The real reason everyone makes fun of Dicks Discowing outfit is because he's the only one that can somehow pull it off
Every superhero and vigilante has has a costume like that at some point, something daring or a bit ridiculous that in hindsight that they just couldn't make work for whatever reason. Nightwing? The pretty motherfucker not only made it work, he slayed in that outfit. It looks ridiculous by itself on display in the batcave but not when Nightwing puts it on
The only reason Dick doesn't know this is because all his siblings have collectively gaslit him into thinking that it's his worst costume to date.
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More security guard!simon thoughts.
He has to wear formal wear at work now. Which he hates- the man always feels constricted by a suit and tie in a way that will never be satiated no matter how much he adjusts his cuffs and the line of poor silk wrapped around his neck.
"For the love of Christ can you stop fidgeting? You're like a fucking child in church clothes." You peer over your laptop with narrowed eyes, letting your gaze focus on the way the fabric stretches over his muscles, buttons almost straining over his chest.
He says nothing. As usual.
"Maybe you wouldn't be so twitchy if you actually wore clothes that fit. You get paid enough to be able to afford a proper tailor.”
His eyes snap up to your own and you can feel his scowl underneath that stupid mask and can’t find the smile that it brings to your face. Annoying your obliged shadow has become one of the few joys in your day.
“Don’t need new clothes.”
“Yeah sure, tell that to the button that’s fighting for its life right now. If that thing flies off and takes my eye out, I’ll sue.”
“I’m sure you have a lawyer on retainer.”
“Several actually. Along with a very talented tailor who has done beautiful work for the past three weddings I’ve had to attend.”
“All for your father?”
“And each blushing bride-that-was-once-to-be that still feels the need to send me a christmas card.”
Simon feels his phone vibrate in the pocket of his slacks. Before he has a chance to reach for it- you confirm his curiosity.
“You have a meeting with him Saturday morning, he’ll do your measurements and then have your clothes ready for you on monday. I’ve sent the address to you and I expect the next time you come into my office, you’ll look like a normal human being and not a weightlifter stuffed into his old communion suit.”
The chair creaks under his weight as he leans forward, eyes narrowing into slits as yours don’t bother looking up from your computer screen as you continue to read whatever fucking proposal you’ve been glued to all morning.
“You know-” He rasps. “I work for your father. Not for you, don’t forget that.”
Your gaze flicks up to find his own and he’s taken aback by the thin smile that stretches over your face and the smug twinkle in your eye that makes him realize perhaps the two are one in the same.
“The appointment is 9 a.m, Riley. I’m sure your time in the military has made you quite the early riser.”
Simon has learned you have an interesting way of always getting what you want, even if you end up hating it in the end.
Which is how he finds himself standing before a wrinkled old man taking his inseam at 9:30 in the fucking morning- telling him that he should stick to muted colors for his ties from now on. Something like burgundy and dark greens because “she says it’s a complementary color for your eyes and I’m inclined to agree.”
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