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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

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The first bout of whispering, Shiro can ignore. He’s a teacher by trade, after all. Astronaut, sure. Paladin, even. But he always expected to be a teacher, trained for it, and he knows when you put a group of teenagers in a room and expect them to start learning by lecture, there’s going to be some whispering. He’d be concerned if there wasn’t, frankly.

But as it keeps happening, again and again, to the point where it’s almost constant, Shiro begins to lose his patience.

“Lance, Hunk,” he says, catching himself long before then. He tries to smile, gentle but firm. “Everything okay?”

The two boys clam up immediately. Lance even begins to lean slightly away from Hunk, although Shiro’s not sure he notices.

Shiro frowns, puzzled at the reaction. That’s — uncommon. He’s seen embarrassed, seen sheepish, seen unbothered, even seen downright rude, but Lance looks almost… afraid. And Hunk looks at him with a lot more anxiety than the situation calls for, but Shiro is beginning to notice that that’s just Hunk.

The both mutter some semblance of apology, and Shiro moves on quickly, unwilling to dwell on the incident too long.

For the rest of the briefing, he keeps an eye on them. He’s still focused, of course, as their break-in and recon on a nearby Empire warship is not only hugely dangerous, but will also be hugely beneficial, but he lets his notes do a lot of the talking for him. He flits his eyes to the pair every so often, and while Hunk meets his eyes on occasion, smiling slightly, Lance keeps his head down, hunched over his tablet.

Shiro notices that the tablet is powered off. He doesn’t write a single note.

His shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

———

“Alright, kiddo, good job.”

Keith grins, stepping backwards and bowing to finish the fight. Shiro bows back, matching his smile.

“You did great.”

“I know,” Keith says cheekily. “You’re getting easier and easier to beat. Probably because you’re elderly.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Am I.”

His annoying little brother hums, completely unconcerned. He steps off to the side and starts swinging around his training stick, very clearly showing off. “Mhm. It was super easy to fight you. I just went whoosh, smack, bam! —” he punctuates every sound with a swing and slash of the stick — “and every hit just landed. Honestly, I think a punching bag would have been more of a challenge. Adam is a way better spar partner than you. I wish I was shot into space with him.”

Shiro’s eye twitches. It’s a clear goad, he knows it is. Keith isn’t even trying to hide it. He’s a twerp with too much energy and too much experience pressing all of Shiro’s buttons — a favourite button of his, of course, being the bit of…healthy competition Shiro has always had with his boyfriend.

(He’s well aware of the irony. He hears Adam pointing and laughing in his head every time he endures Keith’s complaining about Lance pulling his mullet, so to speak. In fact keeping his mouth shut about the parallels is the only thing keeping him from throwing Keith down the laundry chute. He’s waiting for a moment when the reveal can be well and truly devastating.)

Shiro manages, with herculean strength, to step away from his turd of a brother, putting his training stick away.

“I am leaving,” he says loudly, pointedly turning away. “I said I’d train one hour with you and not a second more.”

He feels Keith’s pout more than sees it. “Coward.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorts, waving his hand dismissively. He hears swishing sounds, and the clicks of buttons — Keith is starting up his own training. Again. “Don’t be late for dinner or I’ll send Lance after you.”

“Can’t promise I won’t maim him,” Keith mutters. “Sometimes I just want to wring his neck.”

Shiro is very familiar with that feeling. Or at least the raving about it. He used to feel great pleasure in driving Adam to that point, just because he was hot when he was mad. But Shiro values his limbs — or at least what’s left of them — where they are, so he keeps the comments to himself as he makes his way out of the training room, meandering back to his own quarters.

He takes his time showering and redressing, knowing he’s got some time before dinner. He thinks Hunk even managed to wrestle Coran out of the kitchen, which means no food goo. It also means that he’s banned from even breathing near the kitchen until the food is fully cooked and completed — which is a bullshit ban and one based in false accusations — but he’s sure he can help set the table, or something. Stir a pot. He’s good at that.

He towels off his hair, not bothering to style it, and takes his time walking over to the kitchens. The castle floors are cold under his bare feet, he finds himself wishing he had the lion slippers Lance made him. They’re very warm. He never wears them because he’s terrified of ruining them, but it’s so icy in here that he might start having to, or else he’ll freeze.

As he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. He freezes, quieting his steps and pausing behind the wall to listen. Hopefully no one else walks by, or that will be humiliating.

