairs almost normally. There's only a little hesitation in the twist of his torso, a little stiffness of his right arm.

Either he's zoned out of his mind on painkillers or depressingly good at masking his pain for a ten-year-old.

“Please,” Damian says. “I was trained in the League of Shadows. Do you really think an over-the-hill ex-Robin could put me down?”

Tim's fist clenches further, and so Dick says, letting a bit more urgency slip into his voice, “Damian, shut up. Now.”

Damian puts his left hand on his hips and looks intentionally at Tim. He adds, “I'm not Drake – ”

He's barely got the word out before Tim leaps forward and punches him in the face. Dick's out of his seat, grabbing Tim to hold him back, who is still distressingly struggling against him, like he wants to keep up the assault despite the fact that Damian fell to the floor.

“My name is Tim Wayne!” Tim shouts as Dick is still holding him back.

Damian gingerly sits up. Dick prepares to release Tim, prepares to stop Damian if he has to, if he decides to get revenge. But he doesn't. He just briefly braces his right side with his left hand before wiping the blood off his face.

“I let you get that shot in, Drake,” Damian says, again dropping intentional emphasis on Tim's original last name.

As he does, Tim struggles forward.

“Tim, back off!” Dick says, because Tim still isn't cooling down –

“I want you to feel good about yourself,” Damian continues.

Tim seems to relax his stance slightly, so Dick, possibly in an error of judgment, lets Tim go. But Tim doesn't try to attack Damian again, he just shakes Dick off and starts stomping away. “You want me to back off? Fine.”

He's going for the exit.

If he leaves –

Dick can't chase him. He's not sure that he can leave Damian alone –

“Tim, wait!” Dick says, taking a step forward. “Bruce is gone. But I still need you.”

“For what?” asks Damian and damn it is there anything this kid isn't going to try to ruin?

“Shut up, Damian,” Dick says again, even though as far as he knows he's just going to wind up pushing Damian away too –

And Tim leaves.

Dick turns to look at Damian. The kid's already back to his feet, like nothing happened, and Dick takes a step forward to inspect the injury – though he's really more worried about the gunshot wound than Tim's punch. Both Tim and Damian had wound up injured pretty badly during the chaos that gripped Gotham in the rumors of Batman’s death. As his new and not-improved version of Batman, Jason had tried to kill them both, which Dick is way less than pleased about. He’d been kind of hoping that they could talk Jason down, but this seems like a line he doesn’t know if Jason can ever un-cross. He shot a ten year old in the chest.

Damian grabs Dick's wrist as he reaches out.

“Are you all right?” Dick asks.

Damian scoffs. “You're worried about Drake? I've been hit harder sparring my mother.”

“I was thinking about the gunshot.” Alfred had said the primary damage was blood loss and a punctured lung (well, traumatic pneumothorax, but Dick knew what he meant) and given the kid a minimum of four weeks downtime to heal.

It's hard to tell due to the domino mask, but Damian adopts the position of a kid who's rolling their eyes, head slightly tilted to the side with a loll. “It's not enough to impersonate Batman, now you want to impersonate my mother?”

Dick doesn't know how to approach the mother thing, so he doesn't even try. He just explains the logic for being Batman – (and there is logic behind it. It's not like he wanted this). “Someone has to step up and convince Gotham things can get back to normal,” Dick says. “And serial killer Batman wasn't going to cut it.”

“Did you at least take care of him?” Damian asks.

Dick knows that Damian isn't actually worried about Jason's wellbeing, so he says, “Do you mean 'did I kill him'?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

“Obviously not.”

Damian presses his lips together in a thin line.

Dick might as well get this out of the way now. He's going to have to sometime. “Alfred wants you out of the field for four weeks.”

“That's preposterous!” Damian shouts, and as he shouts, he coughs. He rubs his chest quickly and then glowers at Dick when he sees him staring.

“Damian, you could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Jeez, doesn’t this kid have any sense of his own mortality? Though, Dick supposes, growing up around Lazarus Pits and a centuries old grandfather might make that impossible.

“I’m not a fool, Grayson, I know I’m not capable of healing instantaneously. I’ll take a break for one week,” he offers, like it’s a huge concession on his part.

“Four weeks,” Dick says.

“What about you?” Damian asks. “Didn’t you get injured?”

“Not as badly.”

“Are you taking a break?”

“Someone needs to convince Gotham that Batman’s not dead,” Dick says. Also, he doesn’t want to take a break. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Losing Bruce. Failing Tim.

“Tt. Then I don’t need one either. I’m younger. I heal faster.”

Dick actually has no clue whether that’s true, because he’s not a doctor, but he knows that people usually say kids heal faster.

Dick swings his arms a little, trying to feel them out. They’re still stiff, and as they move, a jolt of pain shoots through him. Even when he’s not moving, his shoulder is still sore. He knows that he might get injured going into the field like this and that it’s not a smart decision – last time he went into the field while still healing, he wound up blowing his secret identity to Blockbuster.

