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is it time for frank cho and milo manara to die or what
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Reader: wow! I’m so curious how you’re going to fit everything you’ve been foreshadowing in here!
Me, frantically flipping through my notes, trying to figure out if I’ve accidentally foreshadowed something I Shouldn’t Have: ummm, yes. Right. Uh, just for fun, would you mind telling me what, that would be… exactly.
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[Kitchen at Wayne Manor]
Dick: [picking through a candy bowl] Steph sure does date a lot doesn’t she?
Cass: [with prejudice] glass houses
Dick: I didn’t mean it was something bad!
Tim: She doesn’t date a lot, she breaks up a lot.
Dick: Isn’t that the same thing?
Cass: [unwrapping a chocolate bar] No
Tim: She has standards
Jason: [sorting m&ms] She dated YOU
Tim: She also broke up with me
Jason: …did you just insult yourself to defend your ex?
Tim: [stares Jason down while slowly eating a piece of fudge]
Dick: [coughs awkwardly] so anyway. Isn’t her dating so much a sign that her standards are TOO high?
Tim: [looks at Cass] Reasons Steph has dumped guys
Cass: [raises a finger] doesn’t like cats
Damian: [from the other room] WHAT?!
Tim: [also starts counting on his fingers] refused to learn how to do laundry
Cass: Had his mother clean for him
Tim: Told her to calm down
Cass: Wanted to become a stock broker
Tim: asked if she was on her period
Cass: mocked people for wearing crocs
Tim: said he’d never read a book with a “female protagonist”
Cass: Said she was too emotional
Tim: was way too into sports
Cass: Said women with short hair was unattractive
Tim: kept using ‘literally’ when he meant 'figuratively’
Cass: told her she was putting on weight
Tim: didn’t like Cass
Cass: didn’t like Tim
Tim: mansplaining
Cass: kept talking about the wine list
Tim: kept talking about his car
Cass: [running out of fingers] thought “me too” had gone to far
Tim: [also with all his fingers outstretched] told her she “wasn’t like other girls”
Dick and Jason:
Dick: I feel like some of those were more valid than others
Jason: [to Tim] so which one of those was the reason she broke up with you?
Tim: I didn’t like Tim.
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Dick: What’re you writing?
Jason: The GCPD wants to know what kind of weaponry we have. I’m writing them a reply.
Dick: *looking over Jason’s shoulder* …This just says “fuck around and find out” in calligraphy?
Jason: yep
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“-because Cass is iliterate…” “Because she can’t speak properly…” NO. shut the goddamn fuck up.  Cassandra Cain is a strong capable woman that will actually fuck you up if you refer to her as illiterate. She is learning and she is getting better by the fucking hour and she (and i) will fuck you up if you talk to her like that. 
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what is it about yj aqualad that makes him so respectable that sinful thoughts about him make me wanna go fetch the Pope?
It’s because he’s voiced by Khary Payton, who reminds me of god himself.
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Every friend group should include
A himbo,
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A mean bisexual,
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An even meaner lesbian,
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She/theys and he/theys,
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A token straight that’s on thin ice,
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An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart memorised,
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And a short king
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Forbidden
So I was in a mood when I wrote this because this week has been stressful and I wanted to write something soft with a hint of angst~
Damian x Reader
In the dead of night, you stood on a balcony, leaning over it and looking out at the stars before you. You were far away from the nearest city, somewhere where the light of stars could shine to their potential. And they did, ever so brightly, their warm light gently caressing you in the night. You shivered lightly at the chilly wind that passed through, nipping at your skin. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at the bare skin of your arms.
You felt warmth from behind and arms wrapping around your waist, gently bringing you back against a firm chest. A soft smile spread across your lips and you leaned back against Damian. He held you tight against him and rested his chin on top of your head, making sure to level his weight.
“Beloved, you’re awake… Is something the matter?” He asked, voice low and soft.
“Ah, yes, I’m alright my love,” You replied, still looking up at the stars.
“Then come back to bed, its late and you need rest,” He said.
You stayed quiet for a minute, figuring out your next words without giving away your true feelings. “Yes, I’ll be there soon…”
You had hoped your tone didn’t give you away but Damian was much sharper than that. There wasn’t a single thing that you could hide from him. He knew you like that back of his hand, always noticing even the smallest of change in your tone of voice. He pulled away a bit and spun you around, even in the pale light of the moon he could see your face clearly. And you as well, staring straight into his emerald green eyes in slight surprise by his sudden action. His expression was firm and unmoving, a slight frown placed on the sharp features of his face.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice matching the look on his face.