“— all you have to do is ask, Lance, just casually, it’s not even —”

“— it is even, Hunk, it’s the worst and I’m not doing it, why would I inconvenience —”

“— it isn’t! Not even a little! It’s the smallest tiniest thing!”

“Hunk —”

Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation, spoon going flying and splattering some kind of blue sauce all over the cabinets. Neither of them even blinks at it.

“I am tired of watching you struggle, Leandro! Heaven forbid you ask for help!”

Shiro frowns. That’s not good. That sounds serious.

“I asked for help,” Lance huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t count and you know it,” Hunk says sharply, mirroring him. “I already knew.”

Lance looks away, clenching his jaw. His fingers are tangled in his jacket’s sleeve, tense.

“You don’t have to help anymore if it’s too hard,” he mumbles. “I can handle it myself.”

Hunk softens. “It’s not that, Lance.” He wipes his hands in his apron and pulls Lance to his chest. Lance goes, although he doesn’t move his arms, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “You know it’s not that. If that’s all we have then I’ll keep doing it, damn the consequences.” He pulls back slightly, nudging Lance back so he can look him in the face. “You can just do better, dude. All you gotta do is tell Shiro about your —”

A hand claps over Hunk’s mouth, cutting him off, and Lance squeaks, “Hey, Shiro, hello, hi!”

Shiro startles. He scrambles upright before Hunk turns all the way, so at least he’s only seen crouching by the door like a weirdo by one person.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hi.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Hunk says, muffled. How he looks so mighty and dignified with Lance’s hands still very much pressed to his face is well and truly beyond him. Shiro is frankly awed.

“I just came to help set the table,” he assures, hands held up in surrender. “Promise I’ll stay away from the actual food.”

Hunk narrows his eyes, but must decide he could use the help, because he nods, stepping backwards so Lance’s hands fall back down.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m making stew. You can set out utensils if you must but know I’ll judge you heavily for it. Lance, come help me finish up.”

Lance scrambles after him, avoiding Shiro’s gaze like he’s sure he’s going to get yelled at. Shiro watches him go, perplexed.

———

The next few days are, for the most part, manageable. Their mission goes well, Keith is surprisingly mellow — Shiro suspects the little nerd has discovered a library of some kind — and distress calls are minimal. All in all, Shiro should be taking the time as the blessing it is and catching up on some much needed R&R.

Instead, he’s worrying about the Blue Paladin.

Shiro can’t say he knows him well. They’ve hardly been in space a couple of months, after all, and while Shiro must have taught him a couple times — he was in the piloting program so it’s almost impossible that they didn’t cross paths — the Garrison is huge, and Shiro largely teachers younger students. Shiro can’t recall teaching a Lance, anyway.

But he can tell something’s off.

Besides the fact that Hunk keeps looking at Lance with concern, the Cuban seems…withdrawn, almost. He still works hard in training and smokes them in any kind of long distance, but there doesn’t seem to be any joy in it. Even his arguments with Keith seem halfhearted, which Keith will never admit leave him agitated as much as it has Shiro’s eyebrows raising. Shiro is sure, basically, that something is the matter, and surer still that he has to be the one to fix it.

How exactly he should go about it…well, that’s the part he’s struggling with. He knows Lance is kind of star-eyed around him, even though they’re on the same playing field, so Shiro’s not sure just regular talking to him about it is going to do something. And he seemed pretty resistant when Hunk pressed, in the conversation Shiro overheard. He’s just not sure what to do.

Luckily, the situation starts to resolve itself.

“Hey, Shiro, can I talk to you?” Lance mumbles into his breakfast, as everyone else is distracted by Pidge and Keith’s loud argument about cryptids (Shiro has heard it too many times at this point. He’s tuned it out).

Shiro blinks. “Sure,” he says, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “Now?”

“Uh, after we eat, maybe.”

Shiro tries very hard not to seem over enthusiastic. He sucks at that, so it doesn’t work, and it seems to make Lance more stressed, which only stresses Shiro out more. By the time everyone has finished up and people are starting to file out to various tasks, the tension between them is so thick Shiro feels as if he might suffocate.

Suddenly, as if he propelled himself, Lance springs to his feet, snatching his bowl and Shiro’s and powerwalking towards the kitchen sink. Shiro, startled, follows him.

“You okay?” Shiro asks softly, noticing the whiteness of Lance’s knuckles, clenched around a sponge, and the robotic way he scrubs it across a dirty spoon.

