#damian is hanging out in the shade by choice

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Meet Cute Idea

I am in my Damianette mood again. And have one meet cute in mind.

So after the entire Paris thing with Hawkmoth and the media back lash and stuff. Adrien being adopted by the Dupain-Chengs. Marinette and him going to University in the States. Can be anywhere as long as Jon and Damian goes to the same one. Metropolis may be the most obvious choice.

So they all take different majors and remain unaware of the other two, hanging out and all that.

Until one day, Adrien and Jon both pissed both of them off on the same day at opposite ends of the campus.

Imagine being a student and you hear the Ice Prince and the nicknamed Demon Spawn by his brothers, yelling out his best friend name. The only person he tolerates being around.

"JONATHAN SAMUEL KENT!"

The next second, you hear the normally sunshine and sweet Marinette Dupain-Cheng yelling from the other end of campus.

You would be running for the hills because she is absolutely ruthless when it comes to her work or defending her 'brother' if anyone looks at him wrong. So many people were sent to the ER after they picked on Adrien when his father's past was came out. Suffice to say, no one wants to deal with a pissed Marinette.

Currently, she is cursing his name like there's no tomorrow in very colourful French.

"ADRIEN ATHANASE GRAHAM DE VANILY DUPAIN-CHENG! GET BACK HERE, YOU MANGY CAT."

All of the students who knew either one of them, ran and hid from their wrath. Those who had cross paths with both of them ran out of campus. Classes be damned.

As Adrien and Jon ran from their respective best friends who were planning to maim them with sharp objects (Damian with his kryptonite katana and Marinette with hers magicked. Marinette had gotten hers from Kagami and lessons as a birthday present before she left for uni), they both happened to ran into each other literally.

"Sorry!" they both scrambled to get up.

"I was running away from my best friend. I got him mad."

"Same. Except its my sister. She's also best friend, I guess. Other than Nino..."

Upon hearing angry voices also coming from the opposite direction, both boys looked at each other in panic.

"Window." Adrien nodded towards the conveniently placed window, showing a conveniently placed tree near it.

"Window." Jon agreed as Adrien jumped out the second story and managed to grab hold of one of the branches. Jon used his powers to sealed the window tight before following Adrien down the tree.

Meanwhile, Marinette had crashed into Damian as they both lose their momentum, chasing after their respective prey friend/ adopted sibling.

"Are you okay? I am so sorry. I was chasing after my idiotic brother who had destroyed all my yarns for my project. Again, I am so sorry if I hurt you." Marinette apologized as she tried to see for injuries on the admittedly pretty boy she nearly run through with her sword. Although it was strange that his sword seemed to be made out of a glowing green material.

"I am fine." Damian was stunned at the dark-haired beauty, with a sword that was oddly a very pink shade, before him, "I understand your anger towards him. Many times I had attempted to kill mine for their foolishness by maiming them with a sword. Father disapproves of that habit. However, this time, it is my best friend, Kent, who had incited my wrath."

"He won't happened to be the guy with black hair in a Superman t-shirt that jumped out the window after Adrien, would he?"

"That is him. I take it that Adrien was the blond who jumped out first. Unfortunately for us, Kent had sealed the window shut." Damian said after trying to open it and cursed the half-kryptonian in his head.

Marinette and Damian form an alliance to hunt the other two down. After exchanging numbers to alert the other if they find the pair, they spilt up.

They each found the other's friend and set up a meeting point to exchange their bounty. There was some flirty exchange and Jon is wondering if the somehow very strong pixie girl knocked his head very hard. Adrien is too scared to tease Marinette at the moment.

------

At the Wayne family dinner after they started dating.

"So Marinette, how did you and Damian meet?" Dick asked.

Everyone was wondering how Damian of all people had a girlfriend with such a sunshine personality.

"It's a really funny story, actually. First time I met him, I nearly ran a sword through him." Marinette replied with a cheerful smile on her face.

Everyone froze and looked at Damian for answers.

"She was chasing after her idotic brother and crashed into me while I was trying to catch Jon." Damian added, looking at her with what could be heart eyes.

Jason muttered under his breath, "Fucking hell, they are soulmates."

#maribat #ml x dc #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #meet cute

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Around the Carousel

Catch me joining Damian Wayne Week after it started with some impulse fics. This is for day 2 (I almost made it to actually posting on the 14th my time). I selected the: Undercover prompt.

Summary: Bruce and Damian go undercover at a school fair. They're supposed to be investigating, instead they stop to enjoy themselves.

AO3 Link

~

Bruce tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled down at Damian as the boy adjusted his hat. It was the third time he’d done it in ten minutes as the wind kept pulling at it, trying to tease it off his head.

It was a windy night for them to be out. A steady breeze blew through fair stalls, kicking up banners and tablecloths, and threatening to blow papers and smaller items off of tables. It cut the late Spring heat in a nice way, making the night mild and perfect for a school fair. Which, was exactly where they were at.

“If you’d like, I can carry that for you.” Bruce said.

Damian dropped his hands and looked up at Bruce, “I am fine, Fa--Uncle Matches. It is not bothering me.”

“Alright, whatever you say, kiddo.” Bruce smiled, “You wanna adjust those glasses while you’re at it?”

His son frowned, his nose wrinkling, and sending the glasses sliding a little further down it. It was unreasonably cute. Bruce held up his phone and snapped a photo of his son. The flash went off and when Bruce dropped his phone Damian was looking surprised.

“For posterity's sake.” Bruce explained, examining the picture, it had caught Damian’s expression perfectly.

He attached it to a text and sent it to Dick, anticipating a response of jealousy from his eldest. Dick was in Bludhaven, working his own case, and had to bow out of joining the Matches boys as they went undercover.

“Uncle Matches, are you planning to spend all night looking at your phone or are we to explore the fair? You promised to examine my entry for the art exhibit.”

How Damian had managed to get a piece in an art exhibit at a school he didn’t even attend Bruce was still figuring out. Apparently he’d had Oracle hack into the system and create a profile and enrollment information for one Matthew “Matches” Malone. Damian’s art was set up under the moniker Lil’ Matches, and even thinking about it made Bruce smile.

“Of course, lead the way.”

Damian nodded, the action shaking his glasses loose again. Bruce bit back a smile. It was Damian who’d insisted on going the Clark Kent route with glasses and selecting clear ones to help obscure their identities, instead of the normal shades that paired with the Matches persona. It would be hard to defend sunglasses at a fair that took place mostly after dark.

It had been a good call, so far no one had recognized them in their suits and glasses, and they’d been able to enter the fair and purchase game tickets with ease.

His kid adjusted the glasses again, turned on his heel and began to lead Bruce. He followed at a leisurely pace, enjoying the lights strung across stalls, the smell of food frying, and the calls of students manning games and trying to get them to use their tickets to purchase sketches or experiences.

“I believe our target is one of the art students. Most have been asked to spend time by their pieces at the exhibit.” Damian explained as he walked.

“What time is their slot?” Bruce asked, eyes catching on a bottle toss game.

“He should arrive in approximately an hour.”

“An hour you say?” Bruce hooked an arm around Damian’s shoulders and spun him back towards the bottle toss, “Then why don’t we spend some time enjoying the fair, my dear nephew?”

Damian stopped and looked up at him with open surprise, “But we are on a case?”

“At a school fair. The likes of which I don’t think you’ve ever properly attended. Didn’t the one at your school get interrupted?”

“No.”

Bruce frowned, “You didn’t go, I remember that. What happened?”

His son looked down at the ground, fascinated by the way dust coated his shoe, “There was a Scarecrow attack the night prior. I--was incapacitated by it.”

He remembered now. Damian had taken a dose of toxin for Tim when his brother’s mask had cracked. Both of them had been down for a while, but Damian had been exposed longer than Tim by the time Batman and Spoiler had arrived. He’d been shaky and sick for days after.

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder, “All the more reason to enjoy this one.”

He tried not to think about how Dick would have remembered right away and not pushed the subject, or how even if he had fallen in this pit he’d have figured out how to cheer Damian right away, “We can afford some distraction, you don’t want to be bored for an hour do you?”

Damian hummed, and glanced up, “I would not be opposed to trying a game or two.”

“Perfect, let’s start with the ring toss.” Bruce smiled.

They traded in some tickets for both of them to get a chance at the ring toss. The operator pointed at some green rimmed bottles, “Get at least three rings on the green and you’ll win a prize. If both of you get three onto green you can get one of the big ones or two smaller prizes.”

They had four chances each. Bruce glanced at Damian. He was focused, feeling the weight of the rings in his hands, and eyeing the bottles like he was doing the math in his head calculating what it would take to get them perfectly in place.

After a moment Damian tossed the first ring, it caught at the edge of one of the green bottles and slipped off. He frowned at it, nodded, and then tossed his remaining three in quick succession. All three landed around bottles.

Bruce grinned, and looked up to see the surprise on the operator's face. His son was extraordinary, and Bruce loved seeing him show off.

He took his own time tossing his rings, landing three as well, and missing his last. He shrugged, not minding missing one. They still met the requirements for the big prize.

“Well, kiddo, what do you want?” He asked.

Damian looked up at the racks of plushes hanging from the top of the booth, considering. He pointed at two of the smaller ones. One was a dog dressed as Batman, with a little cowl and cape, and the other was a duck wearing a green deerstalker cap, with a small magnifying glass attached to one of its wings.

The operator handed Damian both animals with a smile, “Good choices, looks like you’re a fan of detectives.”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I am, as is my brother. He will enjoy the duck. Thank you for the diverting game, and best of luck with others.”

As they walked away, Damian handed Bruce the duck, “I trust you to keep an eye on this.” he said, “If you lose it Timothy will be terribly disappointed. I cannot miss bringing him a souvenir twice in a row.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, “It’s not for Dick?”

“Tt, I would have selected a different animal for him, perhaps an elephant or bird.” Damian fiddled with one of the ears of the cowl on his dog, “I promised Timothy a prize if I won one last time, it was supposed to be in exchange for driving Jon and I. Even though the event did not happen, he might still enjoy one from here.”

“I’m sure he will.” Bruce said, resisting the urge to tug Damian into a tight hug, “What would you like to do next? That didn’t take us very long.”

His son looked around the fair, “Perhaps we could try one of the rides? Is there one you particularly enjoy?”

Bruce looked up around them, the fair had a variety of rides. The school had managed to hire a good selection, including a carousel. Bruce pointed at it, they could just see the pointed top from where they were.

“The carousel, you’ll love it.”

This time Bruce led, with Damian close by his side, as they walked, Bruce gave into the desire to reach down and take Damian’s hand in his own. When the boy looked up at him Bruce smiled, “It’s normal for families to do, especially in a busy place like this.”

The crowd wasn’t so thick Bruce was worried about losing Damian, but the move felt natural. He’d held his other children’s hands at events like this before, even Tim’s, though they’d gone well after the boy was the usual age for hand holding when wandering around an event. Damian didn’t seem too upset, in fact he gave Bruce’s hand a squeeze.

“That makes sense. As my Uncle you would be concerned for my safety and wish me to stay close.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded.

Soon they reached the carousel. Bruce watched Damian with a close eye as they approached. Damian’s face went from cautious and curious, to delighted. There was something about being at the fair and undercover that seemed to let his son react a little more openly than he might if they were somewhere else. Bruce contributed it to the magic of the night.

“It has animals?” he asked, looking up at Bruce.

“Yep, different types. Carousel horses and animals are actually a really unique type of art. There are some horses that have sold for tens of thousands of dollars.” He explained, “And some artists who spend their whole lives making just horses for them.”

Damian’s eyes had gone very wide now, his face open with childlike delight, “And we are allowed to ride them?”

“Most yes, this one probably isn’t as fancy as some, but if you’re interested I’m sure we can visit a few of the more famous ones. I bet Dick’s seen some really cool ones from when he was younger.”

The look on Damian’s face, of excitement and anticipation was enough to melt Bruce’s heart and say yes to anything the kid might ask. Bruce tugged him forward.

“Come on, let’s get in line.”

They didn’t have long to wait, just until the ride stopped and emptied off. From there, they traded in a few more tickets for a chance to ride. Damian wandered the whole of the ride before selecting a white horse with gold trimmings. Bruce took the brown one beside it. They’d taken so long selecting, that almost the moment after they were settled, the ride began to move.

Damian’s laugh when the horse he was on began to rise and fall along with the forward momentum of the carousel was like music. Bruce wanted to take him on every carousel in the world to keep hearing that laugh and seeing that smile.

“May we go again?” Damian asked, the moment the ride stopped.

“Of course.” Bruce told him.

After the second ride, they stepped off and back into the crowd. Bruce checked his watch, they still had some time to spare before they had to be at the art display. He glanced around and caught sight of some food stands.

“Have you had a funnel cake before?” He asked, elbowing Damian.

His son shook his head.

“Then we’re getting one.” Bruce declared, “They’re the perfect mix of fried dough and toppings. We’ve got enough time to enjoy one before getting back on track.”

Damian looked less excited by the prospect of fried dough, but agreed to try it. Soon, the two of them were seated at a picnic table with a funnel cake between them. It was topped with powdered sugar, chocolate, sprinkles, and even some whipped topping. Damian gaped at the concoction, but Bruce passed him a fork with confidence.

“You just have to go at it.” he explained, “Dig in and enjoy.”

His son snorted, “That sounds like something Richard would say.”

Bruce grinned at him, “It should, he told me the very same thing when he introduced me to funnel cakes.”

Together they managed to eat the entire funnel cake. As Bruce set his plastic fork down, he thought finishing it off might have been a mistake even if they weren’t in the middle of an undercover operation. His stomach felt heavy with grease, sugar, and bread.

“That was--a lot.” Damian said, finishing his bottle of water.

“Yes.” Bruce said, wiping at his fake moustache, “It was. But I think we’ll be fine. It’s about time to head over to the exhibit.”

He wanted to get there early enough to see Damian’s piece. The kid had been very secretive of what he’d been working on for it. Taking the project as seriously as he would have as if it were for his own school fair. Bruce wanted to be able to enjoy it before they disrupted everything.

They were here to catch one of the students in the act of trying to blackmail a teacher. Damian had gotten news of it from his friend Collin, letting him know that strange things were going down. After some research, Damian had found some discrepancies in grades with a few of the students, and noted one teacher withdrawing large sums of money on a regular basis. Not enough to make a kid rich, but enough to placate a teen who’d watched too much television.

Damian had brought the case to Bruce, and together they’d worked out that this would be the next best place to find the kid and teacher interacting in a public location. From what Bruce could tell, the teacher hadn’t done anything against his students, instead he seemed to be in the middle of an affair with a seperate teacher. The plan was to bust the student, or at the very least record the exchange and get it in the hands of the administration.

The teacher in question? One of the art instructors.

They tossed their trash into a bin and Bruce let Damian lead him over to where the art exhibit was put up. It was tucked in one of the further corners of the fair, out of the way of chaos, but on a busy enough route that plenty of people were stopping by to look at the art.

“Which one is yours?” Bruce asked.

“Ah, it is this here.” Damian led him to a painting hanging up on a temporary pillar.

It was a painting of the garden outside Wayne manor. Done in bright beautiful colors it looked like you could step right into the painting. Portions of the paint were raised up to create texture and shadows, like the petals on flowers. In one portion, Bruce could see Alfred the cat sleeping in a patch of sun.

“It’s gorgeous.” Bruce said, “the detail is incredible.”

Damian was blushing, “It is nothing, a quick painting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I know you were working on this for hours.” Bruce told him, “Do you get to bring it home?”

“Yes.” Damian said, “I was not sure what to do with it.”

“We’ll hang it up, of course. There’s a spot in the library I think will work well. Some greenery in a very brown room.”

At this point, Damian’s ears had gone red, “If you are sure.”

Bruce nodded, “I am.”

They spent a little longer looking at Damian’s painting before they shifted to look at some of the other pieces on display. There were quite a few that were really good, and a number of interesting ones. Some looked as if they had been submitted just for a grade, but all in all it was enjoyable.

Bruce was busy looking over a self portrait when he felt a small sharp elbow jab him in the side. He looked up to see Damian staring at another young man. Probably about sixteen, who’d just walked into the display area.

“That him?” he asked.

