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This is EXACTLY why Bucky Barnes is my favorite character and it brings me so much joy to finally see a little bit of it on screen.

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It's a hill I will gladly die on.

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also thinking about dickroy as two people with absolute faith in the other + dick being allowed to step back from the spotlight around roy + roy trusting that someone will always be at his back my beloveds

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Titans (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bette Kane/Lilith Clay Characters: Bette Kane, Lilith Clay (DCU), Donna Troy (mentioned) Additional Tags: Comfort No Hurt, Sleeping Together, Sharing Clothes, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed Summary:

An ordinary night at Bette’s apartment in Blüdhaven.

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Titans (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bette Kane/Lilith Clay Characters: Bette Kane, Lilith Clay (DCU), Donna Troy (mentioned) Additional Tags: Comfort No Hurt, Sleeping Together, Sharing Clothes, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed Summary:

An ordinary night at Bette’s apartment in Blüdhaven.

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ASHGJFSADGJKJGDKBVCAADC

The ANGST.

The DRAMÁ.

The HOMOSESHUALITY.

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Scott, honey. You got a call that your late ex was still alive, ran off to New York, and left your wife and child in Alaska with winter approaching. All without a damn word of explanation. While in the middle of a fight with your wife about how you still weren't over the dead ex you ran off to go see.

Sweetiepie, this has nothing to do with your powers, you're just a self-sabotaging idiot.

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We don't talk like that here but okay

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Rusty Collins is an absolute sweetheart of a kid oh my god

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headcanons and canon explanations welcome.

Bruce has been in canon 5 years older, 19 years older, 15 ish year older and probably more I can't remember.

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There are two ways for a character to instantly become a favorite of mine. One, make them yellow-coded and bird-themed. Or two, make them Oklahoman.

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@jessechambers-ass you're a genius. He's an off-switch for Speedforce Bullshit. Accelerated aging, time displacement, lightning strikes, all the typical Baby Speedster Things start to happen to him, and he's just like "no thank you :)" and they don't. Then some years later some other kid at school is talking about how he wants to be a superhero and Wade's like "oh really? here ya go :D" and suddenly this random schoolkid has so many problems.

What if Wade is just, like, completely normal? No speed force connection, not a speedster, no powers, just a Very Normal Human Baby.

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What if Wade is just, like, completely normal? No speed force connection, not a speedster, no powers, just a Very Normal Human Baby.

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Genuinely curious about your take on Dick’s relationship with being both a natural performer and a private person at heart.

bruce wayne and dick grayson are very similar in many ways, but i'd say one of the most profound is their shared grief - experiencing immense personal loss at eight years old, in a spotlight on a stage that they can never truly leave. in the same way that the waynes murder cast bruce as a tragic figure in gotham, who can never escape the shadow of his parents passing. he was alone in the alley, but he will never stand alone without that weight of an audience again.

but the graysons literally died onstage, during a performance, before a horrified crowd. there is no part of dick's loss that is private. there is no part of this loss that is his alone. he is a born performer who loses everything, then transforms that grief into a literal symbol of light, which is taken from him again. how would u not want to fiercely protect what u have left? why would u ever want to share urself with a world that has already seen everything u are, and still wants more?

someone like that would bury themselves so deep that it becomes a non-story. nothing escapes the tight grip he holds over himself, the trickle of personal information he lets escape at a time. he wants eyes to pass over him, utterly disinterested. the less remarkable he is, the better. the easier he is to ignore, the more he can breathe.

brucie wayne is a performance for a goal, to hide in plain sight, but the art of pretending to be dick grayson is an act of self preservation. his body is not his own, nor were his parents. his name has created a legacy he has no control over. every kind smile is an effort to detract further questions. every barb, every cruel word means people might refuse to dig deeper. if he is nice, he is trusted. if he is mean, he is reviled. there is nothing more terrifying than being truly seen and still found wanting. people only get to witness what he wants them to. he controls the light, and the stage. the art of the performance is only showing the audience what u want them to see. never reveal ur hand. never show the other side of the box. and always keep the curtains drawn.

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Okay new Metron theory that I don't actually think is true, but it's as valid as anything else at this point, and I just blew my own mind thinking about this as a possibility.

What if ...he was a descendant of the Prometheans.

Alright hear me out! We know next to nothing about who the Prometheans are. Their origins are pretty mysterious, much like Metron. And also like him, they had an insatiable desire to go beyond the final barrier to reach the Source. It drove them to their own demise (sort of, they're still living), their hubris on display. Seems like a poetic warning to Metron of what his own fate could be if he keeps pursuing this thing. They obviously had some really advanced technology to enlarge themselves and bring devices or tools to try to break through, so it means they had inventions and science, which are within Metron's domain. And in his own words, their intellects match his, which is not something that most (any?) other beings could say.

