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some days, it feels like the world is caving in, coming down on him. like the air is somehow more suffocating and the streets feels like they‘re closing in. if dick had claustrophobia, he‘d have already hit his breaking point. like this, he just goes on. ignores the glances his siblings, teammates and alfred throw him, like they’re searching for a way to bring up how he‘s been distancing himself more and more. he doesn’t tell them.

just sits down on his couch after patrol and doesn’t move again. he doesn’t flinch when there’s the telltale rattle of a window being pushed open from the outside or at the thudding of heavy boots on his worn floorboards. days like these, slade is gonna show up one way or another, letting himself into the apartment as if it belongs to him. dick doesn’t turn around or crane his head when the mercenary‘s shadow falls on him. he‘s too tired.

„don‘t feel well, pretty bird?“, slade asks, as if isn’t visible in the way dick‘s shoulders are hunched and he hasn’t even bothered to change out of the suit. the silence he receives is answer enough. so, he picks up the vigilante as if he weighs nothing and wordlessly carries him over to the bathroom, setting him down on the edge of dick‘s bathtub. slade knows where his favorite shower gels and shampoo are, same with the towels that are actually still fluffy. he ruffles dick‘s hair and carefully starts stripping him out of the suit- the defenses long useless.

(part one- yes i like describing too much but i learned to show not tell (or something like that) so,,, anyways i totally need a shower and thus relate to wonder boy XD)

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I’ve read too many amazing fics on AO3 with DC’s Slade and Dick I just…had to quickly get it out of my system. If anybody has some great fic recommendations with those two, please tell me. <3

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i feel like that anti spardacest post (“use this image when you see spardacest”) really doesn’t understand whose dash it comes across because hun i’m defo not the right audience,,,,

anyway feel free to block me if you don’t like it, i’m just gonna keep on having fun

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dick doesn’t think anybody ever really sees him- they see dickie grayson, sure, or nightwing. but not him. it’s like he’s invisible, trapped in their expectations for him; how good looking and kind and strong he is.

he really isn’t. he’s just.

the only person that ever really looks at him is slade, seeing through the cheerful persona he puts on to hide the emptiness he feels inside. the emptiness that can only be filled by another.

slade doesn’t ask for anything, he just takes. it’s refreshing in a way, not being expected to follow orders like bruce wants him to; not being expected to accompany women every other evening and pretend he doesn’t hear them whispering about what a catch he is.

dick is a performer, always has been. but the spotlight isn’t warm enough to keep his heart from freezing up, deprived of real sunshine and love.

so he doesn’t tell slade to fuck off when he comes to bother him on patrol, doesn’t reject his advances or invitations to take him home.

it’s not love, but it works.

(oh hey i’m not dead, and yes this isn’t a particularly good post but i felt like talking)

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another night, another rooftop. slade always seems to find him on the night it gets- hard to breathe.

“sad again, little bird?”, the mercenary steps almost silently onto the ledge dick is sitting on.

“not really? i just miss how it used to be when i was still in jump city with the titans? we’d used to stay up late watching bad horror movies we were way too young for, beastboy would get spooked and hide behind raven, kori wouldn’t get the scary parts- cyborg would pick apart the plot holes and i’d think an angry batman is way scariee than any monster.”

dick smiles at the memories of too much fast food, pillow forts in his room, keeping secrets from their guardians –

ah.

maybe he is sad.

(thank god slade can’t see the way his eyes water under his domino mask)

slade still notices, of course he does (there’s not much you can hide from him), and the asshole never keeps his mouth shut.

“you crying?”, (no slade he’s not crying)

“no.”, dick says, even though his voice wavers and his breathing’s hitched.

the older man sits down closer than socially acceptable, heat radiating off of him even through his armor and just waits for him to admit he’s right.

(dick peels off his mask instead)

(the tears fall a little quicker than he’d like)

“i still remember cyborg’s order when we’d get chinese. i see something green when i’m out shopping with damian and think “beastboy would love this”. or there’s an article about raven and kori in the newspaper and they still smile like they did when we were 15. i know i can call them anytime but we all have our own lives now- it’s just not the same.”

dick pauses- overwhelmed by something he doesn’t want to name.

“growing apart doesn’t change the fact that you grew side by side, that you still love them like a little kid. that love doesn’t fade away just because the people are gone.” (he’s not talking about the titans)

the words still feel like absolution (and what a thought that is, slade as a pastor and absolving him of any guilt over the past)

(more nostalgic dick because i miss my childhood)

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the vigilante that sits on the rooftop of a skyscraper in bludhaven doesn’t move a muscle when deathstroke comes to stand behind him. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even twitch or acknowledge the famed and feared mercenary.

“sometimes i feel like i never moved past being robin. like i got older but i didn’t grow up, grow out of the flashy cape and shorts.”

“like you’re still trailing behind the bat and waiting for him to order you around?”

“no. like alfred is waiting with cookies and warm milk with honey after patrol, like there’s still bruce in batman, like there’s-“

deathstroke waits for the young man to finish his sentence, but he doesn’t. silence falls onto them like batman’s cape onto a tiny boy, hiding him from prying eyes.

“sometimes i fall asleep on the couch and think i’m back in the manor when i wake up, like b carried me up to my room after i feel asleep in the library.”

the older man sits down next to the vigilante with a sigh, the kind that’s speaking of weariness and wisdom- rarely associated with famous killers for hire.