He decides that at least if he’s going into the field, he won’t tell Barbara and Alfred about it. Okay, so that’s probably not the smartest of his plans. Most plans that you have to hide from people who care about you aren't smart.

“I’ll take a week long break with you,” Dick concedes. “And we can see how fast you’re healing.” The second part is a lie, of course. He's not going to supersede Alfred's orders on medical matters.

Dick sighs a little. He figures that while they’re both on bed-rest duty, though, he can try to figure out how to set things up so they can operate effectively once they get a clean bill of health.

“How do you feel about not living in the manor?” Dick asks.

“Kicking me out already?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t be living here either,” Dick says. It’s true. He’d rather not feel like he’s living in all of Bruce’s old places, wearing Bruce’s old costume, … replacing him, essentially. He needs a place he can clear his head.

“Where would you live then?” Damian asks skeptically.

Dick shrugs. “The penthouse, maybe. Bruce already made a bunker nearby, so we could operate out of there pretty easily.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “Why do you keep saying ‘we’?”

Because you are ten and not ready to live on your own. But Dick just says, “Well, you’re Robin now, right? That means you’re pretty much obligated to team up with Batman.”

“Batman isn’t here, Grayson. He never will be again, no matter how much you play dress-up.”

Charming kid. Like Dick didn’t already know that.

“You know I operate effectively alone, right?” Damian continues. “I don’t need to be hand-held and babysat like all of Father’s previous partners.”

Dick figures that it’d be a jerk move to remind Damian he just almost died and therefore really shouldn’t be on his own. Instead, he says, “Well, Alfred’s staying with me, so unless you want to get all your food and clean the house by yourself, you have to put up with me.”

“Tt . I don’t need a servant. I’ll just eat at restaurants.”

“On who’s money?”

“In the event of his death, my father’s assets should have transferred to me. His blood son.”

Oh boy. Dick rubs his face. “Does this have to be a thing, Damian? No one’s doubting your capacity to take care of yourself but I think it’d really be easier if we were operating out of the same building. “

A long silence on Damian’s part. “Fine,” he says eventually. “I’ll allow you to stay at my penthouse.”

My penthouse. Of course. But Dick takes it. “All right,” he says. “Let’s move in.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

A Legacy to Protect

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim’s parents don’t know he does this. Neither do the nannies. If anyone found out that their nine-year-old boy was out roaming the streets every night after bedtime, climbing fire escapes and leaning over roof ledges to get photos of Batman and Robin, they would have an aneurysm.

(Tim learned that word last week from a medical documentary.)

Tim’s parents don’t know he does this. Neither do the nannies. If anyone found out that their nine-year-old boy was out roaming the streets every night after bedtime, climbing fire escapes and leaning over roof ledges to get photos of Batman and Robin, they would have an aneurysm. (Tim learned that word last week from a medical documentary.) The dynamic duo hasn’t been spotted yet tonight, but there’s still time. They usually do a sweep through Crime Alley between 12:30 and 1:15, according to Tim’s notes. He keeps a notebook small enough to fit in his jacket pocket, the pages scribbled margin to margin with red crayon in honor of the Boy Wonder himself. Tim sits on the roof’s edge, his camera settled beside him. It’s a shiny black one with a strap to hang around his neck and everything, just like a real photographer. Mom and Dad sent it over for Tim’s last birthday while they were touring through Egypt, and it was only a week and a half late this time. Tim doesn’t blame them. His parents work hard, harder than half of the other rich socialites who attend those fancy dinners and balls Tim gets dragged to. We need to present a good image for Gotham, his mom always tells him. If you’re not the best you can be, then there isn’t much of a point in doing anything, is there? I’m really good at pictures, Tim offers. I don’t mean hobbies, sweetheart. Those don’t count. If you want to get anywhere in this world, you need to start focusing on what’s important. Like Drake Industries.

Tim slips his notebook out of his pocket and opens it to a fresh page. Octobur 3, 12:16 a.m. — no sign of batman and robin yet. very cold weather. saw a cat sitting on the sidewalk and tried to pet it but it ran away.

