#Nightwing: *falls from sky*

[azulhood]

Jazz is wandering Gotham with Danny after their parents visited the city for a convention but left them behind in the excitement of one of their ghost traps going off on the other side of the country.

The hotel they were staying at kicked them out not caring if they had a place to stay or not, only caring that the source of money had left.

Jazz couldn't show how scared she actually was, not when Danny was looking at her with complete faith that she could somehow fix this.

How he managed to keep that faith after a day of jumping at shadows like they held enemies and vending machine food for lunch was a mystery.

She's tired, she's stressed, and she needs an adult.

Like an actual adult and not her much loved but very scatterbrained parents, Vlad did not count either.

Nightwing: *falls from great heights into nearby dumpster* ...ow.

Jazz: ...You'll do.

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

[confused-wanderer]

The villains are utterly confused.

They remember the first robin. They remember how bloodthirsty the little gremlin was, how he appeared out of the darkness with a “HIYA FOLKS” that gave people near heart attacks with PTSD so bad they flinched everytime they walked into a dark corner. They remember his grin, baring few too many teeth with a glint in his eyes whenever the bat wasn’t around to curb him. They remember the death stare, the brooding that made no one doubt this was the Bat’s son. They remember how a punch would land a lot harder than it was supposed to, or the screaming that followed. Oh they remembered him alright.

The second one thank the stars was better. The second robin was giggly. He would hop around town, offering his help to everyone who needed it. Sure he was rough with abusers but hell no one cared about them. Matter of fact, the villains were glad because those assholes deserved no sympathy. They remember his puns, his wonder, his innocence and his spark. They remembered his laughter, his concern - the kind that only comes from one who’s been on the streets. This one was better, and the villains thanked their lucky stars. They remembered him alright.

But now, as the years passed and new characters emerged, the crime city saw the rise of two characters - a sunshine happy nightwing and a ready to kill red hood. And naturally, from their experiences in the past, the villains ended up making an honest mistake that ruined the two vigilantes’ reputation:

The villains assumed the first robin was Red Hood and the other was Nightwing. And BY GOD Gotham has not seen unhinged chaos like this.

SCENE 1

Red Hood *drawing his pistol* : Please, reach for your weapon. I’m itching for an excuse for my intrusive thoughts to become extrusive.

Two-Face: You dare mock me little bird?! Well.. I may not have my weapon.. but I have something I know you’d like..

Red Hood: Oh yeah?What’s that?

Two-Face: TAKE THIS! *slams button and coconuts start falling from the sky, all cracking and spilling as they hit the ground*

Red Hood:

Two-Face:

Red Hood: .. the fuck was that supposed to do?

Two-Face: .. HOW ARE YOU STILL STANDING?! YOU HATE COCONUTS ROBIN!!

Red Hood: The fuck- .. wait did you call me robin?

Two-Face *grins* : Yea.. robin. The first one. Thought I didn’t notice?

Red Hood: The first one? Does this *gestures vaguely to himself and his weapons* seem like something the first robin would do?

Two-Face:

Goon 1: I mean.. yeah

Red Hood: What! The first robin was nice!

Goon 2 *guffawing*: I beg your fucking pardon??

Two-Face: .. you took my coin and attached a magnet beneath it so everytime I flipped it it wouldn’t stop spinning. Do you know how long that took me to figure out?? Do you know how insane it drove me?? Joker had to help me out of pity. OUT. OF. PITY.

Red Hood:

Goon 1: ..Also you did steal some of our bones

Red Hood: hedidfuckingwhatnow-

SCENE 2

Nightwing: Hey there buddy! You look frostyl!

Dr. Freeze: Aha! You are too late to stop me robin!

Nightwing: .. robin?

Dr. Freeze: why yes! Don’t act coy, I know it’s you there. Now that we’ve got that clear.. I was wondering if you remembered all those years ago when you gave me a source for electricity to power a hospital keeping my Nora?

Nightwing:

Dr. Freeze: well you weren’t careful enough and never told me how much I could take from it.. so I used it to power so many of my inventions that came after

Nightwing *remembering when Jason was robin and every damn time he came to visit Wayne Manor his room would always run out power and the countless cold showers in freezing winters he had to take because of it*: .. oh? Well, sorry to break your bubble, but that wasn’t me Elsa.

Dr. Freeze: no? You joke around, make puns and I’m supposed to believe it’s NOT you?. The first one brooded like there was no tomorrow. He pissed me off so bad once I overheard him saying his favourite ice cream flavour and I made sure it wouldn’t be available in Gotham for YEARS. You’re not as bad as the first one. I’d remember if you were him.

Nightwing:

Nightwing *firing up his escrima sticks to maximum voltage*: Oh let me jog your memory then :)

[invincibledc]

“Lucky bastard”

(YJ version) Robin/Nightwing X Super!Reader

→Genre: Fluff

“Woah! I didn’t know you can cook a 5 star meal!” Wally said as he blitz over to check out the steak you made with asparagus. You only shrugged as you sit the place down, Wally immediately gobbled it up. Ending with him with a bloated belly filled with a good hot meal.

Robin walks in the kitchen to see you cleaning where you cooked as Wally looked at his best friend. “Dude! Sups over here can cook a mean dish. You gotta try their steak” he says. Robin smiled, “Aw man..wish I had my own plate when I came earlier..”

You rolled your eyes as you opened the microwave to pull out an extra plate of what Wally had. “I heard your stomach growling birdy. Eat up.” You put the plate gently on the counter as robin got a knife and fork to eat it. As he took the first bite, he went into flavor town as he couldn’t believe you made this. “Woah..”

“I know right dude! It’s amazing..you don’t mind if I take a small piece rig—” “NO BACK OFF WALLY!” Robin immediately covered his plate with his body. Eyes furrowed down, Wally backed away shock. “Woah man..didn’t know you were that hungry.” And with that, Wally sped off. Leaving you and Robin alone, you laughed at the speedster speeding away as Robin went ham mode on the steak.

Having steak juice running from his mouth made you cringe. You grabbed a paper towel as you inched towards him, wiping the juices off his mouth and side of his lips. You felt Robin tense with hearing his heart rate go up. The boy wonder slowly turns his head at you, you tried to ignore the teen’s stare as you wiped the last mess on his lips. Throwing away the paper towel, Robin caught your attention when he grabbed your wrist gently.

“Whoever marries you in the future is one lucky bastard.” He says with a smile, he then goes back to eating the steak and asparagus. You only laughed, walking out the kitchen as the boy wonder feed himself to what he feel inlove with.

Years later….

Dick was in his casual clothes as he looked outside the window, showing the beautiful night sky. He smiled, looking down at his left hand. That beautiful ring that shows off who he belongs to, that moment was ruined when his stomach growled. Dick groaned, sitting down in his bed as he wondered when dinner will be done.

But the gods have answered when your voice ran through the apartment

“DICK!! Dinner is done, I can hear that monster of your stomach calling for food!” You yelled, ending it with that beautiful laugh of yours. Dick’s eyes widened, getting up from the bed and running down the hall to the kitchen. There you were with an apron as Hailey barked seeing her human dad. “Ah it’s my favorite…the one that made me fall in love with you.” He pointed to the plate you held out to him.