Damian nodded, “Let us wait to see if he approaches Mr. Franklin.”

Bruce slipped his phone out of his pocket and played with it, as if he were taking general photos.

“Matches, why don’t you stand by your painting? I want to get a picture of you with it.” he said, affecting a delighted uncle voice, “I’m sure your dad would love to see it.”

They moved over to the painting, and Bruce aimed the phone as he walked. Mr. Franklin was situated just behind the pillar with Damian’s painting on it. He snapped a few pictures of Damian, directing the kid to smile and pose, before slipping the phone’s setting over to video. He shifted slightly so that Franklin was in frame and hit record.

After a moment, the other boy approached him. Bruce inched forward to make sure he could get sound, and glanced over at Damian. The kid was hurrying away, off to find a separate teacher to bring over and hopefully stumble on the blackmail scene.

The exhibit was a good place to meet as Franklin was in charge of it and there wasn’t any reason for other teachers to wander over unless they were just checking things out. Most were too busy for that, with their own booths and class exhibits to care for.

Thankfully, Bruce did catch the conversation clearly from where he was. He hoped that no one would notice he’d stopped recording his kid, and started just recording the area. If he had to, he’d just say it was b-roll for a home video or something.

It wasn’t very long before Damian came back, a teacher at his heels. Bruce shifted the camera subtly back towards Damian’s painting.

“And here is my Uncle Malone. He can vouch for my skills if my piece does not convince you.” Damian was saying.

The teacher opened her mouth to say something, and then suddenly the boy speaking to Mr. Franklin shouted, “This is not what we agreed on!”

“I’m sorry--” she said, “Matches, Mr. Malone I’ll be right back.”

With that, she split from them to intervene on the argument. Bruce stopped his recording, and sent the video to Oracle who was going to forward it to the school.

“Well, that should take care of that.” Bruce said, turning to Damian, “How about we enjoy the rest of the fair? We’ve still got tickets, and there’s some rides we haven’t tried yet.”

Damian nodded, “That sounds acceptable. This fair has been, quite fun. And I am enjoying spending time with you.”

Bruce grinned, and tugged Damian into a hug, “Me too.”

“We should do the carousel again.” Damian said, stepping away to take Bruce’s hand, “And after that there is something that apparently spins you at such a speed you are stuck to the wall.”

“Oh? Well, lead the way, we’ll go until I feel like I’ve had a full patrol.”

Damian grinned at that, and Bruce felt his heart soar. He was going to have to figure out other ways of getting them undercover to things like this. Or just take Damian out to fairs more often as father and son.

#damianwayneweek2021 #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #undercover #day 2 #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #like this is just an excuse for Bruce and Damian to hang out #it's kind of also Damian has a good day #but they are undercover as Matches and Lil Matches #becauase it's ADORABLE #precious posts #fanfiction

[goldandbluesmiles]

In Shades

Summary: Damian paints his family.

Ao3:

Part of batfam flufftober2020

Damian had an art assignment. Paint a portrait of one person in your life and use only one colour and explain why you chose that one colour.

It was an interesting assignment and Damian could not choose just one person to paint. So, he painted everyone in his immediate family. He figured he could hand in the best one.

He asked Alfred to sit down first.

For Alfred, he chose the colour grey. Dull and able to blend in, a symbol of dignity and sophistication as much as it was a symbol of loss.

Alfred had taken care of them through their losses and their fears, through their triumphs and their victories. He had stood by them as they had fought each other and had stood by them as they had held each other. Always there always reliable.

Yes, grey it was for Alfred.

"I am honoured, Master Damian," said Alfred once he showed it to him. It was the only thing he said but it still made Damian feel warm.

The second person he sat down with was his father.

For his father, he chose the colour black. It seemed a bit cliche but it fit the man. Black stood for strength and mystery, for formality and elegance, but at the same time stood for aggression and authority, for death and darkness.

This one might not end up with the rest of his assignment for it would be hard to explain to a civilian how all these characteristics could fit the airhead billionaire Brucie Wayne. But Damian could not bring himself to draw his father in false colours. He would just have to hide this one away.

Once he was done with the portrait, he looked at the harsh lines and smiled. Yes, black definitely worked.

His father must have agreed with his observations because one look at the piece and he had laughed.

"Well, you certainly got me, Kiddo. But maybe not take this to school. Though, I would like to hang it in my study instead. Would that be alright with you?"

"Yes, Father," Damian had agreed.

Father had them given him a long and tight hug, softly whispering how proud he was.

It almost made Damian cry. Almost.

Dick sat down for next, a wide smile on his face.

Damian chose to paint his brother in bright greens. Green was the colour of growth, harmony and renewal. His brother had moved non from tragedy after tragedy and always found a way to make his world right again, not only for himself but for others too. The freshness of the colour captured the man's smile in full and made him seem wiser than his years, which in Damian's opinion was exactly what his brother was.

Damian knew this one would be his favourite.

When he showed Dick, he was gushed at his talent but had been confused about the colour choice. Unlike most of their other family, Dick had never had an interest in the visual arts, opting to express himself physically as Cassandra did.

Once he explained, Dick had gotten tears in his eyes. Damian had almost become alarmed but his brother had swooped him up in a hug and held him close, much as his father had.

"Thank you, Damian,"

"You're welcome, Richard," said Damian, though he did not know what the thank you was for.

Cassandra did not sit but chose to stand instead. Damian was quite alright with that.

He painted his sister in shades of purple. Purple was the colour of royals, elegance of a certain kind, and ambition. Violet was the colour of magic and dreams.

Cassandra smiled all the way through painting, holding her pose together. This painting took the longest as Damian knew that it would e important to paint her whole body instead of just painting her face.

Once he was done, Cassandra hugged him before she even saw the painting and then hugged him again after she was it.

"Good," she whispered, "You got me,"

"I'm glad you think so," he whispered back

After Cassandra came Jason. And the only reason he had agreed was that he was stuck on bed rest.

Damian drew him in shades of red, head bent over a book. Red was the colour of anger, danger and sacrifice. It was also the colour of love and passion, the colour of a fire that burned bright and a heart that beat for others. Jason was all that and more. He rose from the ashes like a phoenix and had devoted his life to his family and city. Sacrifice after sacrifice, all in the name of love for people he thought didn't even love him. He was wrong about that of course.

"The angry brother in red, huh?" said Jason once he saw it, voice showing just a fraction of the bitterness he was feeling.

Damina instantly refuted, "No, the passionate brother, and the loving one,"

Jason looked at him in surprise.

Damian continued, "You are too sacrificing for your own good, you are passionate about what you do and you love so much that overflows out in bursts,"

For a few moments, Jason watched him with his mouth open, and then ever so slowly, a smile spread across his face.

"You know," he murmured, "I think red could be your colour too,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

Tim was surprised at being asked, and really that made Damian feel just a little guilty. He was almost an adult now and quite ashamed about how he had acted all those years ago.

For Timothy, Damian chose blues. Blue represented the open sky and ocean, depth and stability. It stood for loyalty, faith, truth and confidence.

Over the years, Damian had watched his brother grow into his abilities and become sure of himself. He was a leader, a detective and a man loyal to his cause and family. Damian was proud to have him in his life, to call him family. Even if he never admitted it out loud.

He explained the meaning of the picture in a few words, the whole interaction being awkward in a nice way, both of them feeling a bit shy about it.

"Thanks, Dames," said Tim

Damian just shrugged in response.

It was enough.

Duke was the last sibling he asked to sit down.

He chose to present Duke in pink. Pink was intuitive, pink was tender, pink was kind. It was a positive colour that inspired warmth and appreciation. All of the things he felt for the second oldest in the family. Duke had a soft way about him that drew people out of their shell. He was a leader but not an authoritative one like Father or even Timothy. Instead, his leadership consisted of inspiring and lifting others.

"Pink? Isn't that a girl's colour,"

"While you are right that pink represents feminity in today's society, it is a more recent development, I chose to focus on other meanings of the colour,"

"Yeah? And those are?" Duke asked disbelievingly, but not unkindly

Once Damian was done explaining, Duke grinned and held out a fist for him to bump. Damian complied.

"Thanks, man," said Duke, bounding out of the room as if someone had filled him with unlimited energy.

Damian watched him go with a shake of his head.

Damian contemplated whether or not he should do anyone else, and in the end, asked Stephanie to sit for him too.

He painted Stephanie orange. The colour represented friendliness and enthusiasm, competitiveness and risk. It stood for raw instinct and free spirit, lead to the person feeling warm and at home. The colour of the autumn.

Stephanie was a friendly spirit and was somehow always present. She pushed forward when knocked down and fought to make her home. Her success came from her enthusiasm and competitiveness and her willingness to risk it all.

Stephanie gave him a grin and a big kiss on the cheek when he explained the colour.

"Ew, Brown! Stop!"

"Uhuh," she cried, "Yuu love meee! Now I knooow!"

"Oh god, you are such a child,"

The last person that sat for him was Barbara Gordon.

Damian chose to paint her in browns. Brown was the colour of reliability and support, of protection and security. It stood for everything genuine, honest and sincere. It was what came to mind when he thought of Barbara. The way she was always there, a voice in everyone's ear. The way she always spoke the truth, light and clear. She was a friend, she was dependable, someone that could be trusted and relied on unconditionally.

Oddly enough, like Alfred and Father, Barbara did not need an explanation for the colour. She merely smiled and nodded.

"You have a great eye," she told him, "I really love this. Thank you, Damian,"

"No, thank you, Barbara,"

xxx

After a long night of patrol, Damian was ready to fall into bed. However, before he could do that, he realized there was an envelope sitting on his pillow. He took it out and smiled.

There was a picture of him petting his animals, most likely taken by Timothy, and it was tinted yellow. Beneath it, were words written out in yellow glitter pen.

Sunshine. Happiness. Fun. Hope. Mind. Perception. Optimism. Creativity. Freshness. positivity.

Underneath was a paragraph written in his father's neat cursive writing, though he could tell the input had probably come from a few different sources.

'Yellow represents the heat of the sun and the loveliness of a smile, it evoked hope for the future and is linked with the optimistic. Yellow showed creativity, freshness and positivity. Damian, you are almost an adult now and have grown into someone who had learned to channel your creative side, look towards the future and smile, even if it is internally. You have a beautiful mind and your artistic perception of the world takes our breath away. Always stay you, Damian,. You are bright and wonderful,'

Wiping the happy tears that were making their way down his cheeks, Damian quickly took out his phone. He pulled up the group chat and wrote a short message, knowing it would get the sentiment across.

'Thank you. I will do my best,'

#flufftober2020 #fluff #batfamily #BatFam #batman #robin #batman fic #bruce wayne #Damian Wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #cassandra cain #cass wayne #duke thomas

[redrobinfection]

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara

Babs & Alfred || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor” 

~*~

Barbara leaned forward and spit out the toothpaste Cass had let her use, on one of the many spare toothbrushes Alfred kept in the guest toiletries stockpile, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh and considered her mostly-put-together-again reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Wow, that had certainly been a party of a night, she mused, ruefully lifting a strand of her sleep-mussed auburn locks before deciding that pulling it back in a bun was really the only dignified solution.

Steph and Cass had kept her up all night--not like that was all that much different from her usual schedule, but mani, pedi, facials, horrible (great) superhero movies, and gossip until dawn had worn her out more than she would have expected. Although, the wine that had snuck into the mix right when the mani-pedis were left to dry and the third movie went in might have had something to do with it, she conceded with a smirk at herself in the mirror. It wasn't a bad sort of tired, she admitted as she tucked few stray hairs into her messy bun, but she was more than ready for a day to rest, recover and recharge.

Just after dawn, Alfred had invaded the sanctum of their home theater encampment to invite them up to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast. There he had laid out toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, juices, teas, coffee, pancakes and even some of the real cake from the night before--a rare breach of protocol from the prim and proper butler that Barbara took as a one-time gesture of affectionate indulgence of their whims--which eventually drew out the other occupants of the house, turning breakfast the morning after into as much of a party as dinner the night before had been.

After that, Alfred had shooed Steph and Cass off to bed and shown Barbara up to her regular guest room where the bed had already been turned down, the pillows fluffed and the blackest of blackout curtains tightly drawn, bless that man. After a few hours of much needed sleep, it was now just past noon, most of the manor's occupants were either still sleeping or out living their daylight personas, and Alfred had offered to drive her back to the Clocktower after she had "freshened up a bit".

Satisfied that she had done as much as she could to make herself decent for the drive of shame, Barbara gathered her things and made her way down the hall to the elevator. Alfred was waiting for her when the doors opened on the civilian garage.

"Ah, Miss Barbara, I take it you're ready to depart?"

"Yes. Thank you for driving me back, Alfred."

"Of course, it's my pleasure."

He led the way toward their several limousines, opened the door to one very special vehicle and began extending and lowering a long ramp. Barbara pressed her lips together to hide a smile as Alfred stepped to one side and let her wheel herself up the shallow incline. He retracted the ramp, closed the door and slid into the driver's seat while she positioned herself in the sleek interior and locked the wheels of her chair.

"Thanks again, Alfred. For everything," Barbara added as they pulled out of the garage. "Last night, this morning...it was all amazing and it must have been so much work--extra work--for you. I really appreciate it."

She saw his eyebrows rise in the rear-view mirror as he replied, "Of course. It was no trouble; I would hardly label hosting a small dinner in honor of and giving accommodations to one of my favorite persons "work". It was a pleasure, Miss Barbara."

She raised an eyebrow in turn. "Oh really? A fairly large dinner, putting up with the mess we all made in the theater afterwards, and putting together a big breakfast in the morning--and driving me back after letting me stay over, even when I'm sure you've got plenty of cleaning up to do? 'Favorite person' huh? If I didn't know better I'd think you were buttering me up for something, Alfred Pennyworth," she teased, sharing a knowing look with him in the mirror.

He didn't laugh out loud, but his eyes twinkled in that way Barbara knew meant he was amused rather than offended. "My word! Is it so hard to believe that an old man would take pleasure in doing what little he could to celebrate the birthday of his favorite Barbara."

Barbara did laugh out loud. "Your favorite...huh! First Jason calls me his favorite, then Tim and Dick, then Steph and Cass... and now you? All of you in less than twenty-four hours? Did you all have a meeting to discuss the topic or am I about to go home to one of the hardest cases of all time and you're all buttering me up to it?"

"I believe the subject had come up recently," Alfred replied evenly. "You do so much for this family and receive so little appreciation..."

"That's my line," Barbara muttered incredulously with a minute shake of her head.

"...and I'll have you know that of all the Barbaras I've had the pleasure of knowing, you most certainly rank supreme."

Barbara huffed a laugh through her nose. "And how many Barbaras is that exactly?"

Alfred met her eyes in the mirror and fixed her with an impressive look. "When you've lived as long as I have, served as long as I have, you come to know a great many people. Among all of those... you are rare soul indeed, Barbara. Surely one to celebrate and to venerate."

That gave her pause. What are you supposed to say to something like that? She didn't know, so she let the silence stretch and turned her gaze to the traffic speeding past her window while her true focus turned to beating down the bloom of color that had flooded her cheeks at Alfred's unexpected pronouncement. 

They rode in silence--not an uncomfortable silence, but Barbara still felt the weight of those words still hanging heavy between them--for the rest of the drive. They'd caught the lull between the lunch-hour jam and afternoon rush-hour traffic--likely a strategic choice on Alfred's part--so it only took about twenty minutes to make the trip into the city. 

Alfred graciously helped her disembark, escorted her to the ground level door to the tower, and--to her surprise--asked to walk her in, pulling a cooler bag from somewhere with leftovers from the revelries. Barbara invited him in, sending him ahead of her with repeated thanks, but the words of appreciation died in her throat as she rolled over the threshold and took in the interior of her homebase. 

She wasn't a slob, per se, but Barbara knew she didn't tidy up around the Tower quite as often as she should, and she cleaned the place even less frequently. It was a lot of real estate for one person--a person with certain mobility issues, at that--and a small army of specially programmed Roombas and some casual dusting here and there could only do so much. 

But today, her foyer was spotless. All the coats, umbrellas and other detritus were neatly hung or stacked in their places. The tile was a shade lighter than she remembered and the grout was actually white--she'd actually thought it was tan up until now. 