Tim is going to be a great detective one day. He’s already got the surveillance part down. Suddenly the air rings with the crashing sound of trash cans being overturned. Tim quickly pockets his notebook and grabs his camera. He leans over the side of the building, ready to shoot. He scans the dark alley for a criminal, a really quiet angry mob, maybe even the Joker himself hatching a scheme. Instead, all Tim’s lens catches is a stray dog eating scraps from a dumpster. Tim sighs but snaps a photo anyway. Bummer. He leaves the dog to its meal, standing and turning his camera’s gaze to the night sky above. The moon is full, even if the stars are obscured by Gotham’s constant veil of smog. He takes a few pictures, rotating to catch new angles over cracked walls and smoky rooftops. He’s in the middle of snapping a photo of a neon sign for something called the “Booby Trap” when he spots a blur of yellow cape obscure half of the frame. A jolt rolls through Tim and he grins. Finally. He lowers the camera, scanning the area for where the cape went until he finds him. Robin—Dick Grayson—is swinging below, his bright costume stark against the black Gotham streets. He’s laughing about something, chattering to a figure Tim can’t see. But he knows he’s there, keeping to the shadows. Batman. He can’t lose them. Not before he gets some more shots for his hero album. Tim takes as many as he can, following the Boy Wonder with his camera as he flies down the street. It’s like watching the sun rise. He’s graceful, all joyful bounds and tumbles, fluid with every movement. A true Grayson in flight. Tim takes a step backward to keep him in frame, but he’s closer to the edge of the building than he thought he was. With a yelp, Tim’s foot slips off the edge and then he’s lost to gravity altogether. He drops his camera, arms cartwheeling as he falls with a shout. It’s never occurred to Tim until now just how tall two-story buildings really are. It feels like he falls forever, trapped in a bubble of timelessness. Weightlessness. Until he lands. Tim’s leg crashes into the concrete first, buckling on impact with a sickening crack that vibrates through his entire skeletal system. Tim gets out the beginning of a scream, but it’s less than a second later that he lands on his back, the wind getting knocked from his lungs. Panic surges through Tim’s body, ice water injected straight into his veins. He just fell off a building. Tim fell off a building and he definitely heard a snap, even if he can’t feel it yet because of the adrenaline which is another thing that medical documentary said, and he’s too far away to get home and he can’t walk and he doesn’t have a cell phone and he’s all alone in Crime Alley and— Tim gasps. There’s the pain, right on schedule. He whimpers as a throbbing sensation radiates through his leg, amping up in intensity with every beat of his heart. He doesn’t want to look at it, knowing full well that it’s broken. There’s no way it isn’t broken from a fall like that, and his elbow stings so he must have scraped it on his way down. He’s pretty sure he hit his head, too. This is so freaking bad. Taking deep breaths, Tim sits up despite the aches rattling his body. He bites his lip, smothering a whimper when he sees his foot facing a direction that it definitely shouldn’t be facing. It’s broken. It’s so, so broken. Maybe he can set it? Tim read about that once, about how setting broken bones makes them better. If he can figure out how to do it on his own, maybe it’ll be okay. No one needs to find out what happened tonight. As a test, Tim tries to move his leg just an inch. Agony surges through his leg instantly and Tim bursts into tears on the spot. It hurts. Everything hurts so badly and he knows that big boys aren’t supposed to cry—that’s what his dad tells him. Only wimps cry. You’re not a wimp, are you? But Tim’s leg hurts and he’s scared and he doesn’t know what to do, so he bites down on his sleeve and tries to muffle the sobs that burst through. He just wanted to take pictures. That’s it. He wasn’t even doing anything dangerous—he wasn’t fighting bad guys or breaking up scuffles on the street. He only wanted to see his heroes. “Hey, kid? You okay?” Tim flinches, snapping his head up and frantically wiping his tears. The image standing over him takes his breath away. It’s him. Robin. Dick came to save him. Tim can’t see behind the mask, but his face is twisted with concern as he eyes Tim’s predicament. “Yikes. That doesn’t look good.” For some reason that only makes the crying start anew, Tim biting down on his lip in an effort to keep the hitching breaths to a minimum. It must not work because then Robin is kneeling in front of him, his hands warm on Tim’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ll get you home to your parents, yeah?” Tim sniffles. “They’re not—they’re out of the country. The nanny comes in the morning.” He screwed up. He screwed up so bad. Dick’s brows furrow beneath the mask. “There’s no one watching you?” “I’m responsible.” In spite of the salty tears coursing their way down his cheeks, Tim lifts his chin in an effort to look tough. He can take care of himself, he’s been doing it for years. Dick—Robin, this is Robin—reaches up and touches what must be a communication device in his ear, like they have in spy movies. “B, I’ve got a kid here. He fell off a building and got pretty banged up.” A pause. “He said they’re out of town. Should I take him to Thompkins? Yeah, I can carry him there. Just two blocks, right?” Another pause, this one longer. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be careful. No one’s going to mess with me when I’m lugging around a crippled kid.” He laughs, winking at Tim. “See you back home.” Then he’s facing Tim again. “You got a name, kiddo?” “Tim.” “Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Robin, your hero for the night. Do you have any other injuries I should know about?” “Um.” Tim thinks it over for a moment. “I think I hit my head. And my elbow hurts.” As if Robin can’t perfectly see the bloody scrape there for himself, staining Tim’s sleeve red. His parents are going to be so mad when they find out that he ruined his nice jacket. Robin prods the back of Tim’s head carefully, checking for damage. “What were you doing out so late?” “I...like to take pictures. Stuff like the sky and the street and—” Crud. He completely forgot about the camera. Tim twists, scanning the alleyway until his eyes land on a bulky black shape a good ten feet away. “Oh, no.” Robin follows his line of sight and retrieves the camera, turning it in his hands before handing it over to Tim. “I take it this is yours?” There’s a huge crack right through the middle of the front lens. Tim’s heart sinks. “My parents are going to kill me when they see this.” “Don’t worry, Tim. When your parents see the leg cast and bruises they won’t care about a dumb camera, they’ll be too busy worrying about you.” He clearly hasn’t met Tim’s parents, then. Now that he thinks about it, though, Tim might be in the clear after all. It’s not like Mom and Dad notice much of anything Tim does even when they’re home. He wouldn’t be surprised if they miss the cast and broken camera altogether. “I’m gonna carry you to the clinic, all right? It’s not very far, and I’m friends with the doctor there. She’s super nice, and best of all, she doesn’t snitch.” He stoops down, getting ready to lift Tim into his arms. “This might hurt.” Tim’s eyes widen. “Wait, wait, stop.” Dick’s hands are off him in an instant. “What’s wrong?” “Your—your uniform. I’m going to get blood on it.” There’s already a red smear on his glove from where he touched the back of Tim’s head. “You just fell off a building and you’re worried about my uniform?” “It looks expensive.” Robin laughs. “You don’t need to worry about that, trust me. A few blood stains never hurt anyone. Can I pick you up now?” Tim nods, and then he’s being lifted swiftly in the air, one arm beneath his knees and the other wrapping around his shoulders. Robin was right: it does hurt. Tim lets out a squeak as his broken leg is jostled, sending waves of pain blazing through his nerves. He clutches the camera until its hard edges dig into his palms, just to give himself something to focus on so he doesn’t cry again. “Sorry, sorry,” Robin murmurs as he settles Tim against his chest. “I know it hurts. Don’t worry, Dr. Thompkins will give you some painkillers when we get to the clinic.” Tim doesn’t respond. He’s almost positive that if he opens his mouth now, nothing is going to keep the sobs at bay. He already cried in front of his hero once tonight; he can’t let it happen a second time. As if sensing Tim’s inner turmoil, Robin says as he walks, “It’s okay to cry, you know. I cry all the time. It doesn’t make you any less brave.” That’s the final crack in the dam. Tim lowers his head so his face is turned into Robin’s tunic and lets the tears fall. “It’s okay, Timmy. I’ve got you.”