“Steak and asparagus.” You both said, laughing before dick kissed you sweetly on your lips. You had to move the plate from you as dick then started to hungrily kiss you, having one hand on your lower back. Pushing your body towards him more. You had to break the kiss as dick laid his head on your shoulder.

“Cmon let’s eat, dick..” you said smiling, dick hummed. Smiling with a nod of his own he took his plate while you took yours.

He sure is a lucky bastard for life.

[postmortemnivis]

“s’getting long again, mh?” you murmured, running your fingers through his dark hair.

dick hummed, too sleepy to come up with an answer or one of his playful remarks.

lazy mornings with dick were your favourite part of the day, the way he’d cling to you and softly call your name in your hair.

“long night?” you asked softly, your fingers tangling and gently tugging at his locks.

“yeah…” he grumbled, rubbing his cheek on your chest, nose nuzzling in the crook of your neck as his arm tightened his grip on your waist.

dick was like that, he never talked about his nighttime patrolling, but he always came back bruised and scratched, back into your welcoming arms.

you treated him like the prodigal son coming back home, you disinfected his cuts while he scolded you about staying up late, and you’d shrug him off saying you liked waiting him up, that you didn’t like going to sleep alone in an empty bed.

he always apologised, telling you one day he’d be there with you every night to kiss you to sleep, and you nodded, both of you knowing it was a lie, and you’d fall asleep together in the first hours of the morning, while the sun was starting to rise from the thick clouds that always covered the gloomy blüdhaven sky.

most of the times you’d fall asleep on the couch while waiting, the old leather smelled like him and when he scooped you up in his arms you’d mumble something about it being comforting. dick’d kiss your forehead with a chuckle and lay you down on the bed, where you’d immediately roll onto his side of the bed to breath into his pillow.

other nights you’d fall asleep on the bed with a book in your hands, sometimes an empty mug that still smelled of chamomile, and he’d gently nudge you to lay you down on the mattress when he’d get back.

the morning light was pale, soft—lazy, like the rest of the world had agreed to sleep in with you, the curtains half drawn.

you woke up to the sound of soft, scarce raindrops tapping rhythmically against the bedroom window, like the world was still dreaming.

dick smelled of the laundry detergent you used mixed with that smoky, rusty scent he always carried home from patrol.

you could tell he was awake, but barely. eyes half-lidded, black hair sticking up in every direction, a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

you shifted slightly, stretching out your heavy limbs, and he groaned, burying his face deeper into your shoulder.

“no,” he said, voice gravelly and raspy with sleep. his strong arm tightened his hold on you. “you’re not allowed to move, bed rules.”

you smiled, hand reaching up to tangle in his messy hair again. “pretty sure that’s not a real rule.”

“it is. just made it, effective immediately.”

“that how it works? nightwing has that power?”

“mhm,” dick mumbled, his voice muffled by your skin. “i save the city, i deserve one lazy day.”

you huffed a soft laugh, turning your head to meet his sleepy gaze. he looked wrecked, hair a mess, eyes barely open, a faint scratch across his tan skin, but somehow it just made him more beautiful, real. yours.

you could see a fresh bruise blooming along his ribs, his lips brushing the curve of your neck with every breath.

“you were out late.” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the scratch on his cheekbone. “didn’t even hear you coming in.”

“didn’t wanna wake you.”

“you never do, you just crawl into bed like a ninja of the night and steal all the blankets.”

“that’s slander,” he whispered, eyes falling closed again. “i bring warmth. and charm. i’m a joy to be around, really.”

you let the silence stretch out, fingers tracing lazy shapes on his shoulder blades. outside, a car honked in the distance, a bird chirped outside your apartment. somewhere, life was starting with spring’s slow awakening—but in here, time felt slower, softer.

“you staying?” you asked, voice soft, pressing your lips to his head to place a soft kiss there.

dick nodded against your skin. “yeah, m’not going anywhere.”

and you believed him.

because here, in the quiet aftermath of his chaos, in the warmth of tangled sheets and sleepy kisses, this was the version of him no one else got to see, this was your version of dick grayson, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[ur-so-mine]

🕷️❝𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚❞

Damian Wayne x Reader

genre: dramatic angst + romance + fluff | word count: ~1.6k

---

📌 Summary:

Damian Wayne would risk everything to keep you safe — even if no one knew about you.

But when a mission goes wrong and you’re caught in the blast zone, he doesn’t hesitate.

He runs straight into danger.

Now the Batfamily and Teen Titans all know his biggest secret: He’s in love.

Nobody knew about you.

Not Dick. Not Alfred. Not even Jon.

Damian had been very careful.

You were his softness. His stillness. His secret.

Until the rooftop exploded.

---

The mission was supposed to be simple.

In. Extract intel. Out. Minimal resistance. Teen Titans had it covered.

But of course, it wasn’t that easy.

There were traps.

There was a building rigged with explosives.

And there was you — taken hostage, hands tied behind your back, kneeling in the center of it all like bait.

Damian’s eyes went wide beneath the mask the moment he saw you.

“Abort,” he barked. “Now.”

“Whoa, whoa—what’s going on?” Beast Boy asked. “Why are you panicking?”

But Damian was already gone.

He didn’t even try to explain.

---

From across the city, Barbara’s voice crackled in.

“Robin, slow down. There’s a heat spike in the building. We’ve got—wait—why are you headed into the blast zone?”

“Because someone’s in there.”

“Tamaranean hostages are already evacuated—”

“Not them.”

There was a pause. Static.

Then: “...Who?”

Damian didn’t answer.

---

He burst through the burning window like a blade.

You looked up. “Damian?!”

His breath hitched.

You were alive.

Soot on your cheeks, lip bleeding, scared but still glaring like hell wouldn’t break you.

Of course.

Only you could be held hostage and still look that defiant.

He dropped beside you instantly, cutting your bonds with a snap of his wrist blade.

“We have to go,” he muttered, yanking you up.

“But the—”

“Now.”

---

Outside, Red Robin was sprinting across rooftops, trying to reach the site.

Nightwing and Starfire were two blocks away.

Beast Boy circled as a hawk.

And Raven—Raven saw it.

Her voice whispered through the comms:

“There’s a girl with him.”

“What? Who?” Dick asked.

“She called him Damian.”

The line went silent.

---

Inside the collapsing building, you stumbled as flames licked at the walls.

A support beam cracked above you with a deafening shriek.

It fell fast.

Too fast.

But Damian was faster.

He shoved you out of the way and—

CRASH.

You screamed.

The world blurred. Smoke. Heat. His cape. Blood.

Damian was under the beam, face pale, leg trapped. Gritting his teeth so hard he nearly cracked them.

You crawled to him, eyes wide with horror. “No. No no no—”

He grabbed your hand.

Tight.

Too tight.

“Go,” he hissed. “Now. Run.”

“Damian—”

“GO.”

---

But you didn’t.

You never left him.

