conjureher

[conjureher]

dudes in kevlar ; dick grayson synopsis : growing apart, dick believes, is the worst way to end a friendship. 1.1k words | gen master.list

The Bludhaven night is cold, far colder than usual, Dick thinks. Though he's no stranger to wintry nights, his familiarity with the cold is of no use.

It's on nights like these that he can't help but think of an old friend – a friend he misses quite a lot but can't get back in contact with. It's been about 7 years since he's last seen you; and all throughout those 7 years, his mind has been consistently plagued by thoughts of you, wonderful you.

It's a bit pathetic, you see.

One might imagine that 7 whole years is enough to get over the grief of losing a friend, or simply drifting apart, but not for Dick. When all is said and done, a large part of Dick still missed you, waiting for your return. He dreams of the day that he wakes up to your voice, to your voice telling him he's stupid for saying the things he did; he dreams of the day that he is once again blessed with your presence.

He still remembers the day you left.

The memory is not held with fondness, but with a bitter sense of distaste; more towards himself than at you, never you. That is, until recently. He's 22 now and he's had time, enough time, to digest what happened that day. Why he said certain things, he'll never quite understand. Why you said other things he's had time to process, and he understands you. He's always been able to understand you more than he could himself, it's a sixth sense to him, second nature, if you will.

If you came back today – no, right now – he'd still be able to decipher all your little quirks. No time apart could take that away from him, and just the thought of that pains him to a degree nothing has ever before.

When New Jersey nights are a bit tougher than others, he likes to think back on your friendship. He likes to think you two were more than just friends, perhaps teetering on the blurry line between two good friends and two teenagers in love; but he's never gotten the answer to that question.

Maybe he never will, and Dick's not quite sure he's okay with that.

– SOME TIME AGO, DICK'S NOT QUITE SURE

“You know, dudes in Kevlar aren’t usually bested by trash cans.”

Your laughs fill the dingy alleyway, only serving to make Dick feel a tad bit more ashamed of himself. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

“It came out of nowhere, I swear!” Dick groans, peeling bits of trash off his suit. 

You're all smiles as you help Dick wipe trash off of himself, "Jeez, you stink! Maybe we should just hose you down..."

"WE SHOULD NOT!" Dick is quick to intervene in your planning, slowly scooting away from you so as to not be held captive and forcefully taken to some place with a hose – it's happened before, you know, you taking Dick to various places against his will (yeah right, he could never really say no to your whims).

"Maybe Bats will let us borrow his hose," you fake wonder, scratching your nonexistent beard as if you're actually pondering the notion.

Seemingly coming to a verdict, you shake your shoulders and make way for the alley's exit; Gotham alleys aren't exactly the safest to linger in at night.

You're both resting atop one of Gotham's many rooftops, eyes still wandering about searching for trouble - for something fun.

Dick still stinks like garbage and you're trying to avoid sitting too close to him; the fucking bastard had the audacity to smear some uncleaned garbage juice on you! You're definitely gonna get him back later, but now's not the time for plotting revenge.

"D'ya think we're gonna be doing this hero stuff forever?" you blurt out. Your question hardly sounds like something previously rehearsed, more like something you really really needed to get off your chest, to get out of your system.

It takes Dick a moment to answer, but you find his answer all the more disappointing, "I mean, yeah? There’s always going to be another criminal to stop, especially in Gotham.”

Your smile falls, just a bit, but Dick notices, he always does. Instead of replying, you take to staring out at the night sky before you two, hoping to whatever deity that is out there that Dick forgets what you said in the first place.

He doesn’t, well, he can’t. “It sounds a bit doom and gloom, but I don’t think I could, in good conscience, stop being Robin. I want to be a great contributor to Gotham's eventual peace,” Dick smiles — it’s infectious and leaves you a bit more optimistic than before.

“I guess…” you murmur, not wanting to meet Dick’s eyes — you know he’s looking at you, but you don’t want to look back, not yet — “I love this, I really do. I’m just not sure if it’s something I want to dedicate my life to.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re regretting them, bits of shame creeping up, “forget what I said, actually.”