Lance says nothing. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the soapy water, spine ramrod straight, nerves bleeding from him in waves.

Hesitantly, Shiro rolls up his sleeves, standing beside him and beginning to dry what he rinses. As Shiro gets close he gets tenser, shoulders hiked up to his ears, but as the minutes drag on, empty kitchen echoing the sound of swishing water and clanking cutlery, he begins to calm down. Shiro watches his face relax, easing its worries twist, and terror fade from his brown eyes.

He hands Shiro the last clean dish to dry, then pulls the plug on the sink, darting over to grab a hand towel and starting to dry.

“Can you write mission plans in pink?”

The words rush out of him, like he’d been holding them between his teeth for God knows how long and they’d finally spilled out. He looks almost nauseous after he says them.

Shiro blinks. That was…not what he’d expected.

“…Why?”

“It’s perfectly okay if you can’t,” Lance continues, as if Shiro had not spoken. “I mean, whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ve gone without this long, after all, and it’s totally doable. Of course there’s the migraines and the agony but that’s all light work. It’s war, after all. Ha.” He chuckles nervously.

He’s shrunk in on himself, looking almost small. Shiro stares at him with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Lance doesn’t even notice, eyes focused intensely on the hand towel, breathing worryingly erratic.

“I just swore to Hunk that I’d ask, you know. He said it wouldn’t hurt. And of course it wouldn’t but I don’t need it. It’s just. You know.”

Shiro cannot stress enough how much he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this lost in a while.

“Pink makes the letters stick to the page. And I know that sounds stupid as shit and that’s because it is stupid as shit, unfortunately. Dyslexia is the dumbest thing in the world, actually. And who named it that? You know how hard that word is to spell? It’s hard. They should have called it — I dunno, I just mean, it’s whatever. It’s fine. I’ve handled it this long. Uh.” He looks up, finally, and maybe he doesn’t know how to make sense of Shiro’s expression, because he winces, shame overtaking his face. He sets down the towel and gestures vaguely behind him, stepping towards the door. “I’m just gonna — go. Sorry. See you later. Sorry.”

He all but flees out of the room. Shiro barely manages to snag the back of his hoodie, holding him in place.

“Lance. Chill a second. Give me time to respond.”

Lance looks deploringly at the door, then back at Shiro. He looks like he’s accepting his death. Shiro can’t help but feel the teensiest bit offended.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he says, aghast. “Jesus, kid. You’re going to give me a complex.”

To Shiro’s great relief, the remark makes Lance grin. Some of the tension eases from his face.

“You sound like my mother.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s a compliment,” Shiro says lightly. He pulls out two chairs, orienting them so they’re facing each other. He deliberately takes the one farthest from the door, so Lance doesn’t feel trapped. He gestures to the other one. “Sit.”

Lance does.

“Now. From the beginning and with a little less fear, hopefully. Tell me what’s up, kiddo.”

Lance looks down at his hands, where he’s picking at a scar on his wrist.

“Um. So. I have dyslexia. I can’t read too well.”

Lance cringes as he says it. Shiro wonders who he has to kill for putting the idea that this is something to be ashamed about in his head.

“Cool,” Shiro says, as encouragingly as he can manage. “The main character of my favourite book series as a kid had dyslexia. I was jealous of everyone who had it. I used to pray for it.”

The revelation startles a laugh out of Lance, like Shiro hoped it would. The tension melts right off of him.

“You prayed?”

“Every night,” Shiro affirms, grinning. “I even crossed my eyes and pretended when it didn’t work. My mother didn’t believe me for a second.”

“You’re a dweeb,” Lance says, sounding kind of awed. Like he’s shocked that Shiro, too, is a nerd loser on this castle full of other nerd losers. “Dyslexia sucks.”

Letting his face settle into something more serious, Shiro nods. “I imagine it does.” He reaches over and squeezes Lance’s hand, subtly stopping him from picking at the skin. Keith has the same bad habit. “Writing in pink helps?”

Lance shrugs. “Sorta. Dunno why. But things are less squiggly when they’re written in pink or red. Not perfect, but it’s something. I can hardly read at all when they’re in black; it’s like my eyes are spinning out of my head trying to focus on ‘em. Gives me migraines like you would not imagine.”

“And thus Hunk whispering the plans to you so you don’t have to read them,” Shiro surmises, the whispering during briefings suddenly making sense. Guilt twinges in his belly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says gently. “I get it now. Sorry for not understanding.” He frowns, remembering something. “I should’ve asked beforehand. Or suspected something, or known better, really. I had a kid a few years back in one of my astronomy courses. Li-something. I marked all his stuff in red for the same reasons.”