Even when the rest of the roof started to fall.

Even when alarms wailed and fire lit the sky.

You stayed, fingers digging into his glove, trembling.

“Someone’s coming,” you whispered. “They’ll get us out. Just stay awake, okay? Please.”

He blinked slowly.

“Tell them… I don’t regret it.”

“What—what does that mean?”

“Choosing you.”

Your breath caught.

And then—

A crash.

Wind. Light. Someone yelling.

“Damian!”

Nightwing.

And Starfire. Then Tim. Then Beast Boy and Raven.

They tore the beam off together.

Lifted him out.

He passed out in your arms, blood on his mouth, fingers still tangled in yours.

---

You rode in the Batjet in complete silence, sitting beside him as he lay on the stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face.

Everyone stared.

Nobody spoke.

Tim was the first to crack.

“Okay. I have exactly ten questions—”

“Not now,” Dick snapped.

But his eyes kept flicking between you and Damian. Between your shaking hands. Between the way you looked at him like he hung the stars.

---

At the Manor…

Alfred patched him up.

Bruce said nothing at first. Just stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with unreadable eyes.

You refused to leave Damian’s side.

Everyone noticed.

Barbara leaned close to Dick. “So… girlfriend?”

“Definitely.”

“No way,” Steph whispered from the doorway. “Did Demon Boy just risk his life for a girl? I thought he hated people.”

“He does,” Tim said. “Except apparently not her.”

You glanced over.

Damian’s fingers were twitching.

You caught his hand. Held it tight.

When his eyes fluttered open—bleary, half-drugged—he said your name before anything else.

Your name.

Like a prayer.

And the Batcave fell silent.

---

Bruce finally cleared his throat.

“She stays.”

Everyone blinked.

“What?” Damian croaked.

Bruce met his son’s stunned eyes. “She’s clearly important to you. She stays. No more secrets.”

Steph squealed.

Dick fist-pumped.

Tim looked like he wanted to scream.

Jason, from the comms, just said: “I KNEW HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND. YOU OWE ME TWENTY, DRAKE.”

---

Later, after the chaos died down, you sat beside Damian in his room—quietly, like always.

His hand found yours under the sheets.

You glanced at him.

“...You scared me.”

“I told you to leave.”

“You told me,” you repeated, dryly. “Like I listen to you.”

He gave the tiniest smirk. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re reckless.”

“I’d do it again.”

You swallowed.

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care.”

You exhaled shakily. “I love you.”

His eyes softened.

“I know,” he whispered. “I love you too.”

---

Outside the door, Steph was recording.

Dick was smiling.

And Alfred?

He just sipped his tea and said, “Young love. Finally.”

[dead-end-draws]

WOF tribe Merchant/Trading booth concepts:

Hey folks! This one was the recent winner of this WOF poll, so here’s my concept art that headcannons trading in Pyrrhia.

Read below cut for close-ups of the individual booths + the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywings: The Sky Kingdom’s mountain ranges provide plenty of pasture for raising sheep. As such, Skywing shepherds benefit from traveling to sell their wool, dyes, fabric, and woven tapestries. Many of these merchant tables also include herbs grown exclusively in the mountains, or ibex drinking horns that can be strapped on a dragon’s shoulder & carried in flight.

Along with goods, Skywing merchants may offer sewing services to fix tears, burn marks, or other fabric damage. They are sought out for their quality clothing, and most fabric across Pyrria originated from a Skywing’s talons.

Mudwings: Mudwings’ abundant food & cooking skills are envied almost anywhere in Pyrrhia. Their swamps have fertile soil, responsible for hosting diverse crops which can be purchased as produce at merchant stalls. For those lucky enough to find a traveling Mudwing merchant, the promise of a delicious dish can be whipped up and served at the stall in no time. Along with produce goods, Mudwings sell weaved baskets, spices, and cooking ware.

Sandwings: Sandwing booths offer luxuries of the desert: It’s most common to find accessories such as gold carved jewelry or musical instruments such as drums, lyres, & mandolins for sale. Though, even more sought out across Pyrrhia is Sandwing tattoos/piercings, which are done within the merchant areas. Ink etchings on papyrus paper are stationed outside their tents to showcase designs. All which can be selected, and poked into the skin with a tapping stick and plant dye ink by a trained talon.

Seawings: SeaWings sell a variety of ocean related goods; taking a share in the fish market with Icewings. Outside of food, there are den decorations like driftwood carvings, accessories such as seashell & pearl jewelry, and rope nets weaved by expert Seawing sailors. Some Seawings even sell fishing equipment, canoes, or offer sailor knot tying instructions to curious dragon buyers.

Nightwings: During the war, it was near impossible to find a Nightwing merchant. Most refused to participate in merchant territory, mostly as a way to keep up with their tribe’s mysterious nature.

Though in the more shady, unground parts of the market you can buy from a huge selection of obsidian weaponry, the sharpest in Pyrrhia. No one knew initially how Nightwings smithed so many weapons, or why, until their secret volcano kingdom and the intention to invade the rainforest was discovered. Then forging armor & weapons became clear. Along with a vast armory, for the right price, some Nightwing merchants offer Prophecies & Nightwing Literature (not always guaranteed to always be reliable) and assassin services as well (very reliable).

Rainwings: Though Rainwings haven’t been part of Pyrrhia trading for years, they have a vast hold on dragon medicine. An apothecary of herbs, salves, and remedies are all offered for various ailments due to the rainforest’s abundant resources. Along with medicinal goods, many Rainwings are fruit vendors, promising to any hesitant meat-eating dragons that such an array of flavors isn’t to be missed. Though, their fruit selling pitches often fall flat to most other predominantly meat-eating tribes.

Icewings: Icewings have everything a dragon could need to brace the cold, with a selection of goods only found in the most frigid regions of Pyrrhia. Furs, bone jewelry, and fresh fish (thanks to frost breath) are served on ice. Though Icewings themselves don’t require fur to withstand the cold, it’s considered fashionable and common in upper ranks to wear fur as a status symbol. Since metal is hard to smith without fire & in cold temperatures, fur and bone are more accessible to Icewings for clothing statements.

[aaronsrpgs]

The Tight 90

(This is a continuation or a fractal reviewing of what I've written about in The Worksheet Manifesto and The Quickstart, The Home Game.)

THE TIGHT 90 is a 90-minute RPG session. It riffs on the perfect length/density of a movie, and I think it's a term I learned/stole from will jobst.

WHY RUN SHORT GAMES?

Short games are easier to fit in a schedule. (We're all so fucking busy.)

Short games are easier to pay attention to. (We're all so fucking mentally ill.)

Short games focus on the good stuff and discard the bad stuff. (We're all so fucking tired.)

HOW RUN SHORT GAMES?

Tell everyone, "We're only going to play for 90 minutes. Because of that, I'm going to focus on the things that are most interesting and exciting for everyone at table, and I'm going to skip over everything else. I would appreciate it if you would do the same. If there's something you're really excited to do, tell the table! And if things are dragging, offer an alternative that moves the game along."

But then we actually have to do that. :( How?