It's a fun theory. I still think in actuality he probably is a descendant of the Old Gods from the same generation as Izaya, but the wording of this panel jumped out at me and got me thinking. If Metron is the god of knowledge and science and invention, meant to embody its wonders and dangers, a parable to its use, then why say the Prometheans are equals in the one thing that Metron is all about?

[ID: Comic panel of Metron in his Mobius Chair in space thinking, "Shattered, motionless giants!! Intellects that equal - my own! -- I can feel them invading my thoughts! -- Crying out in eternal humiliation!!!" /END]

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Can the audience request a ponyfied version of the rest of the teen titans? Please

yes, the audience can.

BEHOLD, EQUESTRIA'S VERY OWN TEEN TITANS !!!

+bonus : garth design sheets ((in case you guys want to see his unicorn form :3))

((his tempest design's based on my other titans wip btw .....which i certainly won't finish it soon (LOL) due to the heart-wrenching fact that my finals are right around the corner ....but i'll let you guys have a lil sneak ><))

*evil laugh*

[ feel free to request more from me tho!! i'd love to draw anything for you guys ---after i conquered all my final exams ofc lmao! right now i have an unbelievably busy schedule for like 2 months... i'll come back around june so if your asks got the late-reply treatment IM SORRY!! but i'll be back & do all of your art requests, trust! ]

p.s. ty anon for this lovely rq<3

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snippet (Robin!Tim and Nightwing!Dick in Blüdhaven)

LISTEN this is totally unedited but I read this post by @batposts two hours ago and immediately had a vision and had to write it sdfsfs.

* *

“You come into my house,” Dick says.

“Are you doing a meme?  Don’t do that, it’s weird when it’s you.”

“It’s not a meme, it’s a movie,” Dick says.  And hey, wait. “I can do memes!”

“You shouldn’t,” Tim says.

“You come into my house—it’s The Godfather, you illiterate, not a meme—into my house, but you don’t offer respect, you don’t offer friendship, you criticize my housekeeping—”

Tim's barricaded himself against one side of the couch and is shielding with a pillow, but it's not gonna save him.  "I stand - by what I said - about the cardboard - ow, ow, leggo!"

"You disrespect me in my own house and you pay the consequences!"

One scuffle later, the pillow is a lost cause, but Dick's won - Tim is really getting a lot better at breaking holds, but he still gets majorly disoriented when you flip him upside-down.  Dick seizes the opportunity to stride - okay, stagger, but who's counting - over to the window, buffeted by occasional kicks from his target.  

It's awkward trying to hold onto Tim and open the window at the same time, but luckily Tim gets distracted by trying to figure out what he's doing.  "Izzer something outside -" Tim is saying, when the window finally pushes open and Dick - with a great sense of personal satisfaction - wedges him head-first in a snowdrift, and then slams the window down.

* * Okay, so it's not like he's worried exactly, but he can only see Tim's legs and the immediate escape he was kinda assuming hasn't happened.  Tim's almost certainly playing possum, but -

Oh well.

He opens the window again, climbs out, and cautiously wades toward Tim's legs.  "Tim?  Are you - hey!"

He's prepped for a kick in the face, but instead the snowdrift grabs him by the ankles which - embarrassingly - hadn't occurred to Dick as a downside of the upside-down positioning.  Another scuffle later, they're both covered in snow and shivering, but Dick gets his target in a headlock.

"Uncle?" he offers.

Tim nods emphatically, but doesn't try to break away from the hold, so Dick keeps a loose grip on him for a moment, taking quick stock.  All limbs intact, no injuries, good.  Man, it's freezing out here, actually.  It's fun, the play-wrestling, but in retrospect this would've been a better prank in-costume.

He must've given away the uncertainty somehow, because Tim shifts a bit and presses the side of his face against Dick's chest: all good, in Tim-speak.  Dick cups the back of his head - message received - and lets him go.  

Tim immediately shakes his head like a dog, so the snow caked in his hair goes flying and hits Dick in the face.

"Brat," Dick says.

"Jerk."  They're both knee-deep in the snow now, but it's still soft from all the wrestling they've been doing, so when Tim backs away, it doesn't seem to take too much effort.  With a bit of distance, Dick can get a better look at him.  Tim's grinning, his cheeks are bright red from the cold, and he's absolutely covered in snow. It's fantastic. He looks like a mini-abominable snow-monster.

"Hot chocolate?" the snow-monster says hopefully.

Dick stands his ground in front of the window and holds up a finger.  "Take back what you said about the boxes."

"I'm dying of hypothermia," Tim whines.  Dick does his best stern I-am-definitely-not-bluffing face.  "Fine. I take it back.  But you do have an awful lot of -"  Dick holds up the finger again.  "It's the best-organized apartment ever.  Please let me in."