Lance makes a very particular face. Warning bells go off in Shiro’s head.

“I appreciated that very much,” Lance says politely.

It takes a moment for it to click.

Shiro considers banging his head against the table.

“Please tell me no,” he begs, ears reddening.

“It was a great honour to be renamed by the Takashi Shirogane,” Lance insists.

“I had you in my class for three years!” Shiro says, aghast. “I — I called you Li all the time! In front of people!”

“I didn’t want to correct you! That’s — embarrassing!”

Shiro cradles his head in his hands. Dear God. He knows he’s not great with names, but — Jesus. To rename a kid. Blatantly. Other teachers must have thought he was some cruel jackass.

“I think there was a Li McKinney ahead of me in roll call,” Lance offers, patting Shiro’s back delicately. “So. Pretty easy to mess up.”

“Did you write your name as Li on tests? And assignments?”

“After the first couple times, yeah. Hunk laughed at me. At a certain point I’d just dug myself too deep, I think.”

Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s still quite hot. He looks up at Lance, who’s mouth is twitching.

“You were short as shit back then,” he observes, trying to picture the kid in his class. “Like, shorter than Pidge.”

Lance scowls. “I was — saving up on growth spurts. Yeah. So. Purge that from your memory.” He smirks. “Like my name.”

Shiro groans. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I.”

Lance smiles. “Probably not. I didn’t know you were uncool. It’s interesting. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but reaches over to mess with Lance’s hair, like he would Keith. Unlike Keith, Lance freaks out way harder, screeching something about hard work and artistic expression.

He smiles. “Glad you came to talk to me, kid.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, but he looks pleased, too. “Yeah, yeah.”

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nothingbizzare · 2 months

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What am I doing !!?

I think this teenagers need to do stupid videos fiycjyfy

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vhvrs · 26 days

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missed opportunity for more alt mortys i think

#rick sanchez #morty smith #morticia smith #big fat rick #ricardo montoya #dork art #difference between morty w something very wrong w her n cocky spoiled morty whos a giant wuss

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locallegion · 3 months

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Just posting some pics of Movie!Bowser that I found in Pinterest/Twitter/Google Images because thehyperfixation I've had on this man for the past like two months is hitting like a truck right now aaaaaaaaaaaa

#bowser #movie bowser #mario #mario movie #Hyperfixation hitting like a truck rn #just woke up one day and suddenly im obessed with bowser #big cuddle monster look at him #hes a goofball #Focused and intense guy who is a clueless dork when it comes to romance #last tag can also be applied to garrus vakarian #actually that probably explains why i like those two so much

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pure-oddity · 7 months

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Fast foodies know the deal

Ghost x reader

(not proof read, this is just fluff straight from the source

Warnings: none, ovulation mention maybe? Its brought up a single time.)

The craving hits around 3 in the morning, it's ovulation week so the idea of not getting chicken nuggets from the drive through makes you want to cry.

You turn towards the sleeping lug beside you. He's on his back, breaths deep and even. Still as a grave but at your movement he takes the arm you had been using as a pillow to drag you further into his side.

Your Simon, took you forever just to get the man to admit he did more than tolerate you. even longer to admit he cared for you. It took you almost using his toothbrush to realize that the man might actually (gasp) like you. That one you didn't push, figured he'd come to terms with it on his own.

As you look at how peaceful he seems you try to fight the urge, you really do, but as you prop yourself up on your elbows and move closer to Simon's ear you resign to begging his forgiveness later.

"Simon, my baby? You sleeping?"

You wouldn't have known he was a awake had it not been for the lone eye opening to check on you

"Was, love. I was. Whats wrong, bad dream? Y' Can turn on the telly to that duck cartoon or the robots - won't bother me none." He rubs a comforting hand up and down your back, he's being so sweet you really do start to feel bad.

"I want chicken nuggets."

Silence.

Both eyes are open now.

The silence continues.

You smile sheepishly.

Wordlessly simon extracts his arm and turns so his back is to you.

"Nnooooooo! Simon pleeeaase. Pretty please? I want chicken nuggets so bad!"

"Go ahead. keys are on the rack, tanks full."

"Nooo you have to take me! come on baby please, for me?"

"My love. Sunshine. Light of my life. If you're hungry i made a perfecly good roast last night. Heat that up and let a man rest."