SET SCENES AND STAKES

Don't start in a place where nothing is happening and ask your players "What do you?" Give them something to latch onto! Give them an immediate problem! Here are the first four pages of an issue of Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum, et al:

In four pages we get a fatal problem, introductions, flashbacks on how they got here, and spotlights on everyone's powers. Awesome!

And while you don't have to have your players' characters falling out of the sky, at least start them at the dungeon entrance with a couple clear things to DO.

(For more on setting scenes and stakes, check out Primetime Adventures by Matt Wilson, which Sam Dunnewold was kind enough to run for me.)

Of course, if they're falling out of the sky or standing at a foreboding dungeon entrance, some player is bound to ask, "What do I have with me?" To which I say:

CUT THE BORING SHIT

Shopping? Don't do it! If someone would logically have something, they can have it. And if they try to exploit that, they're no fun to play with! Tell them no. (More on that later.)

Conversations on meandering horseback? Don't do it! Comic writer Chuck Dixon said that if Batman and Robin needed to have a heart-to-heart, they should never just stand around talking. They should have a heart-to-heart while training on top of a speeding train.

(The example was actually Nightwing and Robin, but I didn't want people to click away and look up who Nightwing was. Also, Dixon is a shitty guy! But at least in this, he was right.)

Basically, almost anything you can get out of a shopping scene or a campfire chat, you can get from everyone falling out of the sky or trying to escape a wildfire. ALL SCENES SHOULD PULL DOUBLE DUTY AS PLOT AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

BE GENEROUS WITH INFORMATION

Imagine a scene at a gaming table. The characters walk into a house in an empty town and ask what they see. The GM tells them to roll perception. The highest result is middling at best. The GM says, "You think you can see some blood." Someone else asks if they can roll investigation. They get a middle high result. The GM says, "There are some bullet casings on the floor and claw marks on the walls." Are the claw marks big? Roll perception again. Do they look like any local animals? Roll nature.

THIS SHIT SUCKS. It's a way to take 30 minutes to poorly tell the players that something interesting happened, and it doesn't give them anything to do after.

Instead, try this: the walls are splattered with blood and empty shell casings lie cold on the floor. The blood doesn't line up with what you know about bullet wounds, though; it lines up with the huge claw marks that tear the walls and floor. And blood drops continue in a line outside...

AND THEN if a player has a cool ability or is an investigator or druid or whatever, you get to write them a cool note that says, "These claw marks are bigger than any animal from around here. Maybe bigger than any animal you've ever seen."

Other examples:

The prince says he doesn't feel threatened by the king. He's clearly lying.

Moving stealthily, you make it to the general's bedroom, but it's clear that he has some sort of sensors or security system set up there.

As a wizard, you know they're casting some sort of summoning spell, and if at least half of the cultists aren't hurt or incapacitated in five minutes, the spell will succeed.

GIVE THE SESSION AN ENDING

It could be an exciting cliffhanger if you think everyone will be there next session to pick it up. But if you're not sure, end with a calm moment where the players have a clear next step. That way you can start next session with, "Last time you'd promised the Cult of Mirrors that you would lead them in war against the Skeleton Army. They're ready to go and ask you what your plan is."

FURTHER HOMEWORK

"How To End Things" by Jason Morningstar. On cutting scenes. Don't be fooled by the Patron link; it's free.

"Grand Experiments: West Marches" by Ben Robbins. The ur-text of running player-motivated sessions that don't require everyone to be there.

BUT WHAT IF!!!

What if rolling investigation rolls are vital to building tension in my mystery game? What if knowing the exact inventory and distance are vital to my high-stress dungeon game? What if campfire stories are my favorite part of our cozy travel game?

COOL! There are lots of resources out there for you, so this isn't for you. But maybe I could tempt you into considering a different style of game sometimes?

(Special thanks to @ladytabletop for supporting my Tight 90 obsession.)

[tiny-space-platypus]

Half baked idea time!!

DC/dp au where it's like late teens/warily twenties punk Danny being tired as shit. Like this man just wants to sit on a roof top, patch himself up, maybe smoke then go back to having to do inner dimensional politics or another fight. But Danny can't have that instead every time he tries a hero either thinks he's going to kill himself and tries to intervene or some sort of fight breaks out and his stupid core makes him have a mighty need to assist. Also, where the hell did all these heroes come from, ancients knew they weren't there when he needed help. He's just a tad bit bitter about the only time he's getting attention from heroes is the only time he doesn't want it. He goes everywhere just trying to catch a break.

Or

Danny tries to find some peace and fucking quiet only to end up freak out the league because dear god this kid is going through it and they need to get him before he becomes a supervillain or something.

Metropolis

Chills for 5 minutes seeing Superman nopes the hell out of there cursing in kryptonian. He deals with his kind enough in the realms he doesn't want to deal with the living either. "Nope! Not today! Not dealing with you today!"

Superman is freaking out because there's a kid that was sitting on top of the daily planet only to disappear speaking his language??? He also had a really slow heart beat? Was that child alright??

Coast city

Danny's on a large skyscape sitting on the edge watching the streets below as he patches himself up and lights a smoke only to have it glow green and ripped from him.

"You know, this stuff isn't exactly good for you. Especially on skyscrapers. Besides you seem a little young to be smoking."

Danny who looks like he wants to tackle Hal pit of the god damn sky for interrupting his break. "I feel like I'm too young for a lot of things but here we are"

Hal starts some sort of space cop speech and Danny decides fuck this and jumps off the building mouthing "Acab" with a salute and disappear giving the green Lantern a heart attack. Since he thinks he's about to save a kid from falling to his death only for the kid to not be there.

Central City

Danny is yet again trying to relax on a skyscraper only to be interrupted by the flash. At least this time the hero doesn't take his smokes instead just sits next to him. It's nice actually, the quiet white noise of the city below shining how stars would in the sky. Eventually Danny would finish his smoke and put it out before shoving the bud in his pocket. (He won't litter) as soon as Danny stood up the flash grabbed him forcing him back to sitting.

"Look kid, I don't know what's going on but there's gotta be a better way than this. I'll help you if you need help just-"

Danny now staring at him. A little dumbfounded then laughed.

"I'm not trying to kill myself. Just wanted to smoke in peace." Danny looks down at the ground from 150 meters up "besides I've fallen from worse"

"Great! Wait what?" The Flash looked relieved for a second then proceeded the second part of what Danny just said. The flash only looked away for less then a second which gave Danny just enough time to disappear scaring the shit out of the hero.

Bludhaven

Danny after having a rather rough fight as phantom with his parents. Bleeding and mumbling curses as he patches himself up on another skyscraper. "Stupid ecto-gun, stupid laws, stupid, stupid"

Just as Danny started to patch a literal hole in his side Nightwing would make his appearance. "Back away-"

Danny snapped at the hero. "You've got to be fucking- I'm trying to kill myself, Yes I'm injured, no I do not want help, yes I'm fine. Will you be going now?"

Nightwing paused then sat next to the kid a little disturbed. As he watches this kid doing stitches on himself. "Bad day?"