[bigskydreaming]

Making this its own post because replying to the ask got so weirdly formatted I can’t even. Oh tumblr. You work so well.

@themessofthecentury  asked:

jsksjf my tumblr notifs are bugging and i didnt see your post but!!! The patron Saint of Robins?? I am much intrigue!!

(This is from this ask game, just....gotten to late, lololol. And I still have more I’m getting to, no worries. Just had a rough couple days is all, laid me up a bit.)

Okay, so The Patron Saint of Robins is kinda like the situation at the end of Grayson, except also not at all. And actually this is one of my older WIPs, and according to Scrivener I started it in 2015 afhislfhalhfalf, so it really has nothing to do with that. Also, its Young Justice-verse, but for two specific reasons:

1) YJ-verse is my go-to for Good Dad Bruce Wayne, when I don’t want to actually tackle the issues I have with his and his kids’ dynamic in comic book canon. I don’t carry over things like the adoption issue or the Robin succession into YJ fics, as I don’t think there’s anything that suggests they’re ever a specific issue in YJ and I don’t feel a need to make them one. So pretty much anything and everything I write in YJ goes with the backstory that Dick’s already adopted by Season One, and he’s the one to grant each later Robin permission to use the mantle, with no conflict over that, and more of a pre-Crisis transition to Nightwing than the post-Crisis firing from Robin. And this fic inherently needs Good Dad Bruce Wayne to work, lol.

2) I needed Klarion the Witch-Boy. Who of course exists in comic book canon, but is muuuuuch different there, and I just needed him to be a little demonic evil shithead, who sets everything in motion to get payback on the heroes for thwarting the Light in Season One, and he targets Robin due to being the oft-cited ‘first of the baby brat heroes’ and the ‘heart of the cape community.’

You don’t really need to be familiar with YJ canon at all for this one, as it goes sharply AU from after Season One, and only faintly and vaguely references specific events from that season. And I use my own YJ-ized version of the Titans as much as the actual YJ Team.

So basically, the plot of this one is to take revenge on the heroes for spoiling his game in Season One, Klarion plays a new game, by putting a chaos curse on Robin. It essentially erases him from peoples’ memories, though he’s perfectly able to make new ones. If he re-introduces himself to someone ask Dick Grayson, for instance, they don’t suddenly remember who Dick Grayson is or was, but they don’t forget about him again from that point onward, its like they meet him for the first time as a stranger.

But the curse part of things is only Batman can break it and restore everyone’s memories of Dick and his actual history, and only by identifying him for who he really is. And Dick can’t be part of breaking his own curse or else it seals it and makes it permanent and unbreakable forever.