"I dont want a perfectly good roast! I want chicken nuggets. And a burger. And fries - oh maybe a shake?" You lean over him, hair purposely hung over into his face. He turns quickly and you're nose to nose

"So youre gonna have me get up at 3 fucking a.m. to get you a greasey, artey clogging, cholesterol raising gastrointestinal disaster of a meal - when we have a perfectly good home made dinner in the fridge."

"....please?"

Silence.

A deep suffering sigh.

An ecstatic squee

"Just get your fuckin shoes on"

------

You lean back over into the passenger seat, simon grumpy faced as you insisted that you should be the one to order.

You pat your thighs in glee as he pulls up to the window, gives you a dirty look , and hands the cashier his card.

The second window delivers your meal and drink quickly, you dig in like a starved animal. You're mid chew when he gives a grunt. A snooty sounding eh hem.

You grin and giggle, slowly airplaning him a nugget.

"Give me the chicken or i'll take the whole box"

You squeak and shove it to his lips quickly. His jaws snap around the nugget and it's gone within a single bite - you retract your fingers, still intact but wet with spit.

You give an 'eeeech' and look for somewhere to wipe your hand.

"Any of this ends up in or on my interior and it'll be your arse."

You roll your eyes and reach in the bag for a napkin, knocking the fries over in the process.

Silence.

The car drifts slowly to the left and is parked along the side of the road.

Not a word spoken.

You try to shove as many back into the carton as possible.

He stares at you.

You smile sweetly at him before leaning over the center console and kissing him. You meet his lips, they're stretched into a dangerous grin.

"Love" kiss "did you" kiss "spill salt" kiss "in my truck?"

You might not know a lot, but you know that voice means you're in trouble, which means it's distraction time.

You continue your sweet onslaught of kisses.

"Thank you for taking me baby, I love you so much. ", another smooch

is delivered.

"Youre my person, my favorite guy, love of my life."

He bites at your lip and you barely manage to slip it from his teeth

"Wanna spend the rest of my life with you, grow old with you"

He grips the back of your head and maneuvers your ear to his mouth, in a deep rumble he asks

"Are there fries on my floor, love?"

The dangerous smile still present.

"No of course not baby! i cleaned those up."

"So my truck is fry free?"

"Well - no didn't say that. there's a, a few under the seat"

He's grappling you into his lap now, the man looks a hint deranged.

"And why, my love, are you telling me about them instead getting them?"

he presses.

"'Cause I - hehe - I can't reach!" You giggle out as his hands slink towards your sides.

He pokes and prods at you, growling not unlike a bear while you squeal and squeak out little laughs.

"Gets a man up at ass o'clock-"

"Oh please, you get up early anyway!"

"makes him drive to get congealed grease-"

"you had a nugget too!"

"Then trashes his truck."

"Oh please it's like a handful of fries, I'll get them, i'll get them!"

He frees you with a huff and you dive back over to your side of the car. You pop open your door and hop outside to get a better angle at the underside of the seat. He gets impatient as you fish around for the last few fries, giving a little hurrah as the last one is snatched.

Clambering back into the truck you grin at him, happy as can be. He hums a short laugh, and you're off to home again.

He makes a beeline for the bedroom and you trot over to the counter to finish your meal, most of it having been shared and eaten in the truck. You sit back a moment to enjoy the feeling of fullness when you see Simon emerge again.

"Bed. Now. Kept me up long enough" he's already on you before you can think of a reply, slung over his shoulder. He makes quick work of getting you both situated in your proper spots.

You're snuggled into his side for the night, full and content. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly. you draw nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, playing with the hair there. As sleep overtakes you, your palm flattens over the spot where his heart resides; and you feel him relax just a smidgen more.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #fluff #odd stories #all of this was also written on a phone #so like of formating is weird thats why #simon riley fanfic #simon riley fluff #is it so wrong to want a big beefy grumo to get up in the dark of the morning to get you food???? i think not #is he maybe ooc in this? perhaps. perhaps. do i just wanna write a story in which the man is happy and has a dork of a spouse? ye.#also when i have nightmares i watch one of two cartoons on mute- its either transformers or darkwing duck!#sunshine series

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wondersinwaynemanor · 3 months

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Dick finding excuses just to get hugs from his sister and brothers.

Dick groans loudly: Ow, Ow.

when Jason looks up at him from across the couch in the Manor library, Dick closes his eyes

Jason chuckles because he catches this: What's wrong, Dickface?