Danny snorted as he finished stitching himself up with fishing wire. "Bad life" He then started smoking again making the vigilante frown. This kid was nowhere near old enough to smoke but the kid was also giving himself stitches on a roof so not the worst thing this kid has done so far. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Danny shrugged. "My parents shot me again"

"I'm sorry what? Again?!"

[rikudaa]

Sugar on the Blade ⋆·˚ ༘ *

Dick Grayson/Nightwing x Reader

✮ WARNING!! Contains Themes Of Emotional Manipulation, Yandere Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Disturbing Intimacy, Toxic Relationships, Possessiveness, Gore And Psychological Decline.

✮ Dick Grayson when he smiles at you too long.

You think it’s sweet, the way his eyes linger like they’re drinking you in. How his hand finds your lower back in crowds, how he always somehow ends up between you and anything that might breathe too close. Protective, you call it. Gentlemanly. Your Dickie is just old-fashioned like that.

But there’s something underneath.

Something that makes his fingers grip too tight when someone else says your name.

Something that makes your throat feel dry when he says “You don’t need anyone else.”

You giggle it off. You call it love.

Love is intense. Love is like this.

You call him cute. You call yourself the luckiest girl in the world.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when you accidentally ignore his text.

He doesn’t say anything. Not right away.

You feel it though–like a storm waiting behind a calm sky. His lips are still soft when they kiss your forehead. His arms still wrap around you when you sit in his lap. But his grip is stronger. There’s a ghost of pressure beneath his thumb when it traces your jaw. A lingering pause in his breath when he smells your perfume and doesn’t find only his cologne.

You apologize before you know what you’re apologizing for.

“I didn’t mean to–”

He just hums, stroking your cheek like you’re breakable. Or like you already broke something.

“Just don’t let it happen again, baby.”

And you won’t. Of course not. You’d never want to hurt him.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when you talk to someone else.

He watches. Smiling.

Blue eyes soft. Voice warm. Jokes easy.

And yet something in the air tightens–something you feel wrong and it’s not in a good way.

Because you know the laugh he gives isn’t real. You know the way his hand on your waist is no longer gentle. It’s a brand. A warning. You lean in closer to him because it’s easier than the silence that waits after.

Later, when the man you’d spoken to is found bloodied in an alley, you don’t ask questions. You just tuck yourself deeper into Dick’s arms and let him rub your back while you tremble like the fragile girl everyone thinks you are.

You whisper, “I was scared.”

He kisses your hair. “I know. I’m here.”

And he always is.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he buys a second toothbrush for you and leaves it beside his. His drawer’s already got your lotion in it. Your perfume. Your favorite lip gloss that he stole from your purse—not to use, he says, just to have. You giggled when he admitted that. You told him it was weird. Then kissed his cheek and let it go. That’s what makes you soft, sweet, pliant. You blink big eyes at him like he’s the only one who’s ever mattered. You cry when he gets mad. You cry when he leaves.

You cry, and he folds.

He lives to comfort you. You know that. You built him that way.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he begs you not to leave.

You hadn’t even planned to. You just wanted some air. Space. But his face falls like you’d shot him straight in the heart.

“You don’t love me anymore?”

And you know that’s a trap.

You know it’s a hook he’ll stab through his own ribs if it means he can pull you back in.

So you smile. Take his hand. Place it against your throat like a gift.

“You know I love you very much since the day we met.”

His relief is a tidal wave. It crashes into you with teeth. He kisses you too hard. Holds you too close. You pretend to be dizzy from love instead of how long his hand stayed pressed to your neck.

But you know the truth.

You love how desperate he is.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he cuts off a guy who was “just being friendly.” One warning glance from across the room, and the man suddenly backs off like he saw the devil behind you. He probably did. You’re too distracted twirling your hair and pouting about some minor inconvenience to care. You don’t notice the blood on Dick’s knuckles until hours later, when he runs a hand through your hair and you smell it, coppery and sweet and him. He won’t tell you where it came from.

You don’t ask.

You sigh and snuggle into his lap like a spoiled little thing. “Always stay with me,” you whisper. “Please?”

He breathes so deep it shakes. Like you saying that keeps him alive.

It does.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he talks about the future like it’s a vow. A home. A shared toothbrush. A grave, probably. “You’re mine, Y/N. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me.” He says it like a prayer, right before his hands crawl up under your shirt and his mouth buries against your skin like he’ll die if he can’t taste you.

His grip always tightens when you laugh. He gets scared when you smile too much at anyone else. His kisses are suffocating. He bruises your wrists when he begs you not to leave. Once, he broke a mirror because you didn’t say “I love you” before falling asleep.

You made sure to sob an apology and kiss his bloodied hands raw. “It’s my fault,” you whimpered. “I’m so stupid.”

He hugged you like you were made of glass.

He doesn’t know you cut your palms on the glass before he walked in.

He doesn’t know you were the one who shattered it.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he thinks he’s the dangerous one. Thinks he’s obsessed. Thinks he’s the villain, the one losing grip, spiraling for your love like it’s a drug.

He doesn’t know you’re feeding it to him. Drip by drip. Little doses of sugar and need and trembling smiles. You kiss the rage into him, moan like you’re helpless when he handles you too roughly, reward every outburst with sobs and cuddles and that voice–you know the one he loves–the soft, broken thing that makes him want to ruin anyone who looks at you. Even you.

He thinks he’s controlling you.

He has no idea.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when you tell him he’s your only one.

He moans.

Actually moans. Like it’s sex. Like you just touched the part of him that aches most.

And maybe you did. Because you know what he needs.

You feed that need.

Your Dickie isn’t just possessive. He’s fragile. That’s what makes him yours.

“Only you,” you whisper, and press your lips to his ear. “I’d never want anyone else.”

He believes you.

He doesn’t know you check his messages every night. Doesn’t know you’ve started drugging his vitamins, just enough to make him sleepy when he gets ideas about leaving for missions alone.

He doesn’t realize your perfume is laced with a subtle compound that triggers anxiety if he doesn’t smell it for a few days.

Because you’d never hurt him.

But he’s never going to hurt you either.

•

✮ Dick Grayson when he finally starts to break. Sleep-deprived. Cold sweats. Paranoia. He cries into your lap like a little boy and begs you not to leave him, not to hate him, not to disappear. He doesn’t even care if you’re lying. He just wants you near.

You pet his hair and tell him it’s okay.

It’s not.

It never was.

But this is exactly what you wanted.

You wanted him ruined. Hollowed out. So full of you there’s no space for light. And when he finally looks up at you with eyes that are all shadow, all ache–you smile. Soft. Innocent. Like you don’t know what you’ve done.

You coo, “I’ll never leave you, baby. I’m yours forever.”

He believes you.

You meant it, too.

Just not the way he thinks.

You’re not his.

He’s yours.

•

You were always the monster under the bed that waiting to jump at.

He just wanted love.

You wanted devotion. Ruin. Death, if necessary.

And if you both go to hell?

Good.

At least you’ll burn together.

And no one else will ever touch him again.