Which of course leaves Dick completely miserable at first, understandably, and Bruce (and everyone else Dick knows, to varying different degrees) feeling some kind of loss but with no idea what it is they think or feel that they’re missing. Dick makes some half-hearted attempts at starting a new life for himself in Gotham, and in the process befriends a street kid named Jason Todd, though Dick introduces himself to Jason with just the name Robin.

The way the curse operates is it restitches together peoples’ memories to cover up the gaps where memories of him would go. So for instance, even though Jason never knew Dick before the curse, he was familiar with Batman and Robin just as much as any Gothammite was.....but due to the curse, the name Robin, upon meeting Dick, had no special meaning to him or anyone else. As far as he knew, Batman had always operated on his own in Gotham, the first teen superhero was that Speedy kid in Star City, etc. So when Jason first meets Dick, he just thinks he’s some dude whose name happens to be Robin.

Eventually, because Dick’s been kinda torturing himself by spying on Bruce just to ‘keep an eye on him’ and still watch his back, and he’s recognized by now that Bruce is mourning his loss without even knowing that he’s missing something....so Dick, who has also kinda come to see Jason as a little brother figure due to watching out for him as well....decides to kill two birds with one stone, unfortunate pun not intended. (Jason doesn’t die in this one, lol). Basically, Dick puts in motion the chain of events that lead Jason to stealing Batman’s tires, because he doesn’t know EXACTLY what Bruce will do but he knows it’ll get his attention in a big way and Bruce will take it from there.

One thing leads to another, Jason ends up living with Bruce and when eventually he wants to be trained by Bruce so he can do what he does and protect kids like he used to be.....when asked to pick a name....Jason names himself after the guy who always looked out for him, and who led to him being found by Bruce in the first place. He doesn’t know that his friend ‘Robin’ steered him towards those tires deliberately, just to bring him and Bruce into contact, but he does credit him with making the suggestion that ‘inadvertently’ (as far as he knows) enabled his and Bruce’s introduction, and so he names himself in honor of the boy who helped him and who he tried to track down again to similarly help, after Bruce adopted him, but was never able to find again.

Over the years, Dick also ends up steering Tim, Cass, Duke and Damian to Bruce in different ways than comic book canon (Steph and Babs’ debuts remain their own, as family adjacent but not family specifically) and thus is integral to the forming of the Batfam and has a connection with them even before the curse ultimately ends up broken and he’s able to reclaim his full identity. And each of them end up Robin at least briefly, like Steph is never Robin in this AU, and sticks with Spoiler, whereas Cass IS briefly Robin before becoming Batgirl after Babs. I did this for a few different reasons...

One, I really like that Cass is never Robin in main continuity as it creates a different dynamic between her and Dick than most of their siblings have, BUT I’ve always been curious to play around what Cass-as-Robin might even be like, just for an AU. Two, part of the Black Bat and Batgirl but never Robin sequence of mantles for Cass in the comic book continuity is like.....although it doesn’t get explored nearly enough, Babs was as much a kind of mother figure for Cass as Bruce was a father figure, despite Babs’ young age. So it makes more sense for Cass to stick more to just Bat-mantles than to ever be a Robin in the comic books. But in YJ, Babs is even younger, and just way too young to have the specific kind of dynamic that leads to that in the comic books, so its not as unreasonable IMO for her to have a different dynamic in her early days in the family here, before becoming closer with Babs and taking up the Batgirl mantle after she moves on to become Oracle.

And then also, and this is also the primary reason for making Duke a Robin briefly, before Damian is old enough....I got hung up on the title and it just didn’t work as well if it was Robins + Cass and Duke, lololol. See, in addition to helping steer the family into the points of introduction that make them a family, over the years he also acts as like, a guardian angel figure to the various family members, looking out for them and interceding in times of extreme danger, like when Jason is almost killed by the Joker. He’s always in disguise, but the kids eventually compare notes and realize there’s a singular figure behind each of their introductions to Bruce and the guy swooping out of nowhere to save their behinds whenever they’re most in danger, and Jason eventually connects this back to the guy who apparently NOT so coincidentally suggested he go after the Batmobile’s tires that fateful night, and the kids end up jokingly/not-so-jokingly referring to this figure as the Patron Saint of Robins. (Shout-out to the occasional mentions/allusions of Jason’s Catholicism).

They never tell Bruce about this figure (at least before Bruce starts to put together clues on his own), because they all figured out that for whatever reason, this person despite wanting them all to meet Bruce seems to want to avoid Bruce himself, and they kinda want to respect that as a kind of payback for his help, and also like....Bruce, even a kinder, gentler Bruce, is still Bruce. And when Bruce is gonna Bruce, that means Batparanoia. And all of them for various reasons DO trust that this guy has nothing but good intentions towards them, and so they don’t want to like....ruin or tarnish the positivity they associate with his intercession in their lives with paranoia or treating him like a bad guy. Which ultimately is really just smoke and mirrors for saying that he’s kinda a ‘just for them’ secret. Its a Robin thing.