Dick opens his one eye, pouting at Jason: I already told you I broke my arm, Wiing.

which is true, but his arm has gotten better already. nevertheless, he continues his drama.

Jason: Want me to get you anything for the arm?

Dick opens both of his eyes now, grinning like an idiot: If we sit beside each other, I'm sure I'll feel better.

Jason: You are such a boy scout, Goldie.

Jason stands up with the book on his hand and sits beside Dick which is still far for Dick's liking.

Dick scoots closer to Jason, their arms hitting. after a few seconds, Dick leans even closer and glances at the book that Jason is reading, purposely nudging Jason's arm.

Dick: Watcha reading, Little Wing?

Jason scoffs but he smiles: I know what you're doing, Dick.

Dick: Which is?

Jason: Sheesh, Dickie. If you want a hug, just let me know.

Dick: You're so smart, Little Wing!

Dick wraps his good arm around Jason, trying his very best, with his one arm and with Jason's large frame.

Jason rolls his eyes as he wraps both of his large arms around Dick, carefully avoiding his broken arm.

Dick ends up sleeping with his head on Jason's shoulder. Jason continues to read until Dick would wake up to avoid disturbing his older brother's rest.

Does Dick need to keep pulling out the broken arm strategy? Yes.

Dick: Ow. Ow. *pretends to sniffle and looks at Tim who is at the batcomputer typing something*

Tim turns his chair around: Hey. That arm really hurting, huh?

Dick pouts: Very much so, Timmy. I can't even scratch my back.

Tim takes a sip from his coffee mug before walking to Dick: I got it.

Dick bites his lips to avoid from smiling. This dork doesn't even need his younger brother to scratch his back, but he's so extra.

Tim reaches for Dick's back and before he knows it, Dick is leaning forward and puts his chin on the top of Tim's head.

Dick: Thank you, Baby Bird.

Tim smiles because he knows what Dick is doing. Tim wraps his arms fully around Dick's waist, giving a warm hug to his older brother. Dick hugs back.

Tim: Like I said, I got you, Dick.

Dick: You always do.

Dick peers at the entrance of the dancing room in the Manor, where Cass is currently practicing her routine for her ballet presentation next week.

when Cass is done with a routine, Dick is grinning widely and clapping loudly.

Dick: Wow! Well done, Cass.

Cass bashfully smiles and motions for Dick to come in.

Dick: Are you done practicing for today?

Cass nods.

Dick: Are you tired already? Maybe you can teach me a few steps.

Cass raises her brow : You dance?

Dick: As long as it's with you.

Cass nods enthusiastically and she teaches Dick a few of the ballet moves, the simple ones, which are mostly twirling and such. And how is Dick an acrobat when he keeps falling on his butt? Was he doing this on purpose?

Cass laughs and offers an arm to Dick. Dick takes it and wraps his arm on Cass's back when he stands up.

Dick: Guess I'm clumsy on the dance floor.

Dick doesn't take his arm off Cass by the time they arrive at the door of her bedroom. Cass looks at Dick's arm and then at his face. Cass knows.

before entering her room, she hugs Dick and Dick automatically complies by tightly hugging back.

they were at the movie room, watching The Lion King when Damian received a text from Dick, who was just here a few minutes ago beside him. and the text was just a hug emoji? Damian wonders why the random text from his older brother.

after a few minutes, Dick re enters the movie room with popcorn and cookies and soda.

Damian: Why the random text, Richard?

Dick has the audacity to act oblivious: Huh? *he sits down beside his brother and offers the other container of popcorn* Oops, must be a wrong sent, Dami.

Damian leaves it be. Damian is already aware that Dick always pulls him close whenever they get to hang out, but he senses that the message was for him.

by the time the movie credits are rolling, Damian hugs his older brother because he knows. Dick is taken by surprise, but his heart is warm because he felt like hugging Damian tonight. if he's being honest, it's always.

Damian: Thank you for the movie, Richard.

Dick tightens his arms around his brother's little form: Thank you, Dami.

Damian: And I know the message was intended for me.

Dick laughs and pretends he doesn't know what his little brother is talking about.

#dick is a dork but you love him anyway #big brother dick grayson strikes again #let dick be needy he loves his siblings #batfamily incorrect quotes #incorrect batfamily quotes #dc incorrect quotes #this can also be a prompt ig #batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batman #batkids #batbros

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