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

[coldilikeit]

Little adventures 1

DC x Hilda

Male reader

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

Nightwing hollered up the motorcycle that was about to fall off a bridge, the sturdy rope pulling it in a rushed pulley system

Then he saw it, a beam of light onto the sky, the clouds forming circles upon it, thunder and lightning crackling onto the sky

Fuck the motorcycle

He rushed to the scene, to find, his little brother (Name) with some friends

"What are you guys doing here?" He asked politely, trying not to startle them, "Oh Nightwing! Guys he's one of the vigilantes who protects the city" you smiled introducing him to your friends

"oohh, I wish my city had vigilantes, the spirits know we need it" the girl with blue hair laughed

"Are you children not from here?" Nightwing asked which the three kids Shaked their heads to say no "Were visiting (Name)" says the little boy

"It's so late at night... Do you guys know how to get home?" He asked, then he looked at (Name), his little brother playing on his friends in a tide pool, he wouldn't have minded it, but it's so late at night...

(Name) gets up and brushes off the seaweed in his head "Oh well be going home now, we just had to get rid of the tide mice Hilda gave me"

What?

"Did you children happen to see a beam of light?" He asked

"uhh no." (Name) Replied skittishly, then he whispered something to his three friends, a mumble he couldn't hear

"Supernatural stuff aren't really embraced here" (Name) whispered

"We'll be uhh... Going home now, I'll just call my mum" The blue hair girl says

And after a few minutes of waiting a car pulls up and a woman with brown hair looks at the safe children with relief "Oh (Name) thank goodness you're safe... Now Hilda, stop giving out the mice!" She scolded the blue haired girl

"It's okay Miss Johanna, she just wanted to help me" Smiled (Name), Nightwing has no clue on how mice could help someone but he doesn't pry, the children, including (Name) is getting in the car

"Can I trust you to keep you and the children safe back to their homes?" Asked Nightwing

"Yes you can, I'll protect them" she playfully answered and looked back at the children lovingly

Seems trustworthy enough.

And the car takes off

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

"(Name) isn't built for Gotham" Dick says to the family at the dining table

Bruce raises a brow "Why do you think that?" Dick describes the kids (Name) made friends with, they weren't the snobby mini socialites at (Name)'s school, or not the rough kids at the lower parts of Gotham

Then (Name) entered the dining area, covered in dirt, sand and a little soaked, "Alfred.. can I have a towel?" He asked politely "I'm going to wash up, the sand is a bit itchy"

"wow... You're dirty, anything interesting happen today?" Snarked Damian, you lit up a bit, completely missing his insult "Yeah! I went out with my friends and I met Nightwing!"

"tch, Robin is cooler" Damian replied

"(Name), do you have any friends here in the city?" Jason suddenly asked, (Name) looked surprised that he was speaking to him but answered nonetheless "The kids here are bit mean... And bullies, so umm no, but I've made three friends, they're from another city, they're really nice"

"But you can't hangout with them often if they're far away?" Tim laments

You can't mention the Nisse

You can't mention the Nisse

You can't mention the Nisse

"I take the train there... Or They come here with their parents" you say

Bruce out down his water "If you want to see them, take one of the cars, I'll hire you a driver" he says

"umm okay... Thank you father"

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

(Name) has no clue they're the bats, and the bats have no clue their son/little brother is going on magical adventures

And as for the new driver...

[wondersinwaynemanor]

imagine some Gothamites pretending to be in trouble or hurt and calling for a specific bat just because they have a crush on them, but the batkids purposely mess it up by sending another bat.

they also do this because they're little shits.

[i told myself i won't make this too long, but oh well]

scenario 1:

a woman, who's not even in trouble, she mostly wants to see Nightwing's new suit because.. oh.. the new suit causes his behind to form well.

Woman: Nightwing, Nightwing! Where are you? I need help.

Robin! Tim, hops down from the tall building and mind you, his skateboard tucked under his arm: Hi, Ma'am! Sorry, Nightwing is unavailable tonight. I, Robin, will help you.

Woman, judges the skateboard before looking at Tim: Uh. Thank you, Robin, but I was specifically asking for Nightwing. Is he- he around?

Robin! Tim, cheeks red from the cold, shakes his head: No, Ma'am. Sorry.

Woman: That's... That's okay. I'll figure out my problem on my own. Thank you again, kid.

Robin! Tim nods at her way before climbing back up the building.

Nightwing appears from the darkness, laughing his ass off. Tim joins his older brother until their stomach ache from the laughing session.

--

scenerio 2:

young teenage girl with pink highlights on her hair bikes through the neighborhood and out of nowhere, just falls down on the side of the road, on the grass. but gently. purposely.

Teenager, holds her ankle: Ow, ow. Is The-The Signal around? I kind of.. Uh... Fell.

Robin, comes out from the trees and he looks even brighter than ever with the sun still out: That was kind of careless of you.

Teenager, a bit annoyed: Robin? Don't you only patrol at night? Where's The Signal?

Robin, adjusts his katana and shrugs: You'd be surprised that I happen to do this at morning too. Well. Occasionally.

Teenager, skeptical: Uhuh.

Robin just stares at her, not even answering about The Signal. it makes the teenager a bit uncomfortable.

Teenager, manages to stand: Anyways... I think I feel better now. I'll head home.

Robin, lips twitching to a smirk: Stay safe.

behind the trees, Duke and Tim giggle like little children.

Robin: I must admit.. That was quite hilarious.

--

scenario 3:

two loud men exit the bar. they've been talking about Spoiler and Black Bat inside, fangirling like teenagers about their crushes.

little did they know, Red Hood was inside that bar as well.

Man 1: Fuck, I'm too drunk. Is Spoiler there? I need help to go home.

they are not even drunk.

Man 2, hides a smile behind his hand: How about Black Bat? We poor men need some saving.

before they can even lift their mouths to laugh, Red Hood apprears from the alley, gun on his hand.

Red Hood, voice so deep from the helmet: Need a lift, boys? There's enough room for both of you on my bike.

Man 1 gulps and Man 2 nearly passes out.

Red Hood, smirks: Not the person you wanted to see, huh?

Man 1: Uh.... You are a sight to see, Red Hood. Uh, Sir.

Man 2: But no, tha-thank you.

Man 1: We can manage. Right, dude?

Man 2: Right. Of course.

Red Hood, wants to laugh so bad but he has to keep this persona first: Well, let me know if you need anything.

both men run to the other direction. one of them even trips.

Red Hood hears Steph and Cass' lively laughs through the comms.

--

scenario 4:

a young adult man steps outside his building, doesn't mind the drizzle from the Gotham sky.

Man: Shit. I forgot my keys.

Man, looks up at the building: Is Red Robin out there? I need help in finding the keys to my apartment.

there's no sign of the vigilante so the man decides to just re enter his building.

out of nowhere, a sound of someone landing behind him makes him turn around and he is faced with Black Bat, holding his keys around her gloved hand.

Man, shocked: Um.. Hey. You found- you found my keys.

Black Bat doesn't respond, just lifts the keys higher.

Man: Tha-thank you.