It’s a plea, a prayer for the conversation to close. But Dick doesn’t answer your silent plea, and maybe that’s where he went wrong that night.

After all these years, Dick’s not exactly sure how that night ended up how it did. His brain gets a bit foggy and he feels like throwing up whenever he tries unraveling the night — maybe it’s because his body knows how terrible he was, maybe he doesn’t need that reminder.

He does remember your friendship never being the same after that night.

He does remember trying to fix it, relentlessly battling for your affection, but you never really healed.

–

He sees you in a bit of everything he does. You haunt him, entirely unintentionally on your part. He's sure you're not thinking about him as much as he's thinking about you, but that's not the best deterrent.

All he asks the universe is one more chance. Just one, he only needs one, any more and he'll feel like the greediest man alive. Would the universe still love a greedy man like himself if it knew he was doing it for love? Or would he be damned for eternity?

You wouldn't condemn him for hoping, for wishing for better. You'd tell him his wants were entirely valid and then come up with a foolproof plan on how to make it happen.

But you're not here.

Maybe you'll never be.

And god does that hurt Dick to realize, to come to terms with.

SAM SPEAKS : hiii! sorry i was gone for so long... #not cool... i just started reading goodnight punpun and that has truly consumed me entirely! i have a couple things sitting in my drafts (a tim drake ask, somethign something yuuta okkotsu something something) so im hoping to post those within the next few days huzzah! love you guys, stay safee

[conjureher]

some clingy!tim drake for y'all! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ inspired by @sa1ntd1or's smau (definitely go check out her page, it's divine!) synopsis : rich kid and fat cat are fighting for your attention (it's brutal) 2.5k words | gen master.list

Timothy Jackson Drake has many enemies. It’s not unnatural for a guy in his position - that is, wandering around at night in red and black spandex - to have enemies, it’d actually be weirder if he didn’t. He’s fought countless villains, stopped a couple organizations from wrongdoing, and even had (and lost) a brutal fight with his younger brother. 

But nothing, and he means nothing, could be more evil than your beloved white tabby that you’ve affectionately named ‘Chunky.’

It’s not like he was trying to become mutual mortal enemies with your cat! As a matter of fact, he’d been trying to get along with the feline in hopes it’d make you fall even more in love with him. He’s always been relatively good with animals. So why is it that your cat has a special hatred for him? He’s not sure. 

THREE MONTHS AGO: FEBRUARY 14TH, A FRIDAY

“Okay, I swear you’re gonna love him!” you smile, taking your right hand from Tim’s so you can detach your keychain from your backpack, “He’s a total sweetheart! He loves everyone.”

Tim - whose previously free hands have now found the mini figurine attached to your bag zipper - is just as smiley as you are, "I hope so. I've never been so nervous to meet a cat of all things."

"Don't be nervous, it's just Chunky. He'll love you, and you'll love him," you reassure Tim with that voice he thinks is the most comforting. He loves it when you use that tone because for a moment he's actually convinced that everything will be alright. "It'd actually be kind of tragic if you didn't love each other. The two most important boys in my life hating each other, I'd be devastated.”

Finally unlocking your door, you take Tim’s hand in yours and push the door open ever so gently. “Chunky boy! Where are you silly?” you coo, your voice just a tad higher.

Tim waits expectantly, curiously peering over your shoulder hoping he can catch a glimpse of the esteemed kitty.

“Huh. He’s usually all over me as soon as the door opens,” you pull Tim in, dropping your keys into your little bowl full of trinkets, “Chunks?”

You shrug off your jacket and make Tim take off his shoes because he’s a heathen whose parents allowed him to run wild - not really.

Throwing your backpack onto your couch, you swivel your head in all sorts of directions hoping to catch a glimpse of Chunky. “I’m gonna look around for him. You can sit around the couch orrr help me."

"Nothing I love more than a good mystery," Tim says while checking under couch cushions - as if Chunky would be there. He's not trying to play - or so he says - he's just making sure he crosses off all possibilities.