Moving into her apartment showed the same story. Shelves of books and knick-knacks were freshly dusted, the rugs had been deeply vaccuumed, and personal items had been put away or neatly arranged. Every surface gleamed.

She turned to Alfred with an accusing look. "Alfred... did you...?" One look at his quietly pleased expression was answer enough. "When did you even find the time to come over here and do this? Did you clean the whole Tower?" She wouldn't doubt it. She didn't bother to ask him how he got into her super-secure, high-tech lair--this is the ex-MI6 agent who raised Bruce, after all--but given the timeline of events, it shouldn't have been possible for him to clean all this by himself and do everything he did for them while she was at the manor. 

"We did, in fact, clean the entire tower--and we took great care not to disturb any of your things in the command center, mind you--but it hardly took any time at all with Masters Damian and Timothy along to help. In fact, we were in and out well before you rose from your nap this morning."

Barbara's eyebrow rose into her hair. Alfred had wrangled Tim and Damian--in the morning, of all times--into cleaning? Together? Without killing each other? 

"Wow, Alfred, you got Tim and Damian to work together to do all of this...? At eight in the morning? You're a miracle worker, for sure. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.

"Really, Alfred...this--" she gestured to rooms around them "--the party, the sleepover, and then breakfast... you've done so much. Thank you. It means a lot to me, but, really, you didn't need to do all this. It's... it’s too much..." 

Alfred looked away for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. "Ah, well. Yes. I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard..."

They entered the kitchen and Barbara came to a complete stop. The appliances shone, the stove was spotless, and, for once, the sink was completely free of dishes. But that wasn't what stopped her dead in her tracks. 

On the polished kitchen table, laid out elegantly on a freshly washed and pressed table cloth that Barbara had forgotten she even owned, was a handsome tea set in lustrous lavender and gold--one pot, saucers, cups, sugar cellar and creamer. To one side sat a few varieties of Alfred's favorite teas, and on the other a plate piled high with Alfred’s signature tea cakes, one of her favorite things about visiting the manor for pre-patrol briefings or post-patrol debriefings, back in the day. A recipe card stuck out under the plate.

Barbara turned to Alfred, her vision going misty. "Alfred..."

Alfred graced her with a rare smile, beaming down at her, his expression fond, but his voice was quiet, "For when you need a break from Master Tim's gift of espresso or a moment of peace after along night."

Barbara broke out into a teary smile of her own and raised her arms, reaching out for a hug before she thought it through. Alfred surprised her yet again, leaning down to accept her embrace. 

"Really, thank you, Alfred. For everything," Barbara murmured into his shoulder before he could pull away again.

He didn't. Instead, he replied, so quietly Barbara almost missed it,

"Anything for one of my favorite granddaughters."

#my writing #mine #christmasriverswrites #barbara gordon #happy birthday babs #babs and alfred #real life might have killed the rest of my writing ambitions and all of my time to participate in fandom but this series lives on! #this is the sloppiest thing I've ever posted. editing? what's that?

[gothamstodd]

im actually terrible at requests so I pulled a prompt from my blog: could u pls do "a door closing" (sensory prompt) & dealer's choice? thank u sm💕

homie I don’t know why you’re always giving me the most interesting prompts then saying “im actually terrible at requests”.. -asdljhga this one is just brotherly bonding btwn Jason and Damian cus sometimes you just gotta have summa that non romantic soft shit

-

Damian’s head whipped up at the sound, the strands of his hair that stood up from fitful sleep jerking with the movement. The padding, heavy, soft creak of foot steps outside of his bedroom door. He held his breath, silent, waiting for the steps to proceed, decrescendo to nothing as they moved to the end of the hallway. But they stood still. Silence on either side of the oak door, Damian still holding his breath, unwilling to give an indication that he was even there, whoever was on the other side standing, waiting, still.

Like a heavy crack of thunder, the violent explosion of a bomb, the handle turned, the latch moving inside the hardware. With a soft squeak of protest, the door swung halfway open, hazy orange light from the hallway spilling into Damian’s room in a strict beam.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice reached Damian with a tired coarseness.

“Todd.” Damian answered stiffly, not moving from his position, sitting up with his knees pulled tightly to his chest, gaze leveled at the door Jason had just pushed open. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Jason shrugged, “I was up, figured I’d check on you. I listened at your door for a second and you weren’t breathing.” He said, “But you’re fine.” He gestured toward the boy, shuffling awkwardly back a little.

Damian nodded curtly, “An invasion of privacy- listening at my door.” He noted.

Jason scratched at thick black curls over his ear, “I guess so, huh? Sorry, squirt.”

Jason watched, waiting to see Damian’s cat-like bristle at the nickname, but it didn’t come. Damian’s eyes seemed to slip out of focus, still looking toward Jason, but almost piercing through him, staring at the hallway behind, fuzzy and lost.

Jason frowned, “You alright?”

Damian’s chin jerked in something that could barely be considered a robotic nod. “I’m fine.”

Jason stepped forward, out of the light of the hallway, the cool darkness of Damian’s room shading him. “What are you doing up?”

Damian’s brow hardened into a scowl, “You woke me.” He lied, “You were loud, walking down the hallway.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

Damian shook his head, unsure why he was so willing to go back on his lie, “Nightmare.” He shrugged, as if it were casual, easy. It was anything but.

Jason glanced back into the hallway, then reached for the door knob. He twisted, the latch slipping back into the door before it reached the frame, when it did, it closed with a soft thud, the click of the latch absent. The gesture was something more than the swing of the door shutting, more than twisting the knob and pushing it closed. It was a conversation, an assurance, between people who could never manage to force out the right words; “I’ll stay with you.”

“I get it.” He sighed, walking into Damian’s room to sit down at the corner of the bed.

Damian thought he should snap at him, order him to leave, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth.

Jason cleared his throat weakly, “Do you remember when Talia used to sing to us?”

“Of course.” Damian answered stiffly.

Jason only shrugged, “I can’t sing, and I don’t think you want me to.” He chuckled, “Bruce used to read to me when I woke up with a nightmare. 

Damian met his gaze with a wide curiosity, the expression new and soft on his face. He cemented himself in unfeeling again in the space of half a moment, “If you think it’ll make you feel useful.” He nodded toward the bookshelf at his side and Jason followed his gesture, “Something in Arabic.” He added hastily, solid exterior faltering.

“Hm, testing me?” Jason hummed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Something like that.” Damian answered, watching Jason pull a volume from the shelf.

“Scooch.” Jason said, moving to sit down next to Damian. The younger boy would’ve normally protested, but he moved over with nothing more than a characteristic scowl.

Jason sat far enough away that he knew Damian wouldn’t feel crowded, pulling the blankets over his waist and opening the cover of the book. Within a few pages of steady reading, Damian had unfolded from his curled position on top of the covers to lay down on his side, an arm curled beneath his head as he watched the pages turn. A few more and Jason’s voice was slowing, weighed down and gaining a low, slumberous quality. Damian would’ve smirked and teased him if he hadn’t felt the same weight on his own eyelids. A quarter of the way through the novel, the book lay open in Jason’s lap, the pages fanned out in a perfect arc, their place in the story completely lost. Jason’s head had fallen back into the headboard, lips hanging gently open with even a shine of drool at the corner of his mouth. Damian lay curled into his side, head on his brother’s chest and peacefully fast asleep.

-

I hope you liked it! Thanks so much for the request <3

SEND ME PROMPTS

#if you tag this as ship I will block you :)) #jason todd #damian wayne #batfam #bat family #theres a read more btw!! #dc comics #batman #red hood #robin #writing #original #ask

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

Borrowed

Raven cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. "Damian...?" She called, after a quick knock on his door.

"Mm, Raven?" He grumbled in lieu of a reply. It sounded far away.

What exactly was he doing?

Raven shifted her weight from foot to the other. "Are you... decent?" Her pale fingers lingered on the shiny brass handle, her heartbeat quickened impatiently, and she nearly had to stop herself from barging in without waiting for confirmation. She didn't want to lose the nerve.

There weren't exactly any other options.

"Yes, what's up -"

"I'm coming in." Raven said in a hurry, before opening the door adjoining the two hotel rooms. "I need to... borrow something of yours -" Raven's eyes widened as she took note of Damian's bare chest, the droplets of water, a runoff flowing down his rows of abs. His arm muscles flexed, while he continuously ran a white hand towel through his damp hair. She bit her lip and looked away, trying to keep her flush down as best she could.

Why had he let her in?

This was most certainly not decent.

And then, he cocked his head and shamelessly proceeded to stare at her pajamas. "Hmm, is that so...?" Damian openly appraised her legs in the shorts, not bothering to avert his eyes. "I see..."

Goodness what was he thinking? And what was she thinking?

"What...?" She asked slowly, folding her arms around her body self-consciously. "That we're going to fall behind schedule if we both don't get dressed?"

He shook his head. "You... said you need something from me?"

Raven paled. "That's not exactly how I would put it, but..."

"You would like to borrow something of mine." Damian repeated slowly, savoring the sound of statement on his tongue.

"Yes..." Raven lifted an eyebrow.

"But you wouldn't take me up on a ticket for a seat in first class... Or accept my offers to buy you new clothes..." That was a Wayne for you. He would be remiss if he couldn't bring up the various ways she had rejected his outlandish proposals.

"Damian, I couldn't accept those things..." She glanced at the ground. It wouldn't have been right no matter how close they had gotten. Sometimes she forgot they just worked together. It was getting harder and harder to discern, with the trips and all the late nights. But it was times like these when she was reminded of that fact. "I just couldn't."

"Your pride aside, Raven. You realize that if you accepted the plane ticket in the first place, there is a strong possibility that the mishap with your luggage would have never even happened..." Raven felt the vessel in her temple tick. She unclenched her fist.

She sighed a long drawn out sigh. "I'm willing to compromise..."

"So... your compromise is that you'll borrow my clothes?" He sat on the bed, passively squeezing the towel through his dark hair while he watched her.

His hair wasn't even that long - how much time did it need to dry?

"Just for now…" Raven clarified. "The airline says they'll recover my baggage soon - tomorrow - Thursday at the latest." She rubbed her arm.

That was being optimistic, but the sooner the better.

"Your baggage…?" He crooned, his handsome face tilted toward her with a half smirk flashing on his distractingly devious lips. "There certainly is a lot of it... I highly doubt they'll find it in time…" A scowl threatened to take up residence on her face. Those implications were outrageous and Raven didn't need to take this.

Damian was enjoying every second of this and Raven could tell. He liked her veil of calm to show its cracks. He liked her flustered. He liked her helpless in her tiny pajama shorts. He liked her in need of him.

And he probably liked her off-put and distracted by those stupidly sculpted abs.

They were somehow perfect, even from this angle, wasn't he sitting down? She tore her eyes away from his rippling stomach muscles as his legs reclined, taut arms moving overhead to reach the tendrils curled at his nape.

Christ.

She willed the scarlet away from her cheeks. "Damian, can I borrow something to wear or not?"

"Of course you can. I haven't unpacked yet, so you'll have to rummage through the suitcase. You can take whatever you like." Damian gestured to the open leather suitcase with his towel. "Until they find your things, feel free... My door's always open..." he added under his breath, as he padded over to the bathroom to hang the towel.

"If only all that open door policy extended to when we were at the office..." She mumbled, riffling through the perfectly folded items as neatly as possible. All the clothes had that rich cedarwood and spicy cardamom and it was assaulting her senses, even though she tried not to think about all the ways that scent would envelop her. It would cling to her all day and night, brazed to her skin from wearing his clothes - Damian's clothes.

"Raven... Even when I'm busy, I make sure my employees feel valued." Damian said seriously. "If I didn't value you, you wouldn't be accompanying me on this trip."

"Right..." Raven settled on a simple v-neck sweater. She checked the label. It was 100% cashmere. An entire suitcase and not a blend in sight - that was so typical Damian Wayne. "So you're not afraid my value disappeared along with my baggage? I mean suitcase." She corrected hurriedly.

Damian softened for a moment. Raven saw that playful sparkle return to sharpen his vibrant green eyes. "With or without your pantsuits... and your monochromatic wardrobe in all black..." Raven pursed her lips. That didn't exactly sound like a compliment. "I know you are the best choice for this."

Oh.

Raven's face began to warm. It was somehow nice that he noticed something as trivial as her clothes, despite that slightly snub in the details.

She turned to him in the doorway of the adjoining rooms, the sweater in her hands. "Thanks, for this." Raven offered him a small smile.

"Good choice," Damian nodded, seeming impressed. "I think we'll manage until Thursday."

---------------

No.

They would not be able to manage until Thursday.

There was no way.

Damian had hoped he would be able to handle things until normalcy resumed on Thursday, but he was wrong. Raven's baggage hadn't turned up. The airline was fumbling, but that was hardly the issue.

It was her entering his room unannounced in a towel or a sleep shirt. Her rifling through his suitcase or his drawers on tiptoes when he returned from the gym. And then, when he'd come in from the balcony in the evening and saw her standing there with his shirt hanging off her.

Raven in his clothing.

He had thought about it once before, but not at all like this.

For someone who's wardrobe was usually a rotation of fewer than three shades, it was surprising how creative she could be. She mixed the limited items from her carry-on with Damian's wardrobe. Damian's t-shirts and work shirts were transformed into dresses, shirt dresses, or oversized tops. They became off-the-shoulder shirts, cinched with belts, buttoned up in interesting ways with rolled up sleeves and turned up collars. His undershirts paired with her jeans became statements. Vests and polos had never looked better than they had on her pale curves.

Damian felt his breath quicken and his heart pound in his chest every time he saw her in another piece from his closet. He knew the truth. He didn't care if they ever found her suitcase, not if it meant he got to see her in his clothes. The incident with the airline really had caused them to leave whatever baggage they had between them in Gotham.

But then, the night of the benefit arrived and Damian grew worried. As far as he knew, the airline was still searching for her luggage and hadn't found her clothes. Damian didn't have a spare dress packed away anywhere, so how exactly would she pull off black tie?

Damian shook his glass, peering down furtively at his watch or the spherical ice cubes, while he tried to make polite conversation with the other businessmen at the benefit. It did little to distract him from wondering where in the hell she was. Would she show up? And in what?

Damian had to pause mid sip of scotch - he nearly choked.

True to her form, Raven had worn a suit.

In all black.

But in a way he had never seen before.

All eyes were on Raven as she stood there in heels, with her dark hair tucked elegantly behind her left ear, and one of his black suit jackets. She had worn it as a dress that came up to her thighs. Damian swallowed, as she spotted him and made her way over.

With each step a new detail was revealed. Like there was no shirt under that jacket. He could see the center of her cleavage before his eyes reached the first buttonhole. Goodness, there was no bra under that jacket either. Damian's body tensed and involuntarily he edged in front of the floral arrangement on the entrance table, until he could gather his bearings.

Gods, she seemed glide. And she looked incredible.

Her face warmed in new ways, her entire being seemed to radiate when those indigo eyes met his vert. "Good evening, Wayne."

He shook his head incredulously. "Raven, wow..."

"You looked worried." Raven's lips turned up coyly. "Were you worried?"

"No... Maybe a little," he admitted. "But honestly, I think I just have a new appreciation for this suit," Damian said softly, his finger brushed the shoulder of the jacket. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I like your new look..."

"Me wearing your clothes, after the airport lost mine? This is the product of circumstance." Raven cocked a hip. "Out of curiosity, what would you even call this look - lost baggage chic?"

Metaphorical or otherwise, it really had disappeared. The baggage.

"Yes." He placed a firm hand on the small of her back to guide her to their table, like man would his date. "You and those black pantsuits..." She froze, before her petite form settled into him. "You always look great." Damian whispered softly in her ear.

#damirae week 2020 #damirae #damiraeweek #demonbirds #damian x raven #raven roth #damian wayne #coworkers au #fanfiction #writing #me #Wanted to do this for day 1 wasn't going to publish it but what the hell? #This is filth and silly but hopefully it's not too terrible

[nxrthmizu]

Hogwarts Daminette AU: Part Two

---

/Part One/

---

The Triwizard Tournament was over in two months. Two months, generally, defined in Damian’s mind, would be a long time, but when the time came for the Beauxbatons to leave, it felt like those two months had run by too fast. 