Black Bat nods before grappling to the darkness.

the young man feels stupid for doing what he did, which is throw his keys behind the dumpster. and he didn't even get to see Red Robin.

somewhere, Black Bat joins Spoiler and Red Robin on top of a building to share some laughs and enjoy some Batburgers.

--

scenario 5:

a couple of bestfriends, woman and man, stop by at the side of the road. they were gossiping about Red Hood's arms, modulated voice and height, saying how sexy he looks.

out of stupidity, the man stabs his switchblade on one of the wheels of his car.

Woman, nods at him before calling for help: Someone help us! We don't have a spare tire.

Man, heart beating so fast: Red Hood, can you please help us? Red Hood!

after a few minutes of longing, Nightwing, Spoiler and The Signal appear from behind their car, startling the two of them.

Nightwing, grins cheekily: Good evening.

Signal, smiles: You called for help?

Spoiler, huge smile on her face with a spare tire on her hand: Glad we saw this lying around.

it's actually a spare tire at the back of the man's car.

the woman and man exchange glances, slightly nervous.

Man, touches his chest: Oh, thank goodness.

Woman, pretends to be in relief as well: Thank God for you, guys. We appreciate it.

Signal and Spoiler help each other in putting the tire.

Nightwing, grin hasn't faded: Sorry, the Red Hood is a bit busy tonight.

Signal: Maybe try calling out for him some other time?

Spoiler: We would give his number to you, but he's kind of a private person.

both the woman and man blush, embarassment creeping on them.

by the alley, Red Hood watches the rest of the batkids, a low chuckle on his lips.

--

a bonus:

a bunch of teenagers play around under the rain, splashing mud on their clothes. one of the blonde girls call out, "Robin, come play with us!" then the rest of her playmates giggle at that. they idolize the young hero.

and who comes out of the darkness? the rest of the batkids except for Robin. they make sure that the children are able to go home and are safe.

meanwhile, Damian is at the Manor with a stuffy nose as he is sick due to playing with his pets under the rain last weekend.

[lil-dragon-rawr]

FNaF x DC: the Aftons vs the Gotham Rogue Gallery

(a continuation of this post)

Part Three is now available :D (the brainrot has taken over)

Masterlist

Red Hood: hey, kids have been going missing lately. I haven't been able to find who dunnit yet so be sure to keep Gregory out of the streets

Michael: kids. Going missing?

Michael, thinking: this sounds like a job for a pyromaniac night guard!

Red Hood, finally tracking down the Dollmaker's lair: uhh hi Mike, whatcha doin?

Michael "Constantly Atoning For the Sins of His Past" Afton, messing with the wiring of the building while a group of missing kids huddle around him: making sure that freak goes up in flames

Red Hood: ...cool, want some C4 to go with that?

Michael:

Red Hood:

Michael, realizing there's a more efficient way to do this: you have C4?

Kiteman: *exists, minding his own business, enjoying a scenic flight over the park*

Gregory, dragging a wagon full of God knows what to the nearest roof: hey Freddy look away for a minute, okay?

Glamrock Freddy: Gregory, I cannot help but feel you are about to do something incredibly suspicious, if not outright illegal.

Gregory:

Glamrock Freddy:

Glamrock Freddy: I will remove power to my eyes for one minute.

Gregory: :)

(forty-five seconds later)

Kiteman: *screams, falls from the sky, crashes through a food cart on his way down*

Glamrock Freddy: ...Gregory, what did you do?

Gregory:

Gregory: so you know the saying two birds, one stone?

Glamrock Freddy:

Gregory:

Glamrock Freddy:

Gregory: ...I got you a wingsuit!

Glamrock Freddy, disappointed: Gregory.

Nightwing and Scrap Baby: *still arguing over clown etiquette*

Joker, thinking that Nightwing is distracted and that this is a good opportunity to pull a "shenanigan": hrnngnn hello Gotham citizens! I planted Joker venom in a school and a hospital! Whichever place evacuates first gets the other place gassed hehaugha!

Scrap Baby, staring at the Joker in a way that can only be described as judgemental:

Nightwing, breaking off his rant to also stare at the Joker:

Scrap Baby:

Nightwing:

Scrap Baby: so we can both agree that that's not a clown, right?

Nightwing, pulling out his escrima sticks: oh, absolutely

Red Hood, explaining how he died to Michael: -and that's why I hate clowns.

Michael: yikes

Michael, trying to figure out what kind of ghost/undead Red Hood is: do you want...revenge?

Red Hood: well yeah but B's super stingy about how many guys I can off per year

Michael: ...do you have to kill the clown for your revenge to be satiated?

Red Hood:

Red Hood: ...no

Michael: cool :)

Michael, checking his FazWatch as he waits outside the gates of Arkham: hm, this is taking longer than I thought

Red Robin: heyyy Mike whatcha doin out here

Michael: waiting on my brother and his friend :)

Batman, Concerned™: Michael, did you send Gregory into Arkham?

Michael: no of course not, I would never be so irresponsible!

Batman and Red Robin, thinking the situation isn't that bad: *breathing a sigh of relief*

Michael: Do you know how much physical and psychological damage he'd cause?

Batman and Red Robin: ...

Michael, not reading the room: maybe I should send him in there. For enrichment, if nothing else

Red Robin, putting pieces together: wait, what's Golden Freddy doing in Arkham?? Isn't it just an empty suit???

Batman, thinking: please don't make me explain this to Gordon. Please don't make me explain this to Gordon.

Michael: oh he's there for revenge! :D

Batman:

Batman: *deep, deep sigh*

Batman: explain.

Michael: well, there are different types of ghosts, right?

Michael: you met the Puppet, she's a protector

Michael: and I'm a mix of atonement and protection

Michael: but my brother's friend is a vengeful spirit!

Michael: ...and she kind of maybe imprinted on Red Hood pleasedon'tbemad

Batman: *very long sigh*

Batman: if anyone's dead, it's your fault.

Michael, knowing it'll only be the Joker: ...I can live with that

Golden Freddy: *appears* ITSME

Red Robin: *jumps four feet in the air*

Michael: well you sure decided to take your time!

Golden Freddy:

Michael: yeah yeah whatever

Michael: did you have fun?

Golden Freddy: :)

Gordon: so the Joker's dead because...?

Batman: ...it's complicated.

Gordon, eyeing him suspiciously: not that I'm complaining about the Joker being dead but whoever did it must've been an expert, they got in and out without being seen and distorted the cameras while they were in his cell

Batman, knowing it was a child:

Mr. Freeze, cornering Michael: tell me the secret to eternal life!

Michael: heh???

Mr. Freeze: you have discovered a way to live forever, now share it with me so I can save my wife!

Michael:

Michael: okay well first off I didn't do crap-

Michael, experiencing constant harassment from Mr. Freeze: can you get lost already?

Mr. Freeze: I think you know the answer to that.

Michael, increasingly fed up with Freeze's toddler mindset: fine, you wanna know?

Mr. Freeze, excited: finally!

Michael: eternal life is a curse, not a gift,

Mr. Freeze: heh?