You look in your room first. Chunky is always in your room, laying on your bed like he owns it or lounging on the carpet floor like he just got off of a 10-hour shift down at the factory. But, surprisingly, he's not there. He's not even in your closet or under your bed.

So, you get out your secret weapon: a cat feather toy you picked up for him when he was about 4 months old. It's his favorite toy that he can never resist, no matter how much of a grumpy mood he is in.

"Chunky!" You call, wiggling the cat toy just enough for it to make a little jingle noise - one that usually has him running to you for playtime. That's not the case this time. You don't even hear his little paws thumping on the ground, just silence and the sounds of Tim also looking for Chunky in the other room.

Speaking of Tim, you should see if he was lucky in his search for Chunky.

"Any sign of him?" You ask as you enter your living room, feathered toy still in hand.

"No. It should not be this hard to find a cat, man!" Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you should feed him, see if that gets him out."

You nod, making your way to the kitchen. "He doesn't just eat dry food, so that sound alone isn't gonna make him come out. He doesn't come running until he hears me drum my fingers against the counter," you explain as you open the lid of your dry food container and then open the can of wet food - both high-quality brands because Chunky is spoiled and when you tried cheaper alternatives he refused to eat.

Tim nods along with your explanation, looking genuinely interested in your feeding regimen. You know he'll commit your routine to memory, so you continue; making sure to add the reasons why you do certain things because you know Tim will spend the time he should be using to sleep to question why you did a particular thing.

It's not long before you finish making Chunky's dinner, setting the cat's orange food bowl down before finally drumming your fingers against the countertop. You and Tim listen for any movement with bated breath.

Your hard efforts are rewarded with the softest meow in the world - to you at least. To Tim, Chunky’s meow sounds scratchy, but what does he know? Perhaps we should consider the possibility that Tim’s ears haven’t been cleaned in a hot minute.

“Chunky baby!” you exclaim, crouching down to pet your very sleepy-looking cat. His fur is sticking up in all sorts of directions and his eyes are barely open but he walks ever so gracefully towards his feeding bowl.

Tim swears he’s never seen a cuter cat than Chunky, scratchy meow aside, Chunky in all his chubby glory is undeniably cute. “I can see why you named him Chunky,” Tim teases, crouching down just as you have to pet the glorious cat.

“Stop! You’re gonna give him body image issues. And then I’d have to get him a cat therapist - are those even real?” you question, not even stopping your petting motions, “Like the secret life of pets! Yes, he’ll get a cat therapist for his insecurities and it’ll be YOUR fault!”

Tim rolls his eyes. He’s well used to your ridiculous (and kind of charming) humor. It had confused him when you both first met, sometimes he wasn’t sure if your jokes were real worries or fake. But he’s come to enjoy them, even if they’re sometimes a bit too goofy.

Ignoring your jokes, Tim tries to pet Chunky just as you are; but something strange happens. Something you’ve never seen happen before.

Chunky hisses at Tim. His mouth is full of food so it’s not as intimidating, but it’s still a hiss.

The noise makes Tim immediately retract his hand. “Uhhh? Has he ever done that before?”

You’re just as surprised as Tim. Chunky has never hissed before. “No? He’s never done this before! Not with me or anyone else?!”

You motion for Tim to back away and he does as told, you’re quick to check if Chunky is injured anywhere or if anything is off about him (other than his hissing).

You deduce that he simply may not like Tim. Which is heartbreaking.

“I think he just doesn’t like you… Tragic,” you explain, calmly taking Tim’s hand into your own and tugging him towards your couch.

Tim is less calm about the situation than you are. Your previous statement about how devastated you would be if they didn’t like each other had been occupying his mind since Chunky had hissed at him.

Before you knew it, Tim had gone down a spiral and began thinking about all of the terrible outcomes that came with him and Chunky not getting along: the absolute worst being you breaking up with him.