It was the those simple words to make the smile on your face fall and you quickly looked down. You didn’t want to give away anymore of your emotions. Didn’t want him to see the thoughts that ran through your head all displayed on your face. But he had anticipated that action, a hand already sliding under your chin and raising your head up. And it was that simple action to finally let way of all that you were thinking.
“You’ll be gone in the morning…,” You spoke, voice soft and in a whisper.
He sighed, coming to a full understanding of what it was that was worrying you. “I know beloved.. But I have to leave, for your safety.”
“I know,” You glanced down, blinking a few times to stop pesky tears, that were building up in your eyes, from sliding down. “Your mother…”
“Then you understand why I must. I cannot risk her finding out about you and putting you in harms way,” He said. Although he kept his voice firm, you sensed the faintest of fear weaved in.
Of course he was scared, the thought of losing you scared him more than any foe he’d ever faced. If Talia ever discovered you, he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of you. She’d view you as a distraction against Damian and distractions were not something Damian could have. Or at least how she viewed it, not now as he was descending on his way to becoming The Demon.
“Don’t dwell on it too much, beloved. There will come a day when I will be free to be with you, without the fear of anyone getting in the way. So please, if I may ask you to bear with me for just a little longer…,” He looked at you, green eyes boring deeply into yours.
You could only look at him and nod, knowing that no matter what, you’d follow by his side. He leaned down and softly placed his lips on yours, sliding his hand from your chin to your cheek. He let his love pour into the kiss as he cupped your face gently. And you let yours pour back, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in. Both hands slid down to your thighs and he easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist with ease.
He carried you back to the bed effortlessly, never once pulling away from the kiss. The rest of the night was spent with the two of you holding each other close. Breathing in his scent and memorizing the feeling of his skin against yours. How his touch set your skin ablaze, a heat that would never die down. He truly knew you better than anyone ever could, than you ever could. You let yourself live in the moment the two of you created right then and there, forgetting about what the morning light would bring.
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me : DC has a dragon  lady stereotype problem that dates back to the 1940′s that modern writers still use to this day which also includes the redemption arc of the biracial child leaning on the white parent
Fans with no braincells : but the female/mom characters are EviL???
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Damian really said what the fuck else were we gonna do 😂
Batboys reaction to Tiktok trends #1
Trend: “Accidentally” calling your bf your husband
Keep reading
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But now people can SEE 😤
JDFHSDKJ YOU REBLOGGED MY DAMIAN THING AND YOU SAID IT WAS TERRIFYINGLY ON BRAND AND I JUST AKJHSDKJG HI
HI OMG HELLO IT REALLY WAS ON BRAND. Like Damian has been drinking that respecting women juice since he was a bean and he’s lowkey terrified of their mind tbh. Because the thing with men is that you can gauge how good they are and how they fight. Women on the other hand? They’re underestimated and they USE that to their advantage.
It’s hilarious watching Damian fight a woman. He claims it’s because he won’t ever lay a hand on a woman because it’s against his principles (everyone calls his bullshit because he grew up taining with his mother).But really he’s just scared they’ll kick his ass. And they have. Multiple times. On good days, he’s not even ashamed to admit it.
ALSO DID YOU FOLLW ME OH MY FUCKING GOD??? Perhaps I’ll scream into the void thank you very much ANDHAJSBSHSHBS
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JDFHSDKJ YOU REBLOGGED MY DAMIAN THING AND YOU SAID IT WAS TERRIFYINGLY ON BRAND AND I JUST AKJHSDKJG HI
HI OMG HELLO IT REALLY WAS ON BRAND. Like Damian has been drinking that respecting women juice since he was a bean and he’s lowkey terrified of their mind tbh. Because the thing with men is that you can gauge how good they are and how they fight. Women on the other hand? They’re underestimated and they USE that to their advantage.
It’s hilarious watching Damian fight a woman. He claims it’s because he won’t ever lay a hand on a woman because it’s against his principles (everyone calls his bullshit because he grew up taining with his mother).But really he’s just scared they’ll kick his ass. And they have. Multiple times. On good days, he’s not even ashamed to admit it.
ALSO DID YOU FOLLW ME OH MY FUCKING GOD??? Perhaps I’ll scream into the void thank you very much ANDHAJSBSHSHBS
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Damian Wayne hates fighting women. 
Getting in a ready position, with both Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel in front of him, it reminds him how much he hates fighting women. 
Men are easy to fight. They carry themselves so loosely, they think the whole world is in their hands. They don’t rationalize properly, they don’t calculate their possibilities of winning.  They are insane.