Michael: I mean look at me I'm literally a walking corpse held together with duct tape,

Michael: and don't even get me started on how I got here,

Michael: all I did was trust someone close to me,

Michael: and you know what happened?

Mr. Freeze:

Michael: I died!

Michael: and then a pile of robot spaghetti violated my body!

Mr. Freeze, backing away slowly: what the [ERROR: REPLACE: OEDIPUS]

Michael, watching him go:

Michael: well that was easy

Michael: should've done that ages ago

Scrap Baby, meeting Harley for the first time: you're a clown too!!

Harley, trying to compliment her: aww no you're a clown!

Harley: love your hair btw

Nightwing, very pointedly: yeah Harley's an actual clown cause she went to clown school

Scrap Baby: !!! Clown school!!!

(Harley and Scrap Baby having a therapy session)

Scrap Baby, lamenting: it took me so long to realize I didn't need to do everything Father said

Harley: aw yeah the patriarchy is deeply ingrained in society, but you don't need a man to be evil! You can be a villain all on your own!

Harley, raising a glass: anyways cheers to recognizing the most important man in your life was a manipulative [£√√@√]!

Scrap Baby, clinking her own glass against Harley's: to female villain empowerment!

Red Robin, listening in and comprehending the chaos Nightwing unleashed: oh Jesus Christ

[lovelywetdreamer]

Mark Grayson and you are the definition teamwork make the dream work.

Mark Grayson is strength.

You are smart.

Mark and you have the perfect team bonding excise:

Trust falls

Scavenger hunt

Taking down villian together

Rescuing cat from trees

Playing video game together

Listening to one another problem

Mark flying you around on his back

Telling each other secret identity

Having a safeword

Mark has his big hand around your tiny throat as he drills his thick dick inside your cunt.

Mark being knuckled deep inside of you in the sky above Cecil's head. Cecil thinks it is about to rain but little does he know Mark just made you squirt.

Chocking and gagging on him while his tongue explore every inch of pussy

He dresses up like Nightwing letting you live out your Nightwing sex fantasy.

Making sure his sperm is not super when he filling you up to the brim

He washed you up and laid his sweater for you to wear

Both eating and making fun of a superhero movie.

[deepwithintheabyss]

So I've been thinking about Tim's new vigilante Identity, especially as a partner to Dick Grayson, to Nightwing.

Now I know the standard is to go with Flamebird, to match dick's name and fit it into the story that even inspired him to pick this name, but I wanted to have something different. They are more than the story after all.

Now, because this was inspired by me thinking about what usernames Tim might use that are Nightwing themed, my first thought was Nightingale.

Then I thought, okay so Dick is the Night, what fits with that? The stars, the Moon.

Gale means a strong wind, I like that, Tim is the wind that carries Dick, catch him when he falls. (I know so far it's been more Dick catching Tim, and yes I have thoughts, but Dick is the trapeze acrobat, is the one who jumps and flies. Tim should be his partner, the one who can catch him. Always watching and prepared for it.)

And the Stars/Moon are always in the Night sky, watching down to us, belonging together.

I do like the sound of Stargale more than Moongale, but also just, when it's a new Moon the sky is so empty and lonely. Hmm perhaps "When it's a new Moon the Night is lonely but the Stars are there to remind him they stay always by his side."

Obviously none of this is set in stone and might even change, but I just like the interpretation of symbolism, how it started with Nightingale and went from there.

(I think Nightingale would make for a cute name too! But it might be too close to Nightwing? On the other hand red Robing and Robin and Red Hood.... ) (but also how cute would it be if Tim gets called Star instead of Gale and Dick says "my star" yknow?)

[maidragoste]

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Adera Velaryon & Helaena Targaryen

au: Instead of choosing Lady Alicent Hightower as his second wife Viserys Targaryen marries Corlys Velaryon's youngest daughter.

If you like it, please don't hesitate to leave a like, comment, and reblog. The comments and interactions always motivate me to continue writing 🥰🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Most of the time, Adera thinks Helaena hates her.

Helaena cries all the time, and every time Adera tries to comfort her by rocking her in her arms, she seems to get worse. She's nothing like Aegon, who seems happy just to see her and loves being in her arms while she sings to him or tells him a story. But Adera doesn't blame Helaena for not wanting her touch, nor does she blame her for hating her.

After all, she hated her first.

Adera planned to go fight with her family at the Stepstones but Viserys had to get her pregnant again. She hated him and the baby inside her. She couldn't drink the moon tea, but she tried to get rid of the baby anyway. She pretended to stumble as she went down the stairs and tumbled down them until a royal guard finally broke her fall. She was immediately taken to the maester and burst into tears when he assured her the baby was fine. Everyone thought they were tears of relief, but all she wanted to do was scream.

She spent most of her pregnancy hating the baby, but one day while playing with Aegon and his toy dragons, she wondered if their new son would be as cheerful as he was. And from then on, she began to wonder about that baby's future. Sometimes she dreamed of a boy who looked just like Viserys but who loved swimming with her. Other times she dreamed of a happy baby who had her features, her purple eyes, and her dark hair, all her, none of Viserys, and who loved flying with her on Nightwing. She liked those dreams better.

Then Helaena was born. And she was all Viserys. But the problem wasn't that she resembled the man Adera hated so much, but that Helaena rejected her. It pained her not to be able to bond with her own daughter, and she was tired of the situation. She tried not to take it personally because the baby didn't seem to want to be in the arms of Viserys or his ladies-in-waiting, but it was still driving her crazy.

Adera couldn't leave King's Landing but at least she could ride her dragon for a couple of hours and get away from her daughter's crying. Or at least that was her idea until her mother entered her chambers and found her preparing to leave while the handmaidens tried to calm Helaena.

"Why aren't you taking her with you?" Rhaenys asked, and Adera instantly tensed.

Because she hates me and doesn't want to be around me, Adera thought, but she wasn't about to confess that to her mother with the handmaidens present.

“Aegon likes flying with you, perhaps she does too,” Rhaenys insisted, and Adera ended up agreeing only because she didn’t want people to think she had any preference between her children.

Adera thought Helaena's crying would get worse when her mother helped her strap the baby to her body, but the moment they wrapped her in the cloth, Helaena seemed to calm down. She didn't seem to want to wriggle or move away like she did when they used her usual blanket. Adera expected the crying to start again when they were in the carriage, but the entire ride to Dragon's Pit, the baby was calm, looking curiously at her new surroundings. Helaena also didn't cry when she introduced her to Nightwing.

As Nightwing soared through the sky, Adera watched her daughter's face closely, ready to try to calm any fear or crying. But Helaena wasn't scared; she was happy to be in the skies, and she was smiling. Adera felt the weight on her shoulders ease at the sight of her daughter smiling for the first time, and she instantly smiled back.

"I love you, Helaena," she felt the need to say to her, hoping she would understand and forgive her for those months of hating her when she was in her belly. "Please smile more. I promise to bring you to fly with me more often." She kissed her forehead and felt her heart warm at the sound of happy babble.

Helaena didn't hate her. And they would both be fine.

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