“Wallace and Gromit is a classic but Howl’s Moving Castle is entic-“ “Are you gonna break up with me?” Tim interrupts, a special sort of fear in his voice and a frantic look in his eyes.

“No? What makes you think that,” you ask, wildly confused as to what made Tim think otherwise.

“You- You said earlier that you’d be devastated! Now we both know your cat doesn’t like me and I’m just- I’m freaking out,” Tim blurts out.

It takes you a moment to process his words but when you do you laugh, just a little bit, a lot actually. The action confuses Tim, he's not sure why the possibility of you both breaking up is so funny.

“Tim- you...! You didn’t actually believe me, did you?” you laugh, clutching your stomach in hopes to lessen the pain you're receiving from laughing too much.

"Yes? I mean! You have been making this a huge deal for the past few months, of course, I'd be led to believe that!" Tim defends himself.

It takes you a while to calm down from your laughing fit, but when you do, you're quick to quell Tim's worries. "I'd never break up with you over something so silly. Like, yeah, I care about the people I love liking each other, but I don't think I'd break up with you if Chunky didn't like you," you say as you hug Tim, hoping the gesture is calming - it is, but Tim won't admit that.

"You're stuck with me forever," you tease.

"Thank god," Tim groans, stuffing his face into the crook of your neck.

You know, Tim really wouldn't mind being in your presence for the rest of his life. He's lost so many people, it'd be nice to experience something more infinite, and permanent instead of abandonment. He's glad he can spend something so finite as life with you.

Tim is not a man prone to jealousy. Well, unless it’s you, then yeah he’s gonna get a little jealous.

Not important! What is important, however, is how you’ve not even glanced at him this entire evening!

Your attention is being hogged by your devil cat! And Tim swears Chunky knows what he’s doing.

Don’t think he didn’t catch that sly smile Chunky had on when he’d first successfully taken your attention off of Tim. And the countless other times Tim has caught Chunky wearing smiles that scream two words: “I win.” Tim has seen Chunky staring off into space with a facial expression that shouts "I am up to no good and it's Tim Drake's fault," more times than he can realistically count. That last offense is less likely to be used as proof because, well, what if Chunky just has an unintentionally mischievous looking face when he's paying attention to nothing in particular? He knows a few people like that... He can't say much.

Tim is not crazy - he has papers to prove it! So, Timothy Jackson Drake, a completely sane man, can confidently say that he and your cat are in a mutual metaphorical fight for your undivided attention.

And he’s kind of losing.

“You’re cuddling that cat more than me!” Tim whines from his spot on the couch, which, realistically, isn’t that far from you, but to Tim, it feels like he’s light years away, “This is betrayal at its finest!”

“Not even,” you giggle, not even glancing at him because you’re too busy squishing your cat.

“Look!” you push Chunks into Tim’s face, “he meows!”

As if on cue, Chunky lets out the sweetest meow that’d charm even the hardest of criminals, but not Tim. “Awww my little baby,” you smile, pulling the cat into a hug that Tim should be experiencing, not Chunky.

And Tim scoffs. He can’t believe this; his partner is being STOLEN by a cat in real time! He cannot let this happen. He’s worked too hard for too long to woo you into a relationship!

He cannot be bested by a cat. So, he does the thing he’s best at: flirting — or, well, attempts at flirting that someone not in love would think are a bit deranged and desperate. Perfect for Tim because he is, in fact, deranged and desperate and you, perfect you, encourage his weirdness.

“I can meow too!.. if it gets your attention,” Tim says, smoothly removing Chunky from your lap to the floor and taking what once was the cat’s spot on your chest.

“Please don’t,” you cringe, running your hands through Tim’s hair. You swear you can hear Tim start purring as you scratch his scalp, fingers nimbly gliding over his head.

“Just say you hate me and want me to die.”

“You’re literally on top of me right now,. I don’t grant that privilege to just anyone.”

“Good,” Tim hums.

You know, Death Cat aside, Tim thinks you guys will be okay. Scratch that. More than “okay.” You’ll be the best couple ever.