He felt like he was choking. He watched her get on to the carriage, putting on a smile quick enough just as she turned back to smile one last time at him. She was leaving. Back to Ireland. Or wherever it was that the Beauxbatons’ school was. He really didn’t remember. He was quite sure she’d told him at some point, but he’d probably been too busy trying to control his blush with some disguising charms. Honestly, Drake was a blessing for showing him those. He didn’t know how he would have survived without them. He was a blushing mess, and Damian Wayne was never a mess. 

Except when he was around Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of course. 

---

When he lied down on his bed, listening to his dormmates chatter about how the great hall felt less clustered without the Beauxbatons and the Durmstrangs, he could only think of her. Every single memory they had. Every moment they shared. 

---

“My name- My name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.” He had stuttered, rather surprised with himself. He had never, never stuttered before. But here he was. Well, he figured there was always a first time. 

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She smiled blindingly at him, her almond-shaped eyes merging into pretty little crescents as she did so. He felt utterly breathless. 

“I-It’s nice to meet you.” He stuttered, smiling back. Across the hall, he could hear Dick screeching. 

“Is Damian smiling? With a girl?” He had screamed. Damian had bit his lip and resisted from scowling and pointing the middle finger to his brother right there and then. 

Marinette had, of course, heard him. She had laughed a little, giggling- Almost giggling. Her happiness was a blessing to him. It was as if he was colorblind and someone just poured multicolor paint into his world. “Is that your brother?” She had asked sweetly. “He’s adorable. I wish I had siblings.” The last sentence was almost- Wistful. 

Damian wanted to tell her that he really disliked his brother, but then he rethought it. Maybe he wouldn’t tell her that. Well, Grayson was tolerable. “I... Wouldn’t say adorable, but I guess it works.” He chuckled. 

She had laughed at his comment, and the thoughts running through his head at the very moment were: She laughed. Does that mean she likes me? Wait, do I like her? I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. Etc. 

“Marinette!” An auburn-haired girl had interrupted her laugh. He watched as she momentarily paled, her complexion becoming a lighter shade, and he wanted to ask if she was okay. Well, someone beat him to it. 

“Marinette! Don’t run away from the group! You know that Lila didn’t mean what she said.” A blonde had interrupted him. Damian narrowed his eyes. Was the blonde trying to comfort her or chastise her? It felt more like the latter to him, anyway. 

“Who are you?” He had asked coldly. 

The blonde glared back. “Adrien Agreste. I’m her friend.”

“Marinette! Honestly, girl, don’t you think you were too much with Lila? What you said was mean! I don’t know why you hate her so much!” The auburn apparently, had a lot of unwanted input. Damian rolled his eyes, ready to retort, but Marinette, who could somehow feel his emotions, pushed her hand against his, squeezing it tightly as she gave him an apologetic look, walking away miserably with her friends. 

As she left, he could hear another voice. 

“Marinette, don’t mix with the Slytherins. They just want to take advantage of you. I know Damian Wayne- You shouldn’t mix with him. Oh-! Were you trying to seduce him?” 

“Oh my god, Marinette. You were trying to seduce a Slytherin?” The auburn’s voice made him growl. He hated her already. 

“B-But! The Slytherin prejudice- It’s not- He’s not bad!” She protested, and he felt a warmth in his chest as he listened to her defend him. 

“You should just listen to Lila, Marinette.” The auburn’s voice again. Damian was a millimeter from strangling her. “She’s right.” 

He could almost hear her falter. He wished, he prayed that she would say something. Fight back, angel. He thought. Don’t let them win. 

Silence. 

---

“Marinette.” He caught her arm as she was walking from the library, catching the panic and fear in her eyes for a quick moment before she realized it was him. He narrowed his eyes- Why were her eyes filled with panic? If it was surprise, he’d understand, but panic? What made her react like that? Brushing the thought for later, he shot an apologetic smile at her. “I- I need to talk to you. I understand if- If you think I’m a Slytherin and that I’m evil and-”

“What? No!” She had swatted her arm at him playfully, the yellow glow of the candles dancing in her midnight blue eyes like shooting stars. “I would never think that.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Besides, you aren’t...” She paused for the right word, a low hum vibrating from her throat as she pondered on the appropriate vocabulary. “Evil??? Um, well, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, actually.” She giggled. 

Damian was... Shocked. That was an understatement, actually. He? The nicest person she’d ever met? Whoa. Her friends must be horrid! Hell, he was probably the coldest personality that existed and she thought he was the nicest person she’d ever met? 

It was in that moment that Damian Wayne decided that he was going to keep the position of being the nicest person she’d ever met. He was going to protect his angel against everything, he would give his entire life to her. He would make himself hers. 

And that was the moment that Marinette Dupain-Cheng gained herself perhaps not the bravest knight, no. Maybe not the best, not the most courageous- No. But she gained herself the most loyal knight she’d ever find, and he’d stay by her side for the rest of his life. 

Because she was his angel.

---

“Marinette! We told you not to hang around with the Slytherins!” Adrien scolded her, frowning like a mother who’d had to tell off her daughter for the twentieth time. Unluckily for this ‘mother’ (Yeah, as good as a mother as Gabriel Agreste is a father), his daughter had a knight named Damian Wayne. 

“Excuse me.” He interrupted coolly. “I think Marinette is smart enough to decide who to hang around with. And frankly, I think she’s made a very smart choice.” 

The blonde, who obviously wasn’t used to being counter-attacked like that, fumed and stalked off like a kid. “My father will hear about this!” He muttered under his breath, stomping angrily away as Marinette giggled, thankful for her knight. 

“Thank you, Damian.” 

---

“You have to fight back.” He told her as they walked together to the quidditch pitch, the wind clear and cheery in spring. He glanced at her pigtails, the green ribbons dancing in the wind. 

Green. He mused. The color of his house, his eyes. Shaking his head, he wondered what the thought was about. Pretty random. Without actually thinking, he tugged both ribbons loose, earning a little squeal from her as her hair fell out, dancing in the lively wind. 

“Damian!” She whined, trying to gain control of the dark blue waves drifting in the clear air. 

“Don’t.” He grasped her hands, pulling them away from where they were trying to sort the flying mess. Combing her hair a few times with his hands, he smiled, pleased. “It looks better like this.” 

And then...

“You look really pretty.” 

She’d stared at him for a few blank seconds before she turned away, going to fidget with a strand of hair. “T- Thank you.” 

He’d smiled, patting her head affectionately. “Anyway, as I was saying, you have to retort to these ‘friends’ of yours.” He’d made little quotation marks with his fingers, and for some reason, she’d found the action funny, so she laughed. He’d tried to frown and tell her to concentrate on what he was teaching her, but... Her laugh. 

It was too beautiful to resist. 

---

Here’s part two because you guys asked! :)

---

/Part Three/

---

(Tag list: @kceedraws @constancetruggle )

#daminette #damianwayne #slytherin #marinettedupaincheng #dickgrayson #jasontodd #timdrake #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff #beauxbatons #lilarossi #alyacesaire #adrienagreste #talesofladybugandcatnoir #but batfam #alfredpennyworth #Adrien as draco malfoy #my father will hear about this #Adrien malfoy #fucking bitch hurt marinette i'll kill you #yeah that's damian's current mood

[kazhavia]

"I don’t mean to sound paranoid but I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer.“ au damirae!

“I don’t mean to sound paranoid…” Raven curiously tilted her head to the side and squinted her eyes. “But I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer.”

Damian facepalmed. Jeez, how much did this chick drink?

“Which apartment do you live in?” he asked for the umpteenth time, scanning around the hallway as if the answer would magically appear.

Raven slumped against the wall and tapped her chin. “Well, it has a red door…”

God help Damian now before he finds a way to fling himself into the sun.

“What’s the number on the door?” he inquired through clenched teeth.

Raven blew a raspberry in the air and rolled her head back. “Let me think.”

Damian almost gave into his urge to walk away. Almost.

“Why are you so damn drunk anyway?” he demanded, crossing his arms. If he was going to spend another ten minutes with his coworker, he might as well find out why he went through the trouble of taking her home. “How did you get drunk at an office party? They gave each of us two drink tickets for a reason.”

Raven slurred out an intelligible answer, but Damian was able to make out “stupid” and “boyfriend” somewhere in that broken sentence. He guessed she must’ve had a fight with whoever she was dating, which surprised him. He never took her as the type to turn to alcohol when she would get upset.

“Ugh, why am I still wearing this?” Raven scoffed and lifted her hand to her face. It was then Damian noticed the gold band around her ring finger. “Trash.”

He furrowed his brows. “Trash?”

“Trash,” she confirmed and picked at the ring until it slid off her finger and fell to the floor. “What’s the point of an engagement ring when there will be no wedding.”

Damian’s eyes flew wide open. He hadn’t been expecting that, but now at least her behavior made sense.

Raven bowed her head and flipped herself over until her back rested against the wall. She stared down at the space between her feet and pouted. “Can you take me to my apartment now so I can bury my face in food?”

Damian sighed and bent down to pick up the ring. “You will regret that in the morning.” Although, the hangover she will experience in a few hours won’t be a fun adventure either.

She pouted and raised her head to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “There’s so much I already regret…”

The mood shifted to a depressing shade of grey, which made Damian uncomfortable. The silence was too tense, and he needed to break it soon before Raven started bawling in the middle of the hallway. He had a hunch that she didn’t want to be seen with buckets of tears falling down her face. 

“Let’s go get frozen yogurt,” he suggested and fished his keys out of his pocket. “It’s healthier, and I can make sure you don’t stuff yourself to the point where you might throw up.” 

Raven crinkled her nose and warily side-eyed him. Somehow, he knew exactly what her expression was saying.

“It’s late at night on a Tuesday, so there won’t be many people,” Damian explained. “Let’s go.”

“Sheesh, you’re just as bossy outside of work,” Raven grumbled. “I would hate to be your girlfriend.”

Damian rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm. “Come on.”

As soon as Raven took her first step away from the wall, she tripped. Thankfully, Damian caught her right on time before she ate the floor.

“Shit,” Raven swore and held onto Damian’s shoulder. “Just—Hang on and give me a second.”

“Do you have extra shoes in your bag?” he asked, glancing down at her four-inched pumps. 

When she shook her head, Damian sighed and stepped around to kneel in front of her. “Get on my back, then.”

Raven blinked. “You’re going to carry me?”

“What choice do I have? You’re tipsy as hell.”

Albeit slow, Raven carefully positioned herself onto his back and locked her arms securely around his shoulders. Once she got a solid hold on him, Damian consciously wrapped his hands around the appropriate part of her thighs, making sure to grab enough of her skirt to cover her ass so that she wouldn’t flash anyone. 

Somehow through the hazed state of inebriation, Raven noticed this thoughtful action and hummed. 

“What?” Damian asked.

“I take back…” she hiccupped. “I take back what I said earlier.”

“About?”

“You being a bad boyfriend—I think you’d make a great one.”

“You never said I would make a bad one.”

“Eh, I thought it.” She shrugged. “Close enough.”

The corner of Damian’s lips curled up. “Weirdo.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Damian could relate. “Hold tight,” he instructed and stood up. “Let me know if you start feeling sick.”

“Okay,” Raven murmured and rested her chin on his shoulder. 

Damian nodded and walked towards the elevator, trying his damn best to ignore the annoying butterflies fluttering inside his chest.

#teen titans #damirae #drabble

[xaphrin]

From These Prompts

The darkness seemed to stretch on forever, over the sloping hills of the nowhere forest Damian was hiding in, broken only by the shattered lights of the Milky Way above them. The mission had drained every ounce of Damian’s soul from his body. He had nearly lost a teammate, had made poor choices, and now his grandfather knew their next steps. He had been careless and stupid, and now he didn’t know what to do. So, at least for a little while, he ran away. It was easier to keep his thoughts together when he wasn’t trying to be everything all at once. 

He sat outside in the thick, quiet snow, the cold sliding between the cracks in his armor, and stared at the absolute nothing around him. His breath fogged the air, whispering his responsibilities between pauses. He needed to return. He needed to own up to his mistakes and learn from them. But… 

Damian leaned back against the wood wall of the small cabin behind him, letting go of a string of expletives that would have earned a bar of soap in his mouth if he was back at the manor. Although, it was nothing worse than what Todd said on a regular basis. Besides, he was an adult now, he was allowed to swear and drink and fuck as much as he wanted.

Not that there was a list of girls he wanted to fuck. 

Or, if there was a list, it only contained one name.

He sighed, and moved to stand up, but the crunch of snow in front of him made him pause. His hand moved to the sharp knife he kept tucked in his belt, and he felt ghosts move before his eyes. Shadows seemed to stretch into gnarled fingers, curling around him as he took a step back towards the entrance to the cabin. He could call the rest of the team if he needed, but… maybe he needed to face his demons alone. 

“That’s a cheap move, you know. Running away like this.” 

Raven’s voice was a husky whisper, and she stepped into the thin starlight, looking at him. He felt like she was looking right through his soul and he watched as her mouth quirked to the side in annoyance. “I was shot with magic, and you go running away to find yourself in the peaks of literally nowhere.” She crossed her arms over her chest and paused at the treeline, staring at him. “I woke up to Dick hovering over my hospital bed, and not you.” 

“Raven, I never meant to send you-”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to this mission, Damian.” Raven let her arms fall to the side and walked closer to him, her steps crunching in the snow. “I knew the dangerous when you gave us that initial overview of the mission. I knew what I was signing up for. I knew what would very likely happen, and I still signed up for it. I knew what I was doing… but I was hoping that you would still be there when I woke up.” Her words were heavy between them, like a sentence to a crime he had committed. “I woke up, and the one person I trusted wasn’t there.”

Damian didn’t know what to say to that. On one hand he was angry he had let himself leave her side, and on the other side of the argument, he knew he couldn’t face her. He had led her into danger, made choices that could have gotten her killed, and then nearly let her die. He didn’t want her to admit that she knew the risks, because then that took the sting out of his own self-pity. It reminded him that all his friends knew what they were signing up for. Including Raven, who had spent nearly two weeks in a hospital bed. 

Her eyes flicked to the door behind him. “Are you going to invite me in? It’s cold out here.”

“Mm.” Damian walked towards the door and motioned for her to follow, not quite inviting her in, but not ignoring her either. “Come in.”

Raven followed silently, setting her snow-soaked cloak on a hook by the door. She looked around the small one-room space and frowned. “This is where you’ve been for the past week?”

“Yes.” Damian ignored the bite in her voice, as if ignoring it would give him some kind of sanctuary from the sins he had committed. He looked into Raven’s face and saw the lack of judgement shaded by her eyes, and somehow that hurt worse. He almost wanted to be blamed, because blame would have given him something more tangible than just… acceptance. “I needed to think.”

“And I needed you.” Her words hurt in a way he wasn’t expecting, and Damian turned around to look at her. 

He wet his lips. “What?”

“I needed you, Damian.” Raven’s voice was a low, rough whisper, and she took a step forward. “I needed the one person I came to trust, and you weren’t there for me. I woke up without you, and that… that hurt. I felt alone, and angry, and… and I didn’t want it.” Her voice wavered, as though the weight of her emotions were burying her. Her dark eyes met his. “I want you to be there, telling me we had won and everything was going to be okay. But… you weren’t there, and I…” Her words trained off and she looked away.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“But you did.” 

Damian hated the snap to her words, they stung in a way he wasn’t expecting. It felt like his whole soul was being pulled from his body, leaving broken bones and promises in its wake. He shouldn’t have left her to wake up alone. He should have stayed by her like a sentinel, and yet he was so ashamed of what he had done, that he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as her. He had run - like a scared child. 

“I’m sorry.” His shoulders dropped and he finally lifted his head to meet her own. “I should have been there for you, but I was… I was…” He didn’t know how to tell her he was afraid. He was afraid of losing her, and he was afraid that if he did lose her, it would have been his fault. Damian shifted and met her eyes, hoping he could see the apology in his own face. “I should never have left you. I never wanted to leave you.”

“So, why did you?” Raven took a step forward, her eyes unreadable in the dark shadows of the small space. 