"Of course," Dick says, magnanimous in victory, and virtuously doesn't retaliate when Tim - on his way back through the window - "accidentally" dislodges the windowsill's remaining snow in Dick's direction. * *

Dick manages to wedge the window closed after them.  There's snow all over the apartment now from when the window was open, and his own clothes and Tim's are basically a lost cause.

Eh. Worth it.

Tim's teeth are chattering now.  "I'm s-s-so cold n-now," he says, stamping his feet and shaking more snow off his clothes.  He has the decency to relocate himself to the kitchen and the tile floor, at least.  "D-d-did you know that hypothermia sets in faster if you're w-wearing wet clothes and -"

"Yes, fine, you can borrow some of mine," Dick says.  The crocodile tears disappear, along with Tim, who bolts for the bedroom.  Shit.  "But not the leather jacket!  Hands off my jacket!"

"No take-backs!" Tim calls back.

"My apartment, my rules!  This is not a democracy!"

"You're a sadist!  I'm staging a rebellion!"

They do, actually, need to change, so Dick follows.  When he peers in the door, Tim's left a pile of wet clothes on the floor and is burrowing into one of Dick's old sweatshirts - not the jacket, thank goodness.  The heating's already cranked up, which will hopefully solve most of the mostly-but-not-entirely-hypothetical hypothermia problem.  Tim startles when he notices Dick there, but Dick leans against the door frame to signal he's not a threat, and Tim eases down.

It's silly, the screwing-around, and it's not like Dick really has any lofty reasons, but there's still something kinda satisfying about watching Tim get better at reacting spontaneously, in the moment, instead of getting caught up in overthinking.  Just move.  Action and reaction.  No hesitation, just you and the moment.  Reacting to things wasn't something Dick had actually thought you could be bad at until he met Tim, but Tim gets so caught up in his head worrying that it slows him down sometimes.

Spontaneous-reaction-time is definitely over, though, to judge by the way Tim's carefully folding his hands into the sweatshirt sleeves.  Dick raises his eyebrows.

"You should change too," Tim says repressively, and then adds, "With wet clothes, hypothermia can kill even at temperatures as high as 50 degrees."  He sounds like he's reciting from a manual. He probably is.

"Fussbudget," Dick says.

"That's not even a word!"

Tim is fussy, but he's not wrong about the clothes.  "I'm changing too, okay? You can sit next to the radiator," Dick offers.

"Uh, yeah.  Try and get me away."

Heh.  Dick ditches his own clothes for dry ones - Tim took the most comfortable sweatshirt, which is typical, but he's got others - and gets some blankets for Tim.  No harm in being cautious.  

Then he goes to track down the hot chocolate. * *

Huddled up with blankets next to the radiator probably isn't super-safe, fire-hazard-wise, but they are vigilantes.  It'll be fine.  And it's worth it, honestly - sprawled out on the floor, Tim curled against his side, the adrenaline fading until it's just the pleasant exhaustion after a good sparring session.  And - it's just good.  It's good.  A little reckless, the snow thing, in retrospect.  Tim's fussy, but hypothermia's real.  It could've gone wrong.  God knows what Bruce would think.  But Tim's cautious enough for the both of them, and - they do reckless stuff all the time, is the thing, risking their lives, and-

He catches himself trying to justify everything to Bruce in his head.  A bad habit - even Bruce himself isn't usually as critical as his voice in Dick's head is. He can wins arguments with real-Bruce all the time - fake-Bruce, not so much. And it's silly to psyche himself out about this, because sometimes - sometimes there are these things that he just can't put into words, what he knows and can't explain, that the roughhousing's good for Tim.  Puts color in his cheeks and a smile on his face.  He can imagine Bruce frowning, pointing out the risks, talking about warnings and self-control, and he doesn't have a comeback argument, but...

"I want marshmallows next time," Tim says.  He's got his mug just peeking out from under the blanket so he can sip on it.  "You should get marshmallows."

"You come into my house and criticize my hot chocolate offerings," Dick says.

"And I'll do it again," Tim says, but he throws Dick a sideways look like he's a bit uncertain - second-guessing himself, worried he's pushed the bit too far - so Dick reaches out and loops an arm around his shoulder.  Tim leans against him: message received.

"And you'll do it again," Dick agrees.  "I guess I'll just have to endure it somehow."  He jostles Tim a little, careful to keep it gentle enough to not spill the hot chocolate.  "I will kick you out if you criticize my packing supplies again, though.  Final warning."

Tim's mouth quirks up, like he's thinking of a comeback, but he doesn't say anything, and they let it go.  After a while, the hot chocolate is gone, and Tim puts his mug aside and curls in closer, and yawns, and then - typical - falls fast asleep.

Outside the window, the snow falls.

It's a good day.