(Until its not).

Because meanwhile, Dick, in between meeting the various Batfam members and pulling strings and looking out for them from the shadows, at first travels the world looking for ways to break his curse. But when ultimately its clear that the only way to break it is the loophole built into it already, Bruce identifying him for who he really is, but without Dick doing anything to steer him towards the answer, Dick settles into a new hero identity as Nightwing, and forms the Teen Titans, a public group of young superheroes (minus Roy and Wally, unfortunately, but still with Donna, Garth, Raven, Kory, ignoring season 3 Vic and also Terra because AU redemption arc what what, etc). And the Teen Titans avoid both the Young Justice Team and the Justlce League with EXTREME measures, much to the other heroes’ confusion and aggravation, because in the early days of the Titans, in a moment of what he’d term weakness, on one of his ‘bad days,’ Dick tells them enough of his story that they’re able to put together a good sense of what happened and who he really is by reading between the lines and what he leaves unsaid....

BUT as a result, all end up extremely committed to not mixing and mingling casually with the rest of the cape community because they don’t want to risk dropping any hints about the guy under Nightwing’s mask, in case that might count as steering Batman towards clues and seal the curse for good. So I have a lot of fun with having the Titans just nope out of the scene the second the bad guys are defeated even when they have to team up with other heroes, leaving the other heroes confused as hell and trying not to be all ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE US??”

Anyway, so yeah, that’s the gist of this one, lol. With it of course following the eventual plot that like...the Batfam starts to Detect and put things together.

ANYWHO!

Snippet

Damian versus Klarion: Round One

“Aww, its adorable that you think you’re in my league,” the Witch-Boy cooed in an absolute mockery of sympathy. Damian bristled, but before he could do anything more than that, he was faced with a much more pressing matter as reality completely lost its mind.

The walls of the cavern fell away in an instant, only to be replaced with a whirling dervish of winds all around them, as if they now stood in the center of a cyclone that bled red and silver and black. It shrieked and wailed in a chorus of voices just on the other side of being comprehensible, a symphony of the damned that set every nerve in Damian’s body aflame with a primal instinct to get out, to find silence, to be anywhere but here.

He’d barely staggered a step backwards when the ground erupted beneath him, splitting apart into jagged obsidian shards that bobbed precariously in the sea of magma barely glimpsed through cracks now spiderwebbing their way across the floor. Spears of lightning burst upwards through them, stabbing impossibly at the heavens rather than raining down from them. They hissed and crackled as they flickered like forked serpent tongues of electric violet and black. The forks becoming branches, the pillars of sky-shattering light transforming into the trunks of great trees that grew upwards and outward, weaving a canopy overhead. One that wept violently red leaves that fell gently to the ground, only to hiss and bubble like acid once they did.

“See, normally this is when I’d hit someone with a little razzle-dazzle like this,” Klarion called out over the song of madness he’d created, as it crooned and careened wildly all around them. He snapped his fingers, and in the span of a second it all ceased. Reality reaffirmed itself, and all was right with the world once more…except now the two of them stood at the end of a hallway in Wayne Manor.

Damian stumbled, the sudden reappearance of firm ground paradoxically being the thing to challenge his balance. The demon boy standing beside him crooked his thumb and forefinger in the semblance of a gun, the smile pasted across his face one of wickedly gleeful malice.

“But you, kiddo, you’re special. Cuz there’s nothing I could do to you now that could top what I’ve already done, so why try when I can just savor the moment instead?”

“What are you babbling about?” Damian demanded roughly. In the wake of what the Witch-Boy had just conjured up with nothing more than a gesture, he was keenly aware of how flimsy a shield his bravado made. He just had absolutely no idea what else to fall back on.

Klarion only threw back his head and laughed though, skipping merrily down the hall as he did.

“I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songed and Damian lost what little grasp of his patience he’d managed to hang onto.

“You overestimate my need for an answer. Attempt to intimidate me all you wish, but I have no desire to indulge your little game any further.”

Klarion jerked to a stop and spun around, his face screwed into a childish pout. He stomped his foot, petulance personified. “I’m not intimidating you anymore, I’m gloating! Ugh, you’re so stupid! They’re completely different, how can you not tell?”

Every light in the hallway flickered and fizzed abruptly. The walls wavered, bubbled, momentarily molten as if made of wax.

Again Damian was reminded just how mercurial this being he was faced with was, and how dangerous. Perhaps, as Father would say, this was not the time to indulge his own instinctive inclinations. Or as Todd would put it, just because you’re already fucked, that’s no reason to fuck yourself over more than you have to.

Crude as his older brother was, there was occasional merit to his…pithiness. Not that he would be admitting that any time soon, of course.