Damian Wayne has learned that most men are, at some point. His years in the island, as a part of the league, they have taught him that. The only person with a scent of kept sanity was his mother, and even though they never carried a strong loving relationship, Damian respected her widely.  For not only has Talia managed to keep her sanity, but she has dragged Damian far from the pit the other men are in. 
Damian recognizes that he owes his life to his mother, yet admitting it is hard, for there are also factors that made him who he was a few years ago.  A killing machine. 
Damian hates fighting women, they are so different from men. They are quick-witted, they think their actions through, they know exactly their abilities. They wrap their sanity tightly with blankets of laughs and craze, seeming harmless and irrational. Damian Wayne knows the truth about women.  They are far more dangerous than men. 
It’s not sympathy he feels, getting in a ready position, strategizing for combat. It’s not pity for his enemy, it’s not compassion.  It’s fear. 
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::monochrome practice:: w/ Damian & Bruce Wayne
Took a break from zine works to sharpen my facial structuring skills...and ended up with something I am very very happy with and eager to share 🥺 which is rare, any artist can agree haha 😂 like father, like son!! The Batfam superpower is hot-af-ness, I don’t make the rules 😎🔥
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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 🪴🕊
𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
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𝐤𝐨𝐟𝐢
someone told me that i tend to write about the mundane things that truly express tenderness in love so here’s some of that in case you need it 🌷🪴💖
Dick:
Dick has had his fair share of experiences with those aspects of life that are systematically considered luxurious. That’s the thing about living amongst bourgeoisie idiots, regardless of it being new money or old money, it always seemed impossible for them to avoid reckless spending every now and again.
But no amount of caviar or Macallan scotch or bugatti’s bought in cash could ever meet the ecstasy that came with the feeling of being loved. That solid, undeniable and unshakable confirmation of affection that could be found in the smallest of utterances, of actions, of shared glances across crowded rooms.
That was priceless.
And being in love with a gem like you made every day a momentous gift in his existence. You were a dazzling light that graced the hazy skies that could sometimes threaten to suffocate him.
He would persist through the gray if it meant that he could hold on to you. It was almost serendipitous that you felt the same way he did, that you loved they same way he did.
So when he finds himself, choking on oversaid confessions in the inky blackness of a regular Monday night, all because you’d quietly taken to playing with his hair right before he was about to ask you to— he isn’t thrown.
“I’m in love,” he thinks. And then, “I am loved.”
Jason:
Take outs are the custom of the week in Jason’s household.
Usually, meals are quick fixes or luxurious spreads whipped up by either of you in the green-themed kitchen he’d so intricately spruced up himself. But this week, he’s been caught up with a web of something much bigger than he’d anticipated and you’ve been steeped in something equally as stressful.
The severe lack of your presence shouldn’t shake him as much as it does but by Friday— because he’d had to hold onto his complaints since Monday— he’s an aching mess for you. Heart torn out of his chest and hollowed centre painfully empty without your soothing company.
So he sets out on the task of a meal, because words are difficult and feelings are heard and Jason is man enough to admit that if he has to directly say the words, “I miss you,” he’ll burst into tears.
Maybe.
Your favorite meal is a cakewalk to him at this point. He goes through the motions on autopilot, body familiar enough with the actions that he doesn’t need to focus on mundanities. It leaves his brain enough space to focus on the deep yearning in his chest. He let’s the sting permeate for no other reason than he has no idea what else to do with it.
There’s an overplayed playlist of your favorite songs filling the apartment when you step through the door. A cover of a popular foreign love song that he can’t name but definitely knows all the words to, reverberates through his bones with it’s sheer volume. The chorus drops the second your eyes meet his over the kitchen island and if the moment isn’t cinematic and romantic and sticky, slow with magic then he has no other lexical inclination of how to describe it.
One second he’s plating dinner and humming along and the next, his arms are curving around your waist as you cling to him with impressive strength. And it fills the ache with sweet, forgiving honey. A gaping wound, healed in an instant.
“I missed you,” you say, so he doesn’t have to.
“I love you,” he says so you’re reminded. “So much.”
Tim:
“Hey.”
Tim’s eyes are screwed shut, breaths long and even streams from the depths of his chest. He’s exhausted. Knowing him, he’s probably been dragging around his tiredness for days, until the dam was forced to break on him. It wasn’t that he did this often, but rather that Tim was all about extremes. If he wasn’t stretching the limits of every task he had to complete or toeing the line of every aspect of life, he wasn’t satiated. Existing like that, regardless of how extraordinary it seemed, had to be beyond tiring.
Right here though, starfished across your bed in boxers and a soft, worn t-shirt that clings to the bend of his shoulders and slope of his narrow waist, he looked so normal. Untouched and unworried. His cheeks puff a bit as he exhales and your heart grows three sizes in your chest.