“I didn’t want to face my mistakes. And I didn’t want you to see how wrong I was.” Damian’s voice was small again, swallowed by the heaviness in the room. “I didn’t want you to see…  to see how weak you made me, Raven.”

“Damian.”

The weight to her voice made him meet her stare for just the briefest of moments before she felt her lips crash into his own. Heat burst between them both, a show of sight and color and something he couldn’t quite place. Her icy fingers tangled in the front of his coat and Raven lifted herself up on her tip-toes, pulling him down against her chilled lips for a few seconds that seemed to stretch out into eternity.

Fuck. 

Damian moaned against her mouth, and he pulled her tight against him, feeling her muscles tense and wince when he touched a particularly tender spot. He pulled away, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to gather his thoughts. What… what was he doing? Raven was the one person he should have kept at arms-length, but instead he was pulling her closer to deepen the kiss, and all he could think about was pinning her to the bed in the corner and helping her find the heavens. 

His cock gave a half-hearted twitch at the thought of her splayed beneath him, pleasure consuming her whole being. He swallowed, lifting his mouth a few scant inches from her own, trying to shake the sense into his head. 

“Sorry. I should have been more careful. Are you al-”

He didn’t have a moment to get another word out before she pulled him down for another kiss. Whatever protest was hanging on his lips seemed to disappear, and his hands tightened on her hips. She stole kiss after kiss after kiss, until they were both gasping - chilled from the wild wind whipping through the trees, and warmed by the heat of the blood in their veins.  

“I don’t want an apology, Damian.” Her voice was rough against his ear, and she started pulling him back to the small bed in the corner, candle light casting shadows on her face. “I never wanted an apology.”

“So…” Damian sink his teeth into her lower lip, tasting the gasp on her tongue. “What do you want?”

“I…” She unbuttoned a fastener on his coat, and then another one. Slowly, she wet her lips and met his stare, pulling the lapels of his jacket apart, revealing the sweater underneath. “I thought that was obvious.” 

Oh.

#damirae #demonbirds #I am very tired and do not know if any of this works????

[maxdark158]

This is chapter two of my fic based on @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng au that I LOVE, please check them out.

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

“Marinette, seriously?” The annoyed voice of Marinette’s once-best-friend Alya Cesaire was grating to her now. “You need to stop running away just for attention, it won’t work.”

It had been a long day for Marinette. It started off well, even after being forgotten by her class, because she got to hang out with Damian. But The Riddler kind of spoiled that. After her talk with the police, Damien waited with her for a teacher to pick her up from the station. They parted when her teacher arrived, Marinette promising to text him when she got to her hotel room.

The teacher that picked her up was Professor Mendeleiev. While the science teacher’s strictness had unnerved Marinette for years, lately she had begun wishing she was in her class instead of Ms. Bustier’s. Ms. Bustier’s tactics of being a better example for a bully were starting to wear on her. Professor Mendeleiev wasn’t perfect, but Marinette would have taken being in her class over being in Ms. Bustier’s now.

When the teacher asked why Marinette had been away from the group in the first place, Marinette told her that she had been forgotten by Ms. Bustier and her class. Professor Mendeleiev went silent after that.

The rest of the ride was silent too.

It was silent until Professor Mendeleiev dropped her off at her room where Alya was waiting to rip into her about being attention-seeking and rude.

“Hello?” she sounded angry now. “Are you even listening to me? Do you think if you ignore us we’ll believe you were ever nice again? Lila told us the truth about who you are, you-”

“Alya!” her teacher snapped. “Your classmate was caught in a villain attack today. Leave her alone.”

Alya gaped. “But”

“That was not a request,” Professor Mendeleiev growled. “Do you think you can escape my detentions because we are on vacation?”

Alya squeaked and ran off to her room.

Marinette blinked, not quite sure what just happened. Relief was the cool feeling applied to a headache, stopping the pain.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Professor Mendeleiev nodded and stalked off, mumbling something about having a long overdue talk with ‘Caline’.

Alya must have gone back to her hotel room, as Marinette didn’t encounter her or anyone else on her way back to her room.

The relief hit again, but the hint of sadness was like mint in her mouth and wetness on her cheek, despite her not actually crying.

It was hard to remember that Alya used to be her best friend. It got harder every time Alya got after her for bullying or lying or anything else that she didn’t actually do. Marinette almost wishes they hadn’t ever become friends, the betrayal would have hurt less.

It seems some wounds take years to heal.

Marinette arrived at her room and unlocked the door with her room key. She entered and immediately flopped on her bed.

“Marinette, are you alright?” she heard Tikki ask.

“I’m just tired,” she mumbled. “I’m more used to akumatized villains, not insane people with riddle obsessions.”

She felt Tikki brush aside some of her hair. “I’m just glad you’re alright. You scared me for a moment, Marinette. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks, Tikki.”

“It’s simply the truth! Also, didn’t you tell that boy you would text him?”

Her eyes widened. Marinette rolled over and got her phone out of her purse. “Thanks for reminding me!”

Tikki giggled out a, “no problem,” and rested on Marinette’s stomach.

Angel: I’m at the hotel now.

Damian: That’s good Damian: Did you get in trouble?

Marinette smiled to herself. It felt nice, being worried about… Even if she didn’t want him to worry. But the fact that he cared felt like a warm hug.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev must’ve been tired or something. Angel: She didn’t leacture

She frowned. That had to be wrong.

Angel: Lecture?

Damian: *lecture

Marinette rolled her eyes. In the two days she had known Damian, she knew he was a stickler for grammar. Though he wasn’t harsh about his corrections, as he knew English wasn’t her first language, it was a tad annoying. Marinette was much better at speaking and reading in English than she was at spelling.

Angel: Quiet, English is hard

Damian: Understandable. Damian: In my original question I meant any of your classmates btw

Angel: btw? Angel: Oh by the way

Damian: yeah

Angel: I’m good at text slang in French, okay

Damian: I don’t doubt you

She rolled her eyes and smiled. Annoying, but the banter was nice. It wasn’t like with Chat Noir when he was trying to flirt with her.

Angel: Anyway Alya tried to bother me but I’m good now Angel: Professor Mendeleiev told her off for bothering me after my ‘traumatic’ encounter with a Gotham villain

Damian: Speaking of, are you SURE you’re alright Angel

Ooh, capital letters. He must be really worried. Guilt rested on her shoulders again on that day.

Angel: I’m fine Angel: I’ve survived akuma for three years, I’m not about to let some riddle fanatic with terrible clothing choices ruin my day

Damian: His clothes are that bad?

Good, subject change. Maybe she can get him to stop worrying.

Angel: Too much green, for one Angel: Green shouldn’t be used in large portions when it’s that bright of a shade Angel: Also the cloth itself was cheap, but the kind of cheap meant to look expensive if you don’t know cloth good

Damian: *well

Marinette smiled. She hoped her little intentional mistake would make him stop worrying.

Angel: Whatever Angel: Also his hat didn’t match the type of suit he was wearing Angel: If he wants to go old fashioned he should at least match the time period Angel: Longer coat, more layers Angel: He is an atrocity

Damian: he is

Angel: If I had time to cry then my tears would had been blood

Damian: *have

“Seriously,” she grumbled to herself. The guilt had long since lifted but Damian’s need for correct grammar was going to drive her mad.

Angel: istg

Damian: It appears you’re learning

Angel: Yepp

Damian: Also the Gotham news posted an article online about you Damian: “Unnamed Teenager From France Holds off The Riddler Until Batman Arrives!”

Angel: Wait what? Angel: But we both held him off?

Damian: I was kind of useless, you did most of the work Damian: I left shortly after you solved his riddle because the Robins had arrived

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. She had been scrolling through the article Damian had mentioned, realizing that it did not have any mention of her throat punching The Riddler. It did say she took him down with physical force, but it was in self-defense and she was okay.

She just didn’t want Damian to find out she punched someone in the throat. It would make him think she was violent and he’d hate her forever and never talk to her again and she’d loose the only friend she’s made in the last three years and-

Her phone, which had fallen asleep, buzzed again.

Damian: You there?

Marinette sighed, mentally reining her anxieties in.

Angel: Yeah. I was just reading the article Angel: The Riddler was bad at hand to hand combat. It was easy to take him down with the practice I have from Paris

Damian: I bet. Damian: It’s getting late, Angel. We should go to bed. Damian: Goodnight

Angel: Goodnight Angel: Also I’ll find a chat name for you soon, promise

Damian: lol okay

Marinette smiled and put her phone away. Hopefully, she would get to spend more time with him tomorrow.

This was day three of their trip to Gotham. The entire trip lasted nine days. She wanted to make the most of her trip by spending time with her friend until she had to leave.

While the thought brought a brief sadness, she put it out of her mind and continued to get ready for bed.

oooOOOooo

Marinette managed to get up on time this morning.

Meaning, she woke up from a nightmare at around four am and couldn’t go back to sleep after that because she started fully sketching out some of her outfit ideas she had yesterday. She even made a few based off the Gotham heroes, coloring those ones in.

Despite all the designing she finished, Marinette was still the first one ready and in the lobby where the class is supposed to meet every morning.

Marinette was wearing her messier clothes today. After yesterday where she confronted The Riddler in leggings, she decided to stick to pants today too. She loved the dress she brought but it would not work if she managed to confront another villain.

Besides, the dress code was more lenient today. Marinette had on a white crop top with her signature flower pattern and dark gray overalls on. She had her hair in a French braid so it was out of her face. Her tennis shoes were the same pink as the flowers and as always, she had her purse for Tikki.

When the teachers came down to wait for the class, they saw Marinette there. Professor Mendeleiev gave her a nod, to which Marinette smiled. Ms. Bustier looked conflicted for a moment before ultimately deciding to sit down away from both her and Professor Mendeleiev.

The class began to filter in. Marinette made sure to stay out of sight from everyone but the teachers. They grouped together, talking about mindless things. Mostly about what they’d do with their afternoon. Today they were going to the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum in the morning, then after lunch the rest of the day was free until 5:30 pm.

Lila arrived last. Marinette knew that she likely did it so everyone noticed her entrance. She also realized that Lila arrived a few minutes before everyone had to get on the busses, so people had time to talk to and about her.

The designer simply tuned the liar out. She didn’t care anymore.

Well, she didn’t until she heard a certain name.

“Damian is such a sweetheart,” Marinette glanced up from her phone. “We might get back together again soon, I’m not sure though. I hope so.”

“I forgot that you’re on and off,” she heard someone else say, though who didn’t matter.

“Did you say Damian?” Marinette asked before she thought out the action. Her voice was loud enough that suddenly everyone was staring at her as if they forgot she was there in the first place.

They likely had.

“Uh, yeah,” Alya scoffed. “Lila and Damian Wayne are an on and off thing. You’d know that if you weren’t skipping the field trip for attention.”

“Alya, it’s alright,” Lila sighed. “We keep it out of the tabloids and Marinette doesn’t like me, it’s not her fault she didn’t know.”

“That sounds like it’s her fault! Marinette just needs to get over herself!”

Marinette was tuning her classmates out. She felt like an idiot. But at the same time, he never told her. He must have had a reason for telling her.

But there was no mistaking it. The Riddler called him, “Wayne.” They met when she was trying to get into Wayne Enterprises. His first name was Damian and he knew the tour guide…

She tuned back into her classmates’ conversation.

“Anyway, Damian and I went and got ice cream last afternoon. That’s why I was gone, you see. He would have walked me back, but we would have attracted a crowd. Plus he got a little chocolate ice cream on his shirt, he’s so messy.”

Marinette closed her eyes. Rage is hot and fiery, her nails dug into her palms.

Calling Lila out does nothing.

But she couldn’t help but remember Damian telling her that chocolate ice cream was among his least favorites when they went to get ice cream yesterday.

And he isn’t messy.

oooOOOooo

Marinette found the museum interesting. It gave her some anxiety, learning about everything villains did to the city was nerve-wracking.

She wondered if there would ever be a Paris Museum for Akuma.

It also gave her some ideas. Learning about the Gotham Hero’s greatest feats and how they accomplished them was eye-opening.

She was doing this whole battling-Hawkmoth-thing wrong! Instead of a case by case akuma battle, which are much less frequent nowadays, she should partner with the police! There were cameras all over Paris and, unlike Kwami, corrupted butterflies appeared on them. Hawkmoth may only be attacking around once a month now, but he still needed to own up to the terror he reigned on Paris and the world.

Marinette felt a little stupid for not realizing all of this before, she realized as she whispered her ideas to Tikki in the bathroom. She could have ended it sooner if she thought to get investigative about her enemy.

But as interesting and terrifying as the museum was, the trip only took the morning. By lunch, her classmates were waiting for the teachers to decide who to take where, as no restaurant had enough room for all of them.

She pulled out her phone and opened her text chat with Damian.

Angel: Kill me now

Damian: What’s wrong?

Angel: We have to all get lunch as a class before I’m free Angel: I’m in the group with Liar Rossi Angel: Death would be sweatier

Marinette mumbled a curse under her breath. She meant sweeter! Stupid autocorrect.

Damian: *sweeter

Angel: Rude

Damian: Anyway Damian: You can’t die yet Damian: We still technically didn’t get ice cream

She managed to smile. Damian made her do that a lot now that she thought about…

Her phone pinged again.

Damian: Also you’re at the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum right?

Angel: Yes I am

Damian: I’m nearby

Marinette’s eyes widened. What?

Damian: I can pick you up for lunch

Angel: OMG really? Please do I’d really really like that

Damian: omw

She looked up, seeing that her teachers were still discussing. She walked up to them, waiting until they saw her.

Ms. Bustier did first. “Marinette! What did you need?”

“My friend invited me to eat lunch with him,” she looked at Professor Mendeleiev as she spoke, not Ms. Bustier. “May I go?”

“After what happened yesterday? I don’t thi-” Ms. Bustier was cut off by Professor Mendeleiev.

“Is this the friend you were at the station with?” she asked, voice sharp. Marinette nodded.

Professor Mendeleiev hummed, contemplating. Ms. Bustier gaped at her. “You can’t be considering allowing her to go!” she said, “Not after how mad you got at me-”

“Caline, I got mad at you for forgetting her. Allowing her to go is not the same thing,” Professor Mendeleiev glared at her, “We’re allowing you to go on your own after lunch anyway, as long as everyone has a buddy. Finding you a buddy in this class, however, is likely going to be difficult…”

She trailed off before digging into her bag. “We got trackers for this free afternoon, though we couldn’t afford them for everyone,” she brought out a black bracelet that looked plastic. “This will only give me your general location. We will still have enough for everyone else as long as they’re in pairs. If you take one, I will allow you to go to lunch and such with your friend.”

Ms. Bustier’s brows furrowed. “You’re giving her special treatment? But-”

“Caline, you forgot her twice,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded patient, as if she were an adult talking to a toddler. “Marinette earned this and she will be with a friend from Gotham, something nobody else in this class truly has besides her.”

“This is my class,” Ms. Bustier was beginning to fume. “You accompanied because two teachers were needed, but these are my students-”

“Caline,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded more annoyed. “I am allowing her to go. Since I’ve been teaching for longer and because you told me to hand out the tracking bracelets, my decision overrules yours. Your argument is pointless.”

Marinette stared as Ms. Bustier tried to find words to retaliate with and failed. She took the bracelet from Professor Mendeleiev and thanked her.

It felt nice to have someone stand up for her again.

In the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed Alya walk toward the teachers and her. She looked angry and upset, a face she nowadays wore often around Marinette.

She remembered what she thought last night, about Alya’s betrayal. How it hurt remembering the good times they shared. Marinette took a deep breath.

It still hurt. It still hurt remembering the good times they had as friends, but she had to be fair to herself. She had to remember the bad times too.

She had to remember the times Alya demanded every detail, said friends tell each other everything. She had to remember the times Alya pressured her into things she wasn’t comfortable doing. She had to remember the times Alya took her for granted, the time Alya decided she wasn’t worth as much as a liar.

She has to remember what Alya is doing to her now.

“Where is the liar going now?” Alya scoffed. “Getting permission to run away this time?”

Marinette rolled her eyes and slipped the bracelet on. She would be okay. Alya wasn’t her friend anymore, she had better ones to look out for her.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Alya gaped.