“it’s not like i want to go back to being robin, to being a child. sometimes i just realize i can’t go back, that i’ll never be small enough to fit under b’s cape again, to hear alfred scolding me for climbing on one of the chandeliers-“, he stops, trying to put the feelings into words.

“you don’t want to live in the past but the people you loved are there?” (slade, not deathstroke)

“yeah.” (dick, not nightwing)

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The boys

Sorry Skywarp you are not getting rendered 🙏

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Megatron caught the Seekers in the middle of somethin' 🤭

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why i keep going.

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happy valentines <3

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Lol I'm sorry I couldn't help it, the look on their faces

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vernero version continuation—

nero really doesn’t know how vergil and him ended up in this situation, cuddling pressed together too close for comfort on dante’s nasty couch.

actually he does know. his father had been sitting on the crusty couch in dante’s office, sipping tea as if he didn’t try ending the world like twice for personal gain— aka very peacefully.

vergil doesn’t spare him much more as a passing glance as nero gingerly takes a seat at the other end of the couch, expression remaining as blank as ever. nero sighs inwardly, so much for an explanation for,,, something. anything, really. for all of his actions maybe. his father remains silent, and he doesn’t really feel like talking to a wall.

the couch creaks ominously under their combined weight and nero feels two of the springs digging into his behind give– leading him to tip over into vergil’s side from the suddenly very steep incline of the cushions. nero lets out a quiet string of swears that would’ve had kyrie scolding him to high hell, cursing everything that lead to this moment (him, up in vergil’s space, very much not enjoying the heat his father’s body radiates) and hating his life in general.

he scrambles to awkwardly put some distance between them and get back onto his side of the couch– to no success. the older demon watches his struggle with an almost amused look in his eyes, clearly not taking him seriously. again.then, with no warning, his father pulls him back into his side with an arm around nero’s waist, as if nero weighs nothing. it’s embarrassing. and—

oh. oh no. vergil is warm. and being nestled into him is comfortable. nero needs to get up, like five minutes ago (fuck), he can’t stay here, this is dangerous. he’s so fucked.

the older demon almost smiles as his son finally relaxes and melts into his hold, clearly enjoying the feeling of a strong arm wrapped around him, pressing him close. nero’s ears are dusted with a pink blush, betraying the scowl on his face, he’s clearly enjoying this. (submission can come so easily, if you let it.)

— lol this got kinda long and i hope it’s coherent cuz i’m sleep deprived and cannot be bothered,,, i might write a non-spardacest version as well (^-^) who knows?

(repost cuz i was half asleep and clicked the wrong thing)

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bbgirl is plotting something im sure (edit bc i always forget the wings lmao)

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after the twins get back from hell, little changes. nero ends up staying at devil may cry more and more- in an attempt to get to know both vergil and dante (who are his father. and his uncle. that’ll take some getting used to.)

it’s not as if the two older men would go back to being at each other’s throats if he wasn’t there. probably. still, nero feels like maybe this is finally his place- not on fortuna, not with kyrie, not with nico. just this.

he doesn’t ask what happened in the months dante and vergil spent in hell, he doesn’t really wanna know. they both made it back alive which really is all that matters, right?

doesn’t change the fact that nero finds himself gravitating closer to his father every day— it’s almost creepy how easy it is, how comfortable it is. as if vergil didn’t rip his fucking arm off, as if he didn’t hurt him again and again. is this what they call stockholm syndrome?

— so the dmc fixation got worse (lol ^_−☆) — canon? i don’t know her,, literally i haven’t even gotten around to playing one game,,, me writing about stuff i literally know nothing about???

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so like i’m getting into devil may cry and like,,, on ao3 the top ship is dante/vergil so like is the fandom like supernatural pre-castiel introduction or what?

and how badly am i gonna get heckled for liking vergil/nero?

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there’s something cathartic about kneeling on a plush pillow on the floor, body encased by strong legs and your head resting on one thigh. it clears your head and the world feels a little less out to get you. dick likes whatever this is.

the hand that’s combing through his hair is rough, worn from working with firearms for too long for even the healing factor to clear away the welts.

“you know how there’s never a moment when there’s just enough time to rest? i can never just catch a break- it’s always one thing and then the next”, dick half mumbles into slade’s leg.

the man sitting on the couch only hums, beckoning him to continue talking.

“i’m so tired all day. i don’t even really feel like a person most of the time. it’s like i’m drowning in responsibility; in protecting blüdhaven; being nightwing- i don’t remember how to be anything else.”

slade just keeps on running his fingers through dick’s hair, soft pressure on his scalp keeping him from floating away in relaxation.

“i don’t know if i can keep going, you know? it’s all too much but i can’t let them down so i’ve just been nightwing, not dick. nightwing isn’t a person. nightwing doesn’t get tired, nightwing doesn’t get so exhausted he feels like he’s drowning, nightwing doesn’t feel horrible every time he has to leave his apartment.”

as he continues, dick’s voice starts cracking. talking about how he’s feeling has never come easy to him, courtesy of batman’s a+ superhero sidekick training- don’t show your fear or someone will take advantage of it. this would probably count as slade taking advantage of dick in his eyes.

“some days i don’t even want to be alive. i just want to be gone. my presence doesn’t make a difference in most situations anyway, what would it matter if i was just gone? everything would be so much better if i just didn’t exist.”

slade hums something noncommittal again, providing comfort in his own way- breaking his little bird down and then picking up the pieces again.

(making dick talk to slade about being suicidal and not feeling like a person because i can,, might write a part two when i’m feeling better)