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ bonus material ruh roh

"Chunky, please. Please, man, I'm begging you! Please Chunky bro."

"mrow."

"Chunky, I've had a long night and all I wanna do is sleep NEXT to MY partner!" Tim whines, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're sound asleep with Chunky lying beside you - in Tim's spot, where Tim sleeps almost every night - and the damned cat is showing zero signs of moving within the next 10 minutes.

"Chunky, man please! I'm tired, you're tired, we're both freaking tired so just let me lay down," Tim says as he makes lazy attempts to scoot Chunks more towards your side; his attempts are met with less-than-lazy clawed swats.

"Fine! You win, you devil cat."

—

You awoke to the familiar screech of your cat begging for his morning meal and the lack of weight on your boyfriend's side of the bed. "Chunky baby... gimme a moment."

Chunky screaming means it's about 6:00 a.m., which means it must've been about 2 hours since Tim got back. You feel around your bedsheets and blankets for the aforementioned boy but you're unlucky in your pursuit.

So, you get up; eyes a little blurry and mind still jumbled from a post-sleep haze. "Tim?" you call, voice groggy and a tad deeper than it usually is.

"'m over here honey," Tim groans, "Chunky didn't let me on the bed"

The sentence wakes you up immediately. "What?" Shoving off your blankets and shuffling over to his side of the bed - or his side of the floor, really.

"Awww Tim! You didn't have to sleep on the floor," you giggle, "You could've just moved him!"

"He's too fat," Tim says with the most deadpan voice he can muster, the one he knows makes you giggle because he's being ridiculously serious.

You gasp, holding your hand to your chest like Tim's statement was a serious offense (it kind of was). "He is NOT fat! He's just... a bit chubby!"

Tim snorts, "You keep telling yourself that. Can I sleep on my bed now?"

"Uh uh, mister! You've committed a serious offense! I ought to call Batman over here and arrest you himself, criminal!" You tease, wagging your finger in Tim's face.

"Ohhh I'm so scared," Tim laughs, pulling you into the sweetest kiss ever. Before you even know it, he's already on the bed and you're both practically glued to each other. Not even Chunky could get you two to separate - mostly because you were both sleepy.

It's moments like these that make you realize that you really really love your boyfriend.

"You know, Chunky still hasn't been fed."

"He can wait a bit, can't he?"

SAM SPEAKS : first fic... ruh roh. i got carried away. ts was supposed to be only 300 words MAX 😭🙏. most of this fic is just me describing how i feed my cats, and how i act with my cats. yes, i do drum my fingers against a surface before i feed them (usually the lid of the box we keep the dry food in). anyways i've been wildly distracted lately by pictures of borzoi's. freaky looking dogs, but i love them so so much. ﹗I do not consent to my work being translated or reposted on any other accounts or websites. thank you for understanding <3

[conjureher]

GEN .ᐟ MASTERLIST

◜ᴗ◝ DETECTIVE COMICS .ᐟ none atm... oops!

˃ᴗ˂ INVINCIBLE .ᐟ coming soon!

≧ ≦ MARVEL .ᐟ coming soon!

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Requests are open! I write for a variety of characters. So don't be afraid to ask for characters that aren't listed here!

﹗I do not consent to my work being translated or reposted on any other accounts that aren't the ones I've listed on my profile thank you <3

[conjureher]

do you guys think i like the color orange??

[conjureher]

( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ) hii I’m sam .ᐟ any/all : 16

my ask box is always open! sooo definitely pop in there and ask me anything

ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ ˎˊ˗ this is an entirely sfw blog! I don't plan on writing smut at any point during my fanfic writing hobby. ≽^-⩊-^≼ ˎˊ˗ my request are currently open (and will only close if i'm truly truly swamped in other requests!). I write for a variety of media and characters, so I suggest just asking if I write for a specific character. (,,>﹏<,,) ˎˊ˗ i don't care who interacts with my content since i don't write smut! just be nice and spread positivity. you've got mail .ᐟ recent works : ̗̀➛ dudes in kevlar ; dick grayson

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