The batkids and their fatal flaws:
Barbara: still thinks she is the sanest of the bunch
Dick: doesn't know how to say "no" without resorting to physical violence
Cass: hypocrite. Will tease you but then get super offended when you tease her.
Jason: zombie. Daddy issues like you've never seen. Nerd.
Steph: blonde but otherwise fine
Tim: skater boy
Duke: really good puppy dog eyes and really destructive intentions.
Damian: does not understand memes but is friends with people for whom memes are a primary language
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a re-read of Friends Like These got me emotional and decided to throw my (somewhat benevolent) rottmnt oc, Charlie, at Timothy for human friend/machine shop TA support.
Timothy is @pinetreevillain ‘s son and was only abducted momentarily for another doodle with heavy duty machinery.
PS: dealing with CNC ghosts is a mechanical engineering right of passage (and so is having a kooky TA that claims to hear the voices in their head). Might do more of Charlie later?
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🤍🌷 happy 1st birthday to what’s probably the fluffiest silliest most feel-good thing i’ve ever written in this fandom
nice to meet you, where you been?
aka. 12k of meeting again later in life schmoop featuring soft-ass steve, smitten trans!eddie, and hellcheer bestieism that is to die for
“Steve Harrington?”
Eddie would cringe at his loud voice or the sheer and absolute bewilderment that can probably be heard three blocks down, but he’s too busy rewiring his brain.
“Uh, hi,” Harrington says, pulling black nitrile gloves from his long fingers and dropping them into the bin before fixing Eddie with a mildly amused but definitely confused look. “Can I help you?”
No. No he can’t. Eddie cannot be helped, because apparently Harrington isn’t even here just to get tattooed, but instead— No. Nah man. That can’t be.
“What are you doing here?” Eddie says intelligently after a whole lot of staring, dumbfounded.
Steve looks around for a second, doing all those face gymnastics he always used to do in high school when he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“This—This is my shop?”
It should be insulting, the way he enunciates every word like Eddie needs the whole world explained to him in very slow, very easy words. Which, actually, he might, because apparently the world is a really fucking weird place in which Steve Harrington wears pastel sweaters and owns a tattoo shop.
Eddie is pretty sure he hit his head. Or stepped into an alternate dimension. Or both. Considering his luck on, like, an existential scale, it’s probably both.
“No way, man,” is all Eddie says, and this time Harrington is really leaning into the amusement, though judging by his face, he must also be wondering if Eddie requires medical attention. The jury’s still out on that one, though.
Harrington looks around his shop again, squinting at Eddie with that fucking smile still in place. “This… is not my shop?” Oh, he is sassy. Mister pastel-wearing sassy man Harrington, who is smiling at Eddie in a way that is entirely too contagious.
None of this makes sense and Eddie just sags, tearing his eyes away from the vision of Harrington in his bright clothes, the golden afternoon sun catching in his hair as a light breeze comes in through the window.
Eddie crosses his arms in front of his chest, because if he doesn’t, he would probably do something stupid like play with his hair or hide behind it. And Steve shouldn’t have that power over him anymore. They aren’t stupid teenagers anymore, and he does not have a crush on the golden boy!
“I might sound like a complete dick right now, but finding out that Steve ‘The King, The Hair, The Legend’ Harrington apparently inks people for a living was not on my bingo sheet for this week. Hell, even for this lifetime, I think.”
read the rest on ao3
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