Luckily for Marinette, Alya didn’t have time to think of a response. A car drove up, and Marinette saw Damian wave to her from the backseat. She smiled.

The door was unlocked, so she opened it and got in. She didn’t look back at her classmates faces as the driver, an aged man in a suit, drove away.

“Where would you like to eat, Angel?” Damian asked.

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s here.”

Damian frowned. “Angel, you okay?”

That’s when her previous realization hit. He was Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne. He was one of the celebrities Lila liked lying about the most. And he was her friend, currently best friend.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

Damian looked like he wanted to press the issue, but decided against it. He told his butler to take them to a restaurant she didn’t recognize the name of while she took deep breaths. She felt Tikki press gently against her hip, trying to reassure her.

Alya was a bad friend. Marinette wanted to be a better friend to Damian. He already made her so happy! Warm fuzzies and smiled and giggles were rare in the last few years, but she experienced them all with Damian. He kept a secret from her, likely for his own reasons, and she found out what it was behind his back.

Damian deserved better than that.

“I know,” she blurted out. “I know you’re Damian Wayne. I just want you to know that doesn’t change anything. You’re still my friend, and I don’t care who your dad is and who you are.”

Damian gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to find out on your own. I should have told you-”

Marinette interrupted, “you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me that.”

He looked confused. She chose to elaborate.

“As a stranger or even a friend, you don’t owe me any details about who you are. Ever,” Marinette told him. “You’re allowed to keep secrets and not tell me things you aren’t comfortable sharing. It isn’t fair of me to demand you tell me everything.”

She was going to be the friend she needed to Damian. It was the least he deserved.

Marinette pushed down any disappointment that came with the word friend, not knowing why it was there. Maybe it was left over from her classmates’ treatment of her.

Damian was staring at her. She wasn’t sure what his expression meant, but it looked… Awed?

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I… nobody’s ever said secrets are okay…”

Marinette shrugged. “I can’t help if I feel left out, but forcing you to tell me everything isn’t how friendship is supposed to work. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Damian’s smile was small, but it made Marinette feel warm. Was he the sun?

“Perhaps instead of a restaurant, I can take you both to the mansion for your lunch?” the driver said, his accent different from Marinette’s.

“You sure Alfred?” Damian asked.

She saw his nervousness. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comforta-”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured. “My brothers can be… rambunctious.”

Oh. Marinette smiled. “I can handle them if that’s the only reason you’re nervous.”

Damian thought for a moment before sighing. “Alfred, please talk us to the mansion.”

“My pleasure, Master Damian.”

#marinette x damian #damian wayne #damian wayne au #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #daminette #damimari #maridami #alfred #marinette is hurt #she doesn't want damian to be hurt #she is also smart #smart marinette #batbrats #filler chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #batman fanfic

[htfanimevocagirl02]

TimDami (TimXfem!Damian)

-In my headcanons, Damian takes more of Talia’s personality so she isn’t openly self-centered, always angry, and doesn’t jump or snap on anyone randomly. She’s just chill, smirks, mannerly, level headed, cheeky and considerate to others.

-So Tim and Damian actually get along well and are really close. Tim thinks of her as his little sister and his own mentoree as Damian does looks up to him as a big brother and her mentor.   

-When Damian came, Tim soon realizes at a patrol night when paired together, he realizes that he is her mentor like how Dick was to him, and gets super excited and does his best to teach her everything. Damian finds it cute, but never says a thing and just goes along with it because he looked too happy. 

-Tim gets headaches and flustered due to how she can manage to wrap anyone (poor Bruce, Dick and Jason and pretty much everyone else) around her finger by acting cute, to which she really actually is very adorable. Even when she’s smirking. But he can never say anything about it, because she very lovely, bragging everyone how cool and smart he is and how she thinks he’s a good brother and mentor, and he just hugs her and protects her with his whole life if he had to.

-But he sometimes likes her little devilish-side. The way she makes Bruce get headaches makes him laugh and really likes her humour. Which is sad because her humour is kind of like Jason’s, but he never laughs at any of Jason’s jokes. And because of her side, he can feel a little cheeky too and would happily join her in making shenanigans and pranks by hacking stuff or pranking someone.

-Tim likes to get closer to her into liking him and goes against his morals by spoiling her like getting into things she’s into like books and give her scientific facts about skincare since she likes cosmetics so much. He’ll make something to try impress her, tell her about some interestings cases or missions, always ask her to dance with her at galas, brush her hair for her, glare at any guys who go near her, do the dirty part of the job on missions so she won’t have to, find a jewelry during his mission and give it to her, buy her new clothes....etc. And Damian would giggle and appreciate the fact he’s trying and would let him know that she does like him.

-And peace.......there is lovely peace and quiet for Dick and Bruce. No yelling. No fighting. No tension in the air. Just brotherly and sisterly love. Minusing their said-before pranks, of course. They do everything together (eating hotdogs during patrols, watching and talking about stars, how school is going, how they felt sad yesterday, play a musicbox that Damian bought at an antique shop because it looked very cute, waltz together to the music near a theatre play, teach each other tricks, favourite books, favourite quotes…etc.). But then Dick and Bruce both get a little annoyed at the fact at how close they are.

-Especially Stephanie. She loves Damian--she looks at her like her little sister, tries to act like her big sister and spoils her too--but damn, Tim is overdoing it. When they chat, when Tim is concerned, when Tim is sad, when Tim is happy--its always about Damian. And when Tim is buying something for ‘someone’ for valentines day, it’s not Stephanie, but Damian. And boy does she get annoyed, which is funny because that’s exactly how Barbara feels with Dick. But no one at the end can get mad at Damian.

-Damian thinks that Tim is very amusing and funny. She finds it cute how visibly confused, mad or happy he gets and how he often shows off. And can get a bit protective of him when Jason does anything spiteful to him, by scaring him off and stalking him, to make sure the red hood gets her message and never does it again.

-She lets Tim choose what clothes for her to wear, making him so confused because her clothes are all frilly, cute and all and he finds himself just choosing randomly or else he gives up at the end, making her laugh. And here’s the thing, she likes to confuse him and her brothers with clothing and girly stuff. And that’s the real problem; she makes him pick which colour of nail polish to choose for her, and the choice of colours are just random shades of one colour and he’s like ‘…uh....are you sure they’re different shades, Dami? they’re all same colour.’ and knowing that he’s very confused, she only innerly smirks and says ‘don’t be ridiculous, Timmy. see, this one here is watermelon pink, and this one here, is magenta…..’ and so on and Tim just sits there visibly struggling and Damian loves every second of his reactions and expressions.

-They’re very affectionate and comfortable touching each other. They hold hands and huddle at a couch. And their chats are like between ‘two intelligent but siblings’; they chat about an interesting topic they’ve lately found like about a mission, school stuff...etc. Tim likes to squish her cheeks because they are s o f t baby skin and likes to nuzzle and huddle against her because she’s warm and cuddly like a ‘teddy bear’ and Damian lowkey lets him because he seems to enjoy doing it. Tim does it to let out his steam.

-Damian likes to buy cosmetics online and test them on him and her other brothers–which, as usual, they cannot say no to her. They never can. And so Tim sits there in her room, on his laptop, leaning against her bed while she puts facial cream on him and he be like; ‘uh, are you nearly done yet?’ and then later anyone who sees him would notice he looks more refreshing and clean.

-Tim is always highly protective of her. Like Dick, if she were to go out alone to buy or get something, he would join her just to guard her from anyone. And he reaches his breaking point when he sees Jonathan blushing and looking at Damian, and passive agressivly threatens the poor kid. He does it to everyone else who make fun of her at school and goes as far as hacking them.

-When hearing Damian’s demise, Tim goes through a depressed state, as he lost another one of his dear close family and friend. He doesn’t want to look at anything around him because nearly all of them somehow reminds him of the memories them spent together. And when she comes back, he’s gladly back to normal and they reunite again.

-Bruce, Dick and Tim don’t like it when Damian hangs out with Jason, thinking that ‘he was going to make her misbehave encouragingly’ (even still despite her cheeky-side) and gets super annoyed when he sneaks her out of the mansion and goes for a ride on his motorcycle with her, and Tim (being more agitated than Dick is) goes to chase them down. At the end they get her back and he puts a surveilance camera outside of her room so he could see if Jason come or no, which is a fail because Jason hijacks it without letting him know.

-Due to Tim’s unhealthy addiction to feeding himself off coffee, Damian likes to cook and bake wih Alfred so she could make food for him to eat. She also learns to like sewing from Alfred, so she makes sweaters and shirts and other clothings for him.

-The whole batfamily argue over her

#Timothy Drake #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #red robin #robin #nightwing #red hood #batman #dc #my headcanons #batfamily #bat family

[damijon-supersons]

Damian and Jon going/being forced to go on a double date. Second couple can be whoever you want.

Yeah, so I didn’t know what to do with this much. I didn’t know any other DC couple I could use so I took a cue from my good friend @batboyblog and used Connor Kent (even tho he’s not in DC Rebirth). And while I didn’t intend for this ficlet to be longer than like 800 words, I kinda got into it too much, I guess. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Also, I don’t know if anyone noticed, but at times I like to insert references to lines from the actual comics :p

“I’ll have my steak well done,” Tim said.

“Pssshft,” Damian scoffed. “What civilized human orders ‘well done’? Go medium rare or go home.” He then turned to the frazzled waiter and said, “Start me off with a pumpkin salad.”

“Why do you care?” Tim muttered in annoyance. “You’re vegetarian!”

“I’d have thought that you’d at least have some dignity with your dinner, but I guess even that was beyond you,” Damian sneered.

“Wanna make something out of it, short stuff?” Tim growled.

The two Wayne heirs hurled more insults at each other from across the table. Jon and Conner just sighed and ordered a cheeseburger each, and shooed the waiter away before he became an unfortunate casualty of a wildly thrown dinner fork.

“’Go on a double date’, he said,” Connor mumbled to Jon with a barely accurate imitation of Dick Grayson’s voice. “’They’ll warm up to each other’, he said. The only way this gets warmer is if they blow up the table with a hidden batarang or whatever.”

“Damian has two in his jacket’s sleeve,” Jon admitted sheepishly. “Well, Dick was right about one thing—it’ll be an interesting night.”

“It would interest me more if we left this restaurant without anything exploding,” Conner mused. He nodded to Jon and the younger boy nodded in agreement. It was time to end the argument.

Damian had just lifted himself off his chair to reach over the table and presumably throttle Tim when Jon suddenly grabbed him from behind. Jon then blew a quick burst of super-cold wind at Damian’s nape.

Damian squeaked in a very un-Damian like way, and collapsed on his seat shivering. He looked livid, but his face softened quickly when he saw Jon glaring at him.

On Conner’s end, he put both his hands below the table and presumably on Tim’s sides. Jon couldn’t see what he did, but whatever it was shut Tim up and turned his face a light shade of pink.

“Guys,” Connor began after he was satisfied with Tim’s expression, “we’re on a date so we can hang out and relax—not so that Jon and I will babysit the two of you in case you try to bite each other’s ears off.”

Damian stuck his tongue out in disgust as if the notion of having any part of Tim in his mouth was unspeakably distasteful.

“Damian, why do you hate your brother so much?” Jon asked earnestly.

“I don’t hate Drake,” Damian explained as he eyed Tim suspiciously. “It’s just that he was born annoying.”

“Why you edgy little—!” Tim’s retort was cut off when Connor’s hand moved under the table again, and whatever he did made Tim’s voice crack.

“Hmm,” Connor hummed as he examined Damian and then Tim. “I think I might know a way to put you guys on the right track.”

***

Neon lights flashed bright from all sides. Futuristic sounds of zaps and bolts pierced the air.  Jon’s strapped vest was similarly glowing with bright lights that changed color every two seconds. The room was dim, but it had white walls all around with consoles and screens with a dozen brightly colored buttons right out of a space action movie.  Jon had never played laser tag  before, but as he held the big plastic gun in his hands, he understood the appeal—it was like he was living one of his favorite videogames.

As Connor had explained to Jon, he’d figured that laser tag would be a good way to force Tim and Damian to work together. He’d told the two Robins to team up while he and Jon took the other side. The losing side had to agree to wear the winner’s costumes for a week while on hero duty—and since Damian and Tim were rather attached to their specially designed gear, and not at all keen to wear Jon’s and Connor’s more casual clothes that were barely costumes, it was good motivation. Both teams were supposed to have five members, so each of their teams had three other random kids.

“We’ll just stoke their competitive streaks enough for them to realize that they’re good as a team. Hopefully that’ll get them to at least respect each other.” Connor said after he pulled Jon aside.

“But Connor,” Jon frowned. “If their years as Robin and Red Robin haven’t already done that, how’s this supposed to help?”

“You’d think that,” Connor began, “but truth is they’ve barely had any experience fighting together. Out of all the Robins, Tim’s spent the least time with Damian. And then there’s that bit of history between them when Damian became Robin the first time and Tim was just kinda, blown off.”

“Oh…I feel bad for Damian. I just wish he’d get along with Tim the way we do with each other,” he said glumly.

“They will, because they’ll have no choice,” Connor said with a mischievous smile. “Today, we’re going to be their villains.”

Connor laid out his plan. He and Jon were going to goad the Robins into working with each other and forcing their hand. Connor had agreed with them that he and Jon wouldn’t use any heat vision, super strength, seeing, hearing or frost breath. However, they didn’t catch on that Connor had left out a very specific super power.

“We’ll use our super speed to make it seem like there’s way more of us firing at them,” Connor explained excitedly. “We’ll pin down their position and rack up the points. They’ll know something’s up so they’ll start to use their training to get the better of us.”

“Isn’t that cheating, though?” Jon asked, his brow furrowed.

“All’s fair in love,” Conner shrugged. “And we’re trying to get our boyfriends to feel some brotherly love, so that’s like, a double license to do whatever it takes.”

An alarm blared shrilly somewhere above them. The huge white panel doors slid open and the game begun.

It started out well enough. Jon and Connor ignored their three other team mates and dashed with their speed to make it seem like they were firing five people’s worth of lasers each. Jon targeted indiscriminately, and saw both Damian and Tim make a face whenever they’d get hit. Five minutes in, Jon’s side had 98 points, while Damian’s side had twelve.

Jon had just begun imagining what Damian would look like in his Superman jacket when his vest stopped glowing—he’d just been tagged. He glanced at his other team mates on their side of the field—all of them had gotten tagged as well.

Conner looked confused. Suddenly the lights dimmed, making it harder to see. He could’ve sworn he heard the sound of Tim’s voice somewhere. Suddenly, two kids from Damian’s team rushed forward, shooting Jon’s vest and one of his teammate’s barely a second after it flickered to life again. Connor and his two other teammates aimed at the attackers, but they were tagged again, shutting down their guns. The shots came from above—it must have been Damian! In front of them, the attackers vanished behind the walls. Jon started to panic.

The game got a lot easier for Jon after that, mostly because he barely got to fire his laser gun anymore. He realized what had happened—Tim had somehow organized the three other kids on their team so that they were more coordinated, tactical and efficient. They’d dart in and out of cover and knew the precise moment their enemies’ vests would light up so that they’d shoot it down again, preventing a counterattack. If Jon’s team hid behind anything, Damian picked them off from behind their own line. He flanked them from above, constantly hidden in the shadows despite having his own glowing vest.

Damian and Tim won with a handy 120 to 115. Connor’s mouth hung open as the two batkids gave him equally haughty smirks. Jon was just glad that Damian seemed to have forgotten his animosity with Tim, the two of them casually standing beside each other and adding to each other’s sentences.

“You should have seen the look on your faces, Connor,” Tim grinned.

“Tricks are no match for true skill,” Damian smirked at Jon.

“I think it worked too well,” Connor grumbled.

And that was just fine with Jon, if it meant that Robin and Red Robin would fly together again.

***

“So, for your end of the deal,” Damian began, licking his lips with relish, “you’re going to wear a Robin uniform.”

“Sure, I’ve always wanted to try it on,” Jon chirped enthusiastically. Every time he’d gone down to the batcave with Damian, he’d wanted to know what is what like wearing Damian’s suit, with all of its fancy gadgets and whatnot. Jon stood in front of the case that held Damian’s Robin suit, imagining what he’d look like in them.