“Hey,” you try again.
This time you’re rewarded with a quiet, “Mmhmm.”
A hand extends in the general direction of your voice and you meet his touch with as much gentle reverence you can muster without your heart beating out of your chest. Tim’s fingers are knobbly and crooked but his skin is soft and warm against your own. Your hands fit together, seams melting away.
The tender idea births itself right then, as he gives your hand a squeeze, shifting over so that his nose brushes your knee.
“Pretty bird,” an intentional caress to his jaw is all it takes for his head to be moved, hair flopping back as his neck straightens. “Stay still for me okay.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t shift an inch. You putter around, gathering the small vials of serums and moisturizers that you so often hoard for your own benefit. The second your body sinks back down until the mattress, his hand strikes out again, fully grasping the edge of your t-shirt now. He’s impatient even when he’s sleepy. Typical.
“Stay still, okay.”
He nods in response this time, placated by the closeness of your body.
You set to work diligently, warming citrus and bergamot smelling liquids in your palms before tracing the dips of his temples with your fingers, along the lines of his symmetrical cheekbones and down to his chin. You repeat the process, adding in slow circles of your index fingers to the points of tension— his jaw that he clenches, the apples of his cheeks, the middle of his forehead.
Around your third cycle of this, his hand swings up to grab your wrist. “Thank you.”
“Is it alright?”
“Yeah,” and you don’t miss the little sniffle he takes before speaking again. “Feels nice.”
“Love you, pretty bird.”
Duke:
The bathwater is hot enough that steam still curls off the surface. You stand in the doorway, clothed in a slip of a robe, trying to chase away the overbearing mixture of love and anxiety that threatens to drown you before you even step close to the water.
Duke hums lowly while he works, fingers dancing across bottle of lavender and basil and a handful of other extracts that you can’t be bothered to name. He makes quick work of it all and soon, the scent is strong and alluring enough that it bounces off the porcelain tiles. You luxuriate in the simplicity of it until he turns around and offers you up an extra special sunshine smile.
“Almost ready, yeah?”
“There’s more to do?”
He laughs a little sheepishly as he produces a woven basket full of flowers; whites and pale pinks, crimsons and yellows and dainty lilacs. “Only a little more.”
The care he takes with separating plant from petal makes you ache down to your bones. It must be— it has to be, it surely is— impossible to love one boy as much as you love him.
“Are they….are they supposed to have special benefits too?”
“Nah,” he answers shyly. “They’re just pretty. I thought you’d like it, you know?”
How wonderful it was to be loved by him in return. To be on the receiving end of affection from someone who’d voluntarily draw you a special bath on a Tuesday night for no other reason than he felt like yiu could use the escape.
You can’t help the smile that graces your features. “I do.”
“Cool. I think we can get in now.”
“Hey, Duke?”
“Yeah, sunshine?”
“I love you.”
Damian:
He knows he’s being a brat.
He really shouldn’t. Not with you, anyway. Not when you’re probably the best thing, the most cherished, most precious thing he could ever behold.
But.
But, he’s not a fan of nightmares— neither his nor yours— and as the ceiling fan spins idly above both your heads, as the alarm clock winks out a neon green 3:00 a.m, he finds himself seething with bitterness at the unfairness of the world.
His trashing and tossing had woken you up and his shaken face would keep you awake. The last thing Damian wanted was to disadvantage you in any way and being the sole cause of your lack of sleep didn’t sit well with him at all.
Yet, you seemed unbothered. A complete character foil to his rotten temperament. He trembles through a weak aftershock and you anchor him with soothing whispers that caress his skin with buttery safety.
“I know you think it’s stupid—”
“I think plenty things are stupid.”
“Yes— can you let me finish?— yes, but even if you think it’s stupid, I think we could give that breathing control exercise a chance.”
And what comes out of his mouth is, “We?”
Because the lexical representation of him and you, you and him, as a defined unit made his heart stutter beneath his skin, pulse rapidly drumming along with the rhythm of excitement that came with love.
“Yeah,” your eyes are soft when he meets them. “Yeah, I’d do it with you.”
“Okay.”
He succumbs then to your insistence. To the guarding safety of giving trust and getting trust.
You gently slip an airpod into his ear, the paired other into yours and you both clasp hands tightly between your sleep-warm bodies as you work through each breathing exercise. By the end, he feels enough relief that his annoyance fades into a pink-tinged appreciation for your care.
“Thank you,” he says the words against your temple, the lilting sounds of Frank Ocean filling his ear as you swipe through his apple music library. “Love you.”
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DCeased: Dead Planet #5
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