“Fine. What is it you wish to gloat about then?” Damian grated out. The appeasement, such as it was, tried its best to stick in his throat before finally clawing its way free. But at least it proved worth the effort when the godling’s mood reverted back to impishness as readily as with the flip of a switch.

“Well. Its like this, you see.” Klarion said. He dragged it out as he folded both legs underneath him to sit cross-legged in the air, plopping his head into his hands. “I did a baaaaaaaaaaaaad, bad thing to your family, a loooooong time ago. And none of you have done anything about it, because you don’t even know! Isn’t that funny? Doesn’t matter how big a hero Daddy Bats is if he doesn’t even know what needs saving huh? Little Catch-22 there, you might say.”

“Yes. Quite hysterical,” Damian said dryly. “So what is it you claim to have done then?”

The Witch-Boy just sat there, regarding him with amusement, and the seconds marched on into minutes. Damian’s skin crawled. Prickling with impatience and possibly something…more. He wasn’t quite ready to name it anxiety or something as melodramatic as all that yet. In fact, he’d rather not put a name to it at all, but today did not appear to be a day for configuring things to his liking.  

Klarion’s wicked grin grew as if sensing his thoughts, though to the best of his knowledge (and Damian did quickly ransack the library of his memory just to be sure) there was no indication telepathy was included among the Chaos Lord’s many, many powers. And still that detestable smile stretched slowly wider all the same, in perfect synchronization with the rising tide of Damian’s unease. Perhaps the Witch-Boy’s file was in need of annotation.

“How many doors would you say are in this hallway?”

“What? Seven.” Damian snapped out his answer, annoyed by the non sequitur. Not to mention baffled. Was it too much to expect even a semblance of linear thought from the Chaos brat?

“Are you suuuuuuure?” The Witch-Boy stretched his query out obnoxiously. “Maybe you should count again. Just for kicks and giggles.”

Damian throttled back each and every retort attempting to spring to his lips, stuffing them back down and cramming a lid on everything he most dearly wished to say to this most vexing of…shitheads. Once again, it appeared as though nothing less than Todd’s preferred form of nomenclature would suffice. Wonderful. On top of everything else Damian had to deal with today, he seemed to be finding common ground with the man all over the place. Was there no end to the indignities he must suffer?

But marshaling his own formidable willpower, Damian took a deep breath and indulged the Chaos Lord, glancing his eyes down the length of the hallway and counting out each doorway one by one. There was his own room of course, with Cassandra’s to the right of his, and the room Brown used when staying over to the right of hers. That was three. Then there was Thomas directly across from his own room, with Drake to his right and Todd just beyond that, with Father’s room at the very end of the hall, his master suite staggered and with no direct opposite like the others. Seven.

Except all of a sudden there was a door directly opposite his father’s. For a total of eight.

Damian’s brow furrowed in consternation. The faint whispers of uncertainty already seeded throughout him bore fruit, ripening into poisonous stabbings of doubt.

“That’s not real,” he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.

The Witch-Boy’s smile only grew wider still. “Isn’t it, though?”

“There’s never been a door there before,” Damian persisted, striding confidently down the hall towards it. The Chaos Lord flitted ahead of him, inverting til he was upside down and skipping merrily once more, though this time from the ceiling.

“Or has it been there all along?” He sing-songed some more.

“I would think we might have noticed if it had been,” Damian growled.

“Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? You are all supposed to be a family of detectives, I thought. Makes you wonder…if you could miss this, what else might you have failed to notice?”

Damian snarled to himself and did his best to shut out the demon boy’s prattling. He quickened his strides, eating up the length of the hallway in his haste to reach its end. He wasn’t sure what opening the door would prove, let alone what bewilderment the godling had conjured on its other side, but it appeared the only end to this game of his was through it, so let there be an end to it already.

And yet, for all his certainty - or best facsimile of it - he couldn’t help but pause once he reached the door in question. His hand hovered within reach of its brass knob, but some instinct, some…caution, held him at bay. As much as he wanted to dismiss all this as just one more of the Chaos Lord’s inane charades, there was a tension in the air that felt too weighty to be the product of just magical conjuring. Something more was in play here. Real forces were at work. His father might disdain magic, but Damian had been around enough of it himself to know when true power had been raised. And the span of empty space between his hand and this hither-to-unseen doorknob held more of it than Damian had felt throughout all the mad warpings Klarion had made of reality thus far.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Klarion asked from somewhere overhead. His voice, usually pitched to carry, was so soft for a moment Damian mistook it for his own inner doubts. “Some doors are easier to open than to close again, you know.”

Even knowing the goading for what it was couldn’t stop Damian then, and with a simple breath to fortify himself, he reached for the knob, spun it once, and shoved the door open all in a single sharp movement.

The Witch-Boy giggled up above.

The door swung wide, a forceful arc that should have revealed anything and everything within it all at once; the better to react quickly to whatever that might be. Fine in principle, perfect in execution, but thwarted by one small detail:

There was nothing on the other side.