“Oh, no, no, definitely not my suit,” Damian shook his head. “It’s just the one. No, I’ll have to give you a spare.”

He led Jon down the row of outfits until they reached the very end. Jon’s face flushed. Right in front of him was the very first Robin uniform worn by Dick Grayson, with its legendary scaled green…briefs. Jon couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

“Damian I can’t wear that, I’d be almost naked!” Jon protested.

“You always wear a torn pair of jeans anyway, might as well skip to the logical conclusion,” Damian said airily. “You did promise to do this if you lost, correct?”

“You’re enjoying this!” Jon accused.

“I thought you liked it when I enjoy you,” Damian replied with a grin.

Jon’s cheeks turned red. “I hate you,” he muttered.

Damian simply chuckled.

“Glad to hear it."

#ask #prompt #fic #super sons #damijon #Damian Wayne #jonathan kent #robin #superboy #Tim Drake #connor kent

[how2to18]

TEN YEARS AGO, the collapse of Lehman Brothers triggered the global financial crisis of 2008. Democrats were eight years in power, and their failure to prosecute the corporate criminals behind the crisis surely ranks as their biggest legacy. That failure was the condition of possibility for the anti-elite narrative that inspired the white working class and the white upper class to support a genuinely fascist insurgency before and beyond November 2016. It was also the condition of possibility for Billions.

Across its three seasons on Showtime, Billions explores the aftermath of Lehman’s and Obama’s 2008 peaks, tracking the waning and waxing faculty of elite professionals to steer their careers and helm the most powerful country in the world. The show is built around an extended parallel between outer-borough upstart Bobby Axelrod (Damian Lewis), principal of the wildly fruitful hedge fund Axe Capital, and Manhattan WASP Chuck Rhoades (Paul Giamatti), US Attorney for the New York Southern District and hero of a counterfactual recent past in which 81 bankers and traders were successfully prosecuted for their outlaw engineering of toxic asset slides. Rhoades fancies himself a just warrior, fighting against “[these] Teflon corporations that defraud the American people on a grand scale.” As the series opens he levels his gaze at Axe, the Moby-Dick of parkour finance.

Root for the law, or root for the money? Fortunately, we don’t have to choose, since here both sides equal each other in their maniacal pursuits of professional acme — a steady double date with bent rules, a shared ruthless drive to win. Root for the winners! Both men are game theory geniuses, spooling out scenarios and hedging countermoves with the speed of gigahertz processors. Their sheer effectiveness propels the show’s narrative and renders the difference between good guys and bad guys a mere matter of preference.

The winners run their races in structural parallel, their lines intersected at right angles by mutual ballast: Wendy (Maggie Siff), a psychiatrist whose penetrating understanding of Bobby guides the growth of Axe Cap, and whose lashing crop rouses the vim of her husband, Chuck. The very first shot of the series frames Chuck bound and gagged on the floor, a vinyl stiletto boot pinning him down. (It’s not TV, it’s Showtime.) “You’re in need of correction, aren’t you?” she says, burning his chest with a cigarette and again with urine in the wound. Cut to the Manhattan skyline, that other site of bad boys who will be bad boys even after market corrections, and there we find Wendy’s second sphere: she is lucratively employed as the in-house performance coach at the hedge fund, a high-class fluffer whose flash-sessions amp the traders with dominatrix directives to “get out there and do what needs to be done.” All day long, Wendy dispatches debilitating anxieties and disruptive fetishes at lightning pace, checking in frequently with Axe to save him “from making a huge mistake for dick-measuring purposes.” She takes deep satisfaction in her beneficent effects. On “Comp Day,” when financial firms assign annual bonuses to their employees, she regularly merits $2 million — and that’s not counting spontaneous gifts from Axe like a black Maserati GranTurismo Sport. Her business model is clearly not Jacques Lacan’s.

Chuck’s rewards differ: he can’t help but be bad, even as he draws the compensation of righteousness, and his inner conflict mines much more fodder for repentance under the latex lash. “I work for the public good!” Chuck scolds Wendy in season one. “No, you work for the good of Chuck Rhoades,” she flatlines back. When he initiates an indictment against another giant hedge fish whose political ties will fall out advantageously, Chuck’s deputies repeat the exchange in a later season: “It’s the right thing to do,” Lonnie Watley (Malachi Weir) says. Kate Sacker (Condola Rashad) parries, “It’s what Chuck wants. It doesn’t make it right.” At the end of his righteous road, if Chuck Senior (Jeffrey DeMunn) pulls enough strings from behind the velvet curtains of his Fifth Avenue study, Chuck will be governor, a latter-day Spitzer chasing corporate offenses in between incriminating sexploits, clad in ever-more refined sharkskin grays of power.

Even as Axe, Chuck, and Wendy split repeatedly over the public good, legal technicalities, and codes of honor, they are three peas in a pod, winners united in their incomparable competence, their oft-declared outsized intelligence, their profound professionalism. The show’s creators are also consummate professionals (a team that includes Andrew Ross Sorkin of The New York Times financial pages): the script is exacting, the plot gasping, the performances riveting, the cameos towering, the wardrobe flawless. Not your average workplace drama, Billions is impressively synoptic in its horizontal integration of mental health, financial services, Silicon Valley industries, and law and order, with a little Yonkers-secret-recipe-pizza and private-duty-intravenous-hangover-cure-nurses spicing the mix. Some seek money, some seek glory, some seek power, but everyone wants to win. The show thus poses the question, at the time of writing in 2014, at the time of setting in 2012–2016, and at the time of airing in 2016–2018, of professional potency. What is it about this decade that makes being excellent at your elite job a matter of concern?

¤

The authors of the financial crisis were, on the whole, excellent at their jobs. Inventing asset classes to dissimulate toxicity, booking loans as revenues, hyping instruments to defer reckoning, evangelizing for the equations that discount merely mortal common sense, and evading regulatory oversight with NASCAR agility, the hedgies of the new millennium performed spectacularly. What Axe calls the “unimaginative, do-gooder authorities” — regulators and legislators, Federal Reserve governors and lifetime senators — stood equally spectacular in their unwavering commitment to the upward transfer of wealth.

Barack Obama, the executive officer with purview over all this excellence — Harvard Law stamped, a 10 million popular vote win span, and cooler than the crispest cucumber — tragically forswore the audacity of power, and instead measured his every move for the middle. Appointing Wall Street alums to the Justice Department, maintaining the GOP Treasury, and utterly staying the course with the boondoggle bailout Hank Paulson and George W. Bush had rushed in late 2008, Obama achieved bipartisan support for the plutocracy. He declined to bail out the people. He announced but never really executed a program to aid homeowners in tiny proportion to the support for banks. He committed to but never delivered a plan for jobs for struggling homeowners, and he oversaw, in the name of Too Big To Fail, outrageous mergers of investment banks with consumer banks destined to risk even bigger failures. Facing the black and white of racist obstruction and class war, he went gray. Professionalism of the middle is not professionalism of the top.

2008’s extreme wreckage couldn’t be answered from the center. Billions endorses excess, and not only through the tops of S&M dens. It meets tremendous deeds with zealous, polarizing professional prowess. All three principals are awesomely effective, getting out there and doing what needs to be done. In supreme-stakes “three-dimensional chess,” as they call it, Axe, Chuck, and Wendy appraise their options with hawkish precision, and much of the viewing pleasure rests in the exertions of keeping up with these darting analysts. If we can hang with these pros, tracking their razor rhetoric, technical argot, nimble abbrevs, and bountiful movie allusions, aren’t we smart too? (I watch the show with my JD/Econ PhD husband, and we need subtitles.)

The power of the spoken smart animates most episodes of Billions. Choice bon mots leaked to the press can trigger shorts and swaps, misdirections planted in the ears of suspected moles confirm corporate espionage, incendiary insults inspire ire, and single syllables can suborn murder. Threats are promises and speeches are deeds; to be effective is to wield the word as cause, spurring domino actions. Fierce oratory anchors the action, accomplished stage actors people the remarkable cast, and the show makes much ado of theater, its narrow focus on the orators predominating over fancy camerawork, set design, or action sequences. Drama is the paramount medium of the act, so Billions deploys its theatricality to foreground its study of agency.

Evoking black box theater in its constrained interiors — the dark kitchen of the Rhoades’s Brooklyn townhouse, the wood paneling of Upper East Side clubs, the utilitarian taupe of federal offices — the show’s aesthetic is a tight frame for the efficacious act. It makes virtually no use of exterior settings, establishing shots, panoramas, or montage, only occasionally inserts drone footage of the Manhattan skyline between scenes, and is almost exclusively low-lit, faces half in shadow. Even the gleaming white of the Axelrod Westport headquarters (a conspicuous post-9/11 relocation for many such firms) reflects the light of scrutiny, transparent office walls and centered communal trader table exposing and circumscribing power plays. Chess moves within close squares, the actions anyone takes best be good form, as they’ll ramify into a long tail.

Poor form haunts Axe even as he cuts a precision figure, since his solo firm originated in unsavory transactions around 2001, a second world-historical juxtaposition alongside 2008. The destruction of the World Trade Center created all kinds of opportunities for financial crimes and shady gains, from insufficient health care for widows and first-responders, to the war-profiteering that drove the stock market up after the fraudulent invasion of Iraq. Axe, we learn late in season one, owes no small segment of his empire to 9/11. A stroke of luck kept him out of the office that morning, and a stroke of evil genius netted him nearly a billion dollars by shorting airline and hotel stocks in the very hours during which his colleagues perished.

The line from 9/11 to 2008 to 2018 spun by Billions is the problematic of professional power, from W’s amateur incompetence to O’s centrist impotence to HRC’s unshakable taint. Does power rest with the mighty rulers of imperialism, or with the few who seek retribution? When the elites peddle business as usual amid crises of their own making, how do they get away with it? Can a woman maintain the same middling charade as her male predecessor? Billions merges these elite domains of the political, the legal, and the financial with the baser registers of the professional, the sexual, and the criminal. Absolute effectiveness requires relative tactics in different domains, but the strategy remains the same.

¤

Luxely compensated black-clad Wendy is the cold, beating heart of the show. Her impeccable professionalism carves out an admirable Obama middle way between justice and money. The creative choice to foreground a woman in a genre usually defined by its abundant big swinging dicks comprises the show’s sizable allure. Beautifully loyal to both Axe and Chuck, Wendy’s actions are not quite as determining as theirs, and indeed several of the plot trajectories involve elaborate maneuvers by both men to protect her from implication in their misdoings. But she is fiercely dignified in her right to a career unhampered by her husband’s, hungry at every moment for a harder puzzle. Her work acumen shines as a real point of identification.

The middle imagines itself as noble, going high when they go low, but it often requires a certain prostitution, and Wendy finally sells herself to protect both her men. Having quit Axe Cap and left her marriage at the end of season one, over the course of season two she eventually negotiates a deal to recenter herself and buffer her men from one another: she’ll return to the firm, and Bobby will drop the hundreds of malicious prosecution lawsuits he is funding against Chuck; she’ll return to the marriage, and Chuck will hunt other whales. A potent broker like the rest of them, she exudes Swiss neutrality even as the show centers her decisive seat of power.

Combining the financial and legal expertise of her two men with her own primary expertise in psychic motivation, Wendy’s control is dazzling to behold, her deeds superseding those of both men. It comes as a hard gut-punch when the third season’s decisive misdeed is her own: she violates her patient Mafee, a likable every-bro with just enough “Navy SEAL” to thrive at Axe Cap, trading on her insider knowledge of his infatuation with her to seduce him, persuading him to lie to federal investigators on her behalf. Axe, Chuck, and Wendy are all facing jail time for their vertiginous triple crossing at season two’s climax, in which Chuck raids the personal trust he had sequestered when taking public office to overinvest in his friend’s juice company, but really to bait Axe into sabotaging the company to score on a big short of the IPO. Wendy, learning of the sabotage, does not warn Chuck, but joins the short. Her hedge is financially savvy though legally and maritally unsound, a middle ground between competing value systems, but no longer innocent. It primes her to shrewdly cross lines in season three, colluding with Axe and Chuck to pin the sabotage wholly on a fourth party, and to mine the exculpating falsehood from Mafee’s affections. As her black vixen sheaths foretell, the gray is untenable. There’s no credible integrity in the middle.

Wendy’s highly calculated betrayal of Mafee, and her betrayal of us for rooting for her, gets repaid in a patient’s betrayal of her. Taylor Mason is introduced in the second season as Mafee’s intern analyst, bound for the U Chicago MBA. Axe demands to be introduced to the young temp who makes Mafee millions, and on walks Taylor: “My pronouns are they, their, them.” Played by Asia Kate Dillon and earning Billions the Outstanding Drama Series award from GLAAD, Taylor is often celebrated as the first major gender nonconfirming character on a television series, but their drive is all too binary. “It’s not just about numbers and decimal points,” Wendy warns them. “No, I’m pretty sure there is only money,” comes their icy retort.

Where others want the good or the might, Taylor’s want is the machine. A stony quant, their grad school plans dissipate in the sway of one of Bobby’s trademark virile speeches: “You retreat behind your aquarium walls. What you don’t realize, Taylor, is that glass — it’s not a barrier, it’s a lens. It’s an asset. It’s what makes you good. You see things differently. That’s an edge.” The ensuing comp bargaining, rapid-fire and cut-throat, is equally signature. If there is someone who can rival Bobby, it is Taylor — not Chuck, poor analog soul. Where Chuck tries and fails to use Wendy to beat Axe, Taylor wins, optimizing their private sessions with Wendy to ultimately manipulate Axe.

Heeding Wendy and trusting their judgment, Bobby gives Taylor the reins at Axe Capital after one of Chuck’s contortions at last ensnares him in enough legal trouble to warrant a trading suspension. After crushing the capital raise by garnering $6 billion in new investments from a single speech, Taylor abruptly launches a solo firm, breaking Bobby’s bank and Wendy’s heart. All along, we’ve watched Wendy’s dual loyalties reap uneven returns: Axe tells her almost everything, leaving little plausible deniability (thank god for Doctor-Patient privilege), but Chuck tells her lies, and profanes patient confidentiality to steal fuel for his cases against Axe. With Taylor, she finds a relationship more complicated and intriguing than those with the male traders — an arc of actualization for both, a hint of the psychiatrist’s vocation beyond fluffing. But she also finds out that her most genuinely gratifying work can be someone else’s chess move; Taylor uses Wendy’s empathy for their experience in the über-male workplace to spur Wendy to advise Axe to offer Taylor more money, more prominence, more “forward momentum.” In a gray garage, in the most stabbing exchange of all the show’s Shakespearean duels, Wendy spits, “What do you want?”:

Taylor: You.

Wendy: You think … I’ll actually come with you? Haven’t you done enough damage?

T: I’m building not destroying. That’s where you come in …

W: Nice ideas. You are no moral fucking compass. For a moment, I thought you might be because you needed me to think that. But you used me. … You preyed on me and my empathy for you, preyed on me to get what you wanted from Axe — being part of the raise — so fuck you.

T: Oh, you don’t seem to understand. I’m not just offering you a job for my sake. I’m offering you a fresh start for yours. A restart for your slew of fuckups. You let things devolve at Axe Capital. You didn’t see me being pushed out the door. You couldn’t stop Axe from succumbing to his own worst nature. Instead, you succumbed to it. And who knows what other fallout you’ve created or at least allowed elsewhere in your life.

By recognizing that Wendy’s professional power underwrites Axe Cap’s, and thus that Wendy is culpable for its sins, Taylor caresses Wendy’s raw desire in one hand, while bitch-slapping her with the other. Wendy pretends to be in the middle, but is really in charge; by contrast, Taylor intends transparent management, “top down but not imperious or impetuous,” and largely “tech-centric,” employing the team of algo writers Axe Cap only briefly entertained, working as purely as possible. “A place free of arrests, indictments, insinuations,” Mase Cap pledges a Shangri-La of robotic proficiency bulwarked against irrational exuberance and illicit info. Even through the original sin of its founding, it’s a vision that winds Wendy, thudding the sternum of her own illusory virtue. Like Axe before them, Taylor goes solo with filthy lucre, but points out that Wendy, too, is an axe. There is no middling in financial baseball.

Axe vows certain vengeance, while Wendy counsels “looking within, to see what you, what we, may have done to cause this. We rebuild our business as we rebuild ourselves.” As Wendy and Bobby align against Taylor, Wendy and Chuck also realign, finding new thrills in resistance to the noxious anti-black autocrat Jock Jeffcoat (Clancy Brown), the new Attorney General after national regime change. A gruesome fusion of Sessions and Trump, Jeffcoat’s racism is matched only by his corruption. (He even gets to shout, “You’re fired!”) Chuck spends the second half of season three working with his two black Assistant US Attorneys and a black New York State Attorney General to build an obstruction case against Jeffcoat, renewing his commitment to justice after a détente with Axe Cap, but applying all the brinksmanship lessons learned to goad Jock into exposure. Jock is a better target than Axe, for it is easier to believe in preserving the neutrality of political institutions than in revealing the open truth of the rigged market. Sacker assures: “He’s finally doing it right, the right thing […] He’s doing that Chuck thing, but for the right fucking reasons this time.”

The final sequence of season three distills all these tactical realignments. In companionable silence with Chuck, Wendy takes a call from Axe. “I saw Taylor,” she says. “Fuck them. No, I mean fuck them over. You have to. We do.” “Well, that’s different from look inward,” Axe reproves. “Yeah, well, you know what, I’m different.” A different Wendy invites Bobby into the Rhoades dining room, mutually funding a new rapprochement. The closing lines over flowing wine put the long play for season four: “So you know how you’re gonna go after Jock?” Bobby asks. “Some ideas floating around my head. And, uh, Taylor?” Chuck reciprocates. “Yeah, yeah, got a plan that’s starting to form.” Wendy, wronged by both Taylor’s treachery and Jock’s tyranny, husbands the partnership: “Tell him about it. There’s no one better at breaking down a strategy.” From above, the camera’s final shot captures the tops of three heads harmoniously leaning in, readying for “a real good time together” (The Velvet Underground trills us), for staking out different fights.

¤

From Wall Street to The Big Short, the financial malfeasance genre is often marked by its gray regard for greedy elites, and Billions doesn’t quite crack this ambivalent mold. It offers charismatic winners at many chosen professions, unencumbered by constructs like ethics or law, and we want to be on their teams. But the insistent connections it draws among its principals, their common core of intrinsic drive, provokes not so much the guilty pleasure of cheering guilty heroes, as the savory systematic reflection on the diversified ends of powerful means. Use your might for the middle, or go one better?

A hedge offsets risk by playing both sides, rapacious plunder in middle-ground clothing. Billions deftly explores these faux middles via elite power struggles, elite deeds, and the tactics of elite war. Strikingly, though, its insights catapult beyond elites, whose monopoly can’t be trusted, who shouldn’t be the winners all the time. Everyone needs tactics, everyone needs strategy. Even we the writers and readers of literary magazines amid the ruins of the university, we the taxi drivers and lawyers at LaGuardia, we the marchers for climate science and gun regulation and feminism, we the teachers on strike, we the candidates with “impossible” platforms, we the servers in restaurants, we the occupiers outside baby jails, we too with power. The middle cannot hold. Get out there and do what needs to be done.

¤

Anna Kornbluh teaches literature and literary theory at the University of Illinois, Chicago.

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Ramblings From An Alpaca Farm In South Wiltshire: July 2017

We then splashed out on a small marquee sort thing, solely 3m x 3m however emblazoned with the Patou internet handle and in ‘Patou green’, actually every little thing was green, it was our chosen color. As soon as we have been equipped with all that we entered as many exhibits as we could go to. I work full time and Sue works part time so we have been a bit restricted however we entered each eligible animal we had into the Bath and West Show and the SWAG Spring Show, later came the Futurity. Our present crew was basically anybody who was eligible; it was a short choice course of! Our first year’s cria, Lily and Henry each took rosettes as juniors, one in every present. We had been up and operating. Since then we have now taken at the very least one rosette at each present we have now been to, bar one, grrrrrrrr. Testomony to the dedication we now have of sticking to our breeding programme. We also took our alpacas to agricultural shows, village fetes, anywhere people wanted us to go mainly. It was and still is great enjoyable, everybody loves alpacas. It was effectively worth buying plans that have been clear and full with good illustrations. We discovered some hen ark plans that not solely have good instructions on find out how to make an ark, but in addition for two larger rooster coops as nicely. One other plus was an entire information to keeping chickens, which had been excellent for us as beginners. We feed them on vegetables scraps, a small quantity of rooster feed and grit, and naturally they forage on weeds, insects and grubs. The three ladies are thriving and have been laying an egg an day each. We do like to deal with them although. As soon as every week we make up a mixture of porridge oats with some milk plus a tin of cat food and some of our meat scraps - they love it and come to us to be fed. Chickens additionally like to take dust baths, and the dust helps forestall parasites on their feathers and skin.

However critics complain the plan focuses on long-term, bold architectural designs that prioritize the enlargement of inexperienced spaces, but which lack detailed plans for the present animals. Even so, a few of the stress for animals has been decreased by a cutback in allowed guests, who previously might number 10,000 a day. Only about 2,000 a day are now permitted and some animal habitats are off-limits. On a latest morning, Garoto and Porota, a couple of gray hippos swam to edge of their pond and opened their mouths extensive displaying their caramel teeth while Guille, their baby hippo lurked the darkish water. In a nearby enclosure, the giraffes Shaki, Buddy and their calf, Ciro, caught out their lengthy tongues to drink water from yellow plastic containers tethered to a roof. Sandra, the orangutan, was enthralled by patches of grass that had been recently put in in her enclosure. She turned known worldwide when an Argentine court issued a landmark ruling in 2014 that she was entitled to some of the legal rights loved by people. She's no longer on display for visitors. Juan Carlos Sassaroli, a veterinarian who formerly worked at the zoo.

Writer: Damian Ross It is a truth of life that might by no means be prevented whether you like it or not; that is, all of us get older with each day passing. We get slower, get better slower and turn out to be less resilient to things taking place in daily life. Writer: Imran ali Self-Defense has clearly develop into the necessity of each individual in at the moment's world that is stuffed with violence and crimes. Either you're young or old, man or lady and even you are a young baby it has develop into crucial for all of you to get correct self-protection training for your personal security and safety. Writer: William Gabriel Folks have totally different causes for training within the martial arts. Some take it for sport and competitors, some train to enhance confidence or self self-discipline, and others see it as a method in the direction of higher health and fitness. While all these causes are fashionable, the most common reason of all must for self defense. So, if you are contemplating raising chickens in your yard, you could read up on the many various species of chickens. Then, when you determine which breed you want, it will likely be time to consider housing for them. Simply you'll want to not overcrowd your chickens. Start small so you can keep it all manageable. Build a coop that is simple to keep clear and remember that if you reside in a snowy area, place it shut by for easy egg gathering within the winter. Take a look at the egg-cellent Chicken COOP PLANS at http://www.chickencoops.addgs.com These are nice. I would like to construct every little thing! Also, there's some great BONUSES, too! Follow along as Sparrow Darling adds to her flock of chickens. Remember, you do not need to be a farmer and wear overalls to lift chickens in your backyard. You may wear the overalls if you would like. They are kinda fun!

We bred Lady final weekend. We all the time have such a tough time deciding who to breed all our alpacas to and the more alpacas we get, the harder it will get to search out the perfect herdsire for each of them. After much dialogue, we determined to breed Lady to IVF Red Scorching Fiesta this yr. Lady is full Peruvian and we usually breed her to different full Peruvian boys, however this 12 months, we determined to strive something completely different since we now have loads of different full Peruvian alpacas on our farm proper now. Fiesta is an adorable little rose grey male.He has taken blue ribbons at each show he has attended and has taken shade champion at every present however one. He's the son of the elite gray sire A of O Silver-Celebration (deceased). Fiesta's dam is a AOBA Nationals blue ribbon winner. Fiesta has herdsires like Leon, Bueno, Don Julio, Quicksilver, Silvino, Shaquille, and Jericho in his background. He is really an elite grey alpaca. Lady has thrown gray prior to now so we can't wait to see what we get! Lady is our greatest foundation feminine and Fiesta is an superior grey alpaca, so I'm hoping they are going to be an awesome match and produce one thing wonderful for us next yr. This is Fiesta's first 12 months breeding. Some males catch on to the techniques of breeding a lot faster than others. Fiesta remains to be trying to get the cling of it. He did get the job achieved last weekend though on a drive-by breeding, so we are going to see if it takes. We're maintaining our fingers crossed. Lady has at all times gotten pregnant in one or two breedings. Listed below are some photos of Lady (full fleece and nonetheless pregnant just a few weeks in the past) and Fiesta.

So, you realize that you want to raise chickens however aren't quite sure how to go about it. Feeding: A round metal hanging feeder or a metal/picket trough would work effectively for feeding your hens. Chickens like to scratch around for feed, so whatever one you determine on, make certain they cannot scratch around and waste the feed. Watering: A shallow rubber or metallic open pan makes the best waterer. An open water pail additionally works simply pretty much as good. The main factor is to make sure they always have entry to water. No water means you could lose part of your flock that you've tried so arduous to lift. Lighting: Retailer-bought or homemade nesting packing containers ought to have one opening for five-6 birds. Roosts are non-compulsory, but if you use them be sure they're 2"x2"and are connected to the walls about 2 feet above the ground. Pecking: Hatcheries generally trim the beaks of the chicks earlier than they're shipped. Chicken's beaks occasionally grow again. Should you notice unrest in your flock, try tossing in some salad greens or freshly minimize grass clippings all through the day. This should distract them and keep them pecking one another or consuming their eggs. You may want to salt their water for a few days, including a tablespoonful of salt to every gallon of water. Provide a correct strategy to dispose of the chicken manure. Take steps to stop any odor drawback that will develop in your yard and surrounding areas. Just since you want to boost chickens doesn't mean your neighbors are having fun with the expertise with you. Correct housing and site in your flock should be considered as properly.

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DickDami (DickXfem!Damian)

-In my headcanons, Damian takes more of Talia’s personality so she isn’t openly self-centered, always angry, and doesn’t jump or snap on anyone randomly. She’s a intelligent, manneredly princess, level headed, cheeky and considerate but is incredibly sadistic, manipulative and mentally unstable. 

-Dick and Damian get along well and are close as they normally are. Dick thinks of her as his little sister and his daughter as Damian does looks up to him as a big brother/big figure.  

-Unlike Damian’s POV in relationship with Tim and Jason which is casual, she’s more formal with him like in respect. When he saw her for the first time Dick just looked at the cute innocent face she makes up in front of him and he decides he is destined to be her big brother and second dad.

-Dick gets headaches and flustered due to how she can manage to wrap anyone (poor Bruce, Tim and Jason and pretty much everyone else) around her finger by acting cute, to which she really actually is very adorable although it causes lots of trouble for people. Even when she’s sadistically smirking. But he can never say anything about it, because she’s the THE most cutest living thing he has ever laid his eyes on, and he'd cuddle and protect her with his whole life if he had to.

-But he sometimes gets tired and geniunely terrified of her little devilish-side as said before. She is almost like Jason, except 10 times worse. She sometimes gives off a widow-spider aura and not even one criminal is left at least with gash and cuts from her sword, and looking at her eery black shadow with glowing green eyes in the dark, he doesn’t have the guts to interfere her. Neither does Bruce. But then at the end she comes up to him, drenched in blood, asking him a cute face ‘so? how did I do? did I do good’ and Dick just forgets what happens and cooes, squishing her cheeks like ‘yeah you did! wanna go eat some ice cream for a victory snack?’

-Like Tim, he likes to get closer to her into liking him and goes against his morals by spoiling her like buying her cosmetics and new clothes, always ask her to dance with her at galas, brush her hair for her, teaching her new moves, glare at any guys who go near her, do the dirty part of the job on missions so she won’t have to, find a jewelry during his mission and give it to her, never say to no to her when she asks if she can join him on patrol....etc. And Damian would secretly laugh at how quick he falls for her, but still appreciate him.

-Even though he’s glad that she’s getting along with Jason and Tim, he would try to sneak Damian away from them and to take her out, only for Tim and Jason to bust his ass by tracking him down and they would battle over her of who would hang out with her. And then the rest of the batfamily battle over her.

-But then there are times where he’s overdoing it and constantly worries about Damian so much, Barbara gets very annoyed at his constant attention towards her, but also at the same time finds it very endearing. She ends up paying her attention on Damian too.

-Damian thinks that Dick is a very good person, who tries their best and is a good figure in the hero league, but is concerned about how he cares for others than himself and would always do her best to make him realize that. Other than that, whenever he is down, she’s always there to cheer him up with genuine words of her own.

-She lets Dick choose what clothes for her to wear, making him so confused because her clothes are all frilly, cute and all and he finds himself just choosing randomly or else he gives up at the end, making her laugh. And here’s the thing, she likes to confuse him and her brothers with clothing and girly stuff. And that’s the real problem; she makes him pick which colour of nail polish to choose for her, and the choice of colours are just random shades of one colour and he’s like ‘…okaaay, so, again, they’re different shades right? well, don’t get mad but I don’t think I see any difference.’ and knowing that he’s very confused, she only innerly smirks and says ‘don’t be ridiculous, Dick. see, this one here is watermelon pink, and this one here, is magenta…..’ and so on and Dick just sits there visibly struggling as he puts his hands on his forehead and Damian loves every second of his reactions and expressions.

-Because they’re comfortable with each other, they talk about everything. No hidden feelings. And Dick likes to squish her cheeks because they are s o f t baby skin and likes to nuzzle and huddle against her because she’s warm and cuddly like a ‘baby kitten’ and Damian lowkey lets him because he seems to enjoy doing it. Dick does it as soon as his eyes lies down on her, even when he’s scolding her and it makes everyone crack up.

-Damian likes to buy cosmetics online and test them on him and her other brothers–which, as usual, they cannot say no to her. They never can. And so Dick sits there in her room, patiently, sitting against her bed while she puts facial cream on him and he be like; ‘so, what’s this thing you’re putting on me again?’ and then later actually enjoys the effect of it, feeling the softness and refreshing touch of his face every hour and would just feel great when someone questions about. He ends up being the only one who really enjoys all her experiments.

-Dick is always highly protective of her. Like Tim, if she were to go out alone to buy or get something, he would join her just to guard her from anyone. And he reaches his breaking point when he sees Jonathan blushing and looking at Damian, and would just be spiteful and intimidating towards the poor kid, to make it clear he doesn’t want him anywhere near her. And Damian just sighs and shoos him away despite his whining.

-When Damian is dead, Dick goes through a depressed state and tries his best to get over it but he just can’t. He wants to go and give Talia a life lesson, but he can’t. He has lost friends before, nothing like this had ever made him feel so empty and sad. And boy was he glad and happy to see her again, happy to know that he'd be still able to brush her hair, squish her cheeks....everything.

-Bruce, Dick and Tim don’t like it when Damian hangs out with Jason, thinking that ‘he was going to encourage bad behaviour’ (even despite her sadistic side) and gets super annoyed when he sneaks her out of the mansion and goes for a ride on his motorcycle with her, and even though he isn’t as agitated as Tim is, he still goes to chase them down. At the end they get her back and leaves Tim to put a surveilance camera outside of her room so they could see if Jason come or no, which is a fail because Jason hijacks it without letting the two know.

-Due to Dick’s unhealthy addiction to feeding himself off cereal, Damian cooks and bakes with Alfred so she could make food for him to eat. She also sews often so she makes sweaters and shirts and other clothings for him. He never even minded the time she purposely made ugly christmas sweaters for everyone just for laughs and wore his with pride that his dear little sister made it for him. He stills keeps it even until to this day.

-if Dick and Damian were to be a couple, it would be very cute although it takes AGES for Damien to accept Dick's confession--a happy man being a puppy over his two faced queen. Lots of training, doing acrobats for fun, cooking food together, Dick dreamily watching Damian sew and hum on the couch....etc. it would consist of them just relaxing and being happy, they hardly ever fight.

#dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #batman #bruce wayne #red robin #robin #red hood #nightwing #my headcanons #dc #batfamily #bat family