And not in the sense of it being just an empty room, but true nothingness. A pitch-black abyss darker than the deepest night, yawning forth from the doorway in a vast, impenetrable shroud. Nor was anything hidden in the darkness, Damian knew, even if just intuitively. He could feel it, that he stood on the edge of an impossible cliff, that there was nothing beyond this threshold but an aching chasm of emptiness and loss. The surety of it hung in the air, thick and heavy, a miasma that seeped through to his side of the doorway and clung to him like the moisture of a fog beads upon the skin.

Klarion’s head suddenly popped up alongside him, hovering just over his shoulder.

Albeit still upside down.

“Well that doesn’t seem right,” he mused, tapping at his lips with a forefinger. “What do you suppose is meant to be in there?”

The last of Damian’s brittle patience shattered.

“Enough! What is the meaning of all this, demon? Speak plainly, for once in your miserable existence!”

His self-preservation instincts and the reminder of just who it was he was shouting at kicked in too little too late, but he wouldn’t take his exasperated fury back even if he could. He was who he was after all. But fortunately, that described the Witch-Boy just as accurately, and rather take offense or perceive any actual threat from Damian’s rage, the Chaos Lord just shrieked with laughter and sprung backwards. He flipped right side up, still hovering in mid-air, and clapped his hands with glee.

“Oh, I should have done this ages ago,” Klarion sang out. “Why, you’re almost as fun as he used to be. Back before he got all droll and serious, that is. He’s no fun at all anymore, nothing like this. Never wants to play, always just running back to his tower with that little bitch of a demoness.”

His face soured like he’d just sucked on a lemon. But rather than stop there, his countenance kept morphing into an increasingly savage scowl, the longer he ranted. The hallway was suddenly sweltering, baking with unseen heat that twisted the air into shimmering ribbons. The small horns sprouting from his forehead burst into scimitars of flame that cut through those ribbons and set them similarly ablaze.

“Always putting on airs like she’s some kind of royalty, just because her Daddy Dearest put the fear into a few peasants back in the day,” the Witch-Boy snarled viciously. “As if that’s enough to put her on par with the likes of me. No one is the likes of me. NO ONE!”

Reality itself quaked with the force of his shout. White-blue flames spat forth and crescendoed down the length of the corridor, splashing against its walls and searing them to a crisp. Damian braced himself for all the good it would do, keenly aware of the void still gaping hungrily behind his back, but before the fire could become an actual danger to him as well, all was quiet once more.

Silence hung in the air much like the demon boy, poised yet motionless. Suspended. Waiting.

And then Klarion simply inhaled and brushed his hands down the front of his garments, smoothing out the wrinkles as he reclaimed his calm. The corridor restored itself to its former self, curtains of vintage reality unrolling from the ceiling to the floor as though papering over the damage. Damian felt rather than saw when the portal behind him swung shut and was replaced with the expanse of ivory paint and ornate sconces he was used to seeing in its place.

“I am one of a kind, after all,” Klarion finally remarked. It was a casual drawl offered forth almost off-handedly, as if more a reminder to himself than uttered for anyone else’s sake. He used one hand to spell out letters in the air. They appeared and vanished again in bursts of fireworks and fluorescent flame. “U-N-I-Q-U-E.”

“As I, apparently, am not,” Damian said, seizing upon the Chaos Lord’s restored calm and good cheer. “Who is this ‘he’ you mentioned? If I’m to be pitted against him as entertainment in your eyes, might I at least know his name?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the Witch-Boy scolded. He wagged his finger at Damian. “No spoilers. That’s not how the game is played.”

Keenly aware of the boy’s power once more, Damian gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Well, if there are to be rules, shouldn’t I at least know what those are?”

Klarion sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up along with his inhalation as though preparing for some great speech…and instead just toppling backward, flopping onto an extravagant fainting couch that suddenly appeared beneath him, though similarly floating in the air.

“I can’t recall at the moment.” His now-faint voice drifted up from where he lay buried amid a mountain of pillows. “I’ve had a terribly exhausting day. But you’re supposed to be a detective, remember? Go…I don’t know. Detect things.”

He flapped an arm at Damian dismissively, and then crooked a finger into a twirling motion that set his divan to spinning in lazy circles.

“Isn’t life grand?” Klarion sighed fondly. “With all its twists and turns, its eddies and swirls. I mean, take the two of us. Scant hours ago, we were mortal enemies, and just look at us now.”

The Witch-Boy lazily rolled his head to the side as the couch drifted to bring him face-to-face with Damian. His lips spread wide in that malevolent, wicked grin of his once again, but somehow it managed to be even wider than any he’d shown off before. His eyes blazed with a hellish inner light, and his voice, when next he spoke, dropped deep into a demonic register. A bass that boomed forth and set Damian’s very bones to rattling.

“Ain’t we got fun?”