You Can Call Me G

24:) ♥️Hella Ace♥️If you’re reading this, I think you’re super cute, and I hope you have a good day <3

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

You

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ilu1rGV by LeeFail You're in Gotham, and you're weirdly attractive, in the literal, un-natural sense. You don't like it. - Reader x darker versions of the Bat-Family. Words: 1689, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Other Characters: Reader, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson/Reader, Jason Todd/Reader, Tim Drake (DCU) & Reader, Damian Wayne & Reader, Bruce Wayne & Reader, Batfamily Members (DCU) & Reader Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, Dark Batfamily (DCU), Alternative Gotham read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ilu1rGV

[thememedaddy]

[papayafromtv]

i think batman probably had to ban the rest of the batkids from taking hostages for interrogation purposes during cases, because none of those fucking kids know how to act with a prisoner in their midst. tim came up with a game once called 'robin roulette' and got damian to make a really colourful looking wheel for the occasion, so whenever they had to interrogate somebody for information and the hostage was being stubborn they would ask 'wanna play robin roulette for your freedom instead?' and then they'd spin the wheel and whichever of the batboys the wheel landed on, the hostage was untied and had to fist-fight them to win their freedom. people caught on quickly that there was literally no good option in robin roulette and interrogations started lasting fifteen seconds max because whoever they caught would catch a glimpse of the wheel and instantly spill their guts to avoid playing, and eventually bruce had to take the wheel away and ban them all from partaking in suspect interrogations because he caught the kids actively threatening and blackmailing suspects into not giving any information out because they were bored and wanted an excuse to play the game again, and the only way he got them to stop was to point out that technically what they were doing was the equivalent of a mixture of underground cock fighting and police brutality.

[papayafromtv]

i think batman probably had to ban the rest of the batkids from taking hostages for interrogation purposes during cases, because none of those fucking kids know how to act with a prisoner in their midst. tim came up with a game once called 'robin roulette' and got damian to make a really colourful looking wheel for the occasion, so whenever they had to interrogate somebody for information and the hostage was being stubborn they would ask 'wanna play robin roulette for your freedom instead?' and then they'd spin the wheel and whichever of the batboys the wheel landed on, the hostage was untied and had to fist-fight them to win their freedom. people caught on quickly that there was literally no good option in robin roulette and interrogations started lasting fifteen seconds max because whoever they caught would catch a glimpse of the wheel and instantly spill their guts to avoid playing, and eventually bruce had to take the wheel away and ban them all from partaking in suspect interrogations because he caught the kids actively threatening and blackmailing suspects into not giving any information out because they were bored and wanted an excuse to play the game again, and the only way he got them to stop was to point out that technically what they were doing was the equivalent of a mixture of underground cock fighting and police brutality.

[briarpatch-kids]

There's been a development in Lesbian Technology:

[Image descriptions: two side by side photos of a carabiner made by Bigfoot Locker for keys made up of 4 or 5 smaller carabiners]

[tb-png]

‘i love you dami’

[stantanly]

the sillies

[angelgemy]

The Owl and his Talon

[trans-ralsei]

[trans-ralsei]

[caughtthedarkness93]

I love my job, but reblogging employment jelly for someone else I love.

[six-sided-die]

Yes yes, very nice 👌

[crookshanks-07]

The Nice One

Nightwing x reader 

Summary: Reader gets caught up trying to chase a lead for their story and Nightwing comes to the rescue 

Masterlist

Asks/requests are open!!

The Gotham Gazette didn’t give second chances. You’d learned that your first week. By your third, you understood something worse: they didn’t give first chances either, not the kind that mattered. Not the kind that put your name on a front page instead of buried under someone else’s byline.

So when the lead came in, half-whispered, barely substantiated, passed between desks like something fragile and unwanted, you took it before anyone else could decide it wasn’t worth the risk. Falcone-connected movement. Late-night shipment. East End. Sketchy enough that not one senior wanted to touch it without backup.

Perfect.

The building looked like it was trying to cave in on itself. Brick sagging. Windows blacked out. A single flickering light near a side entrance that made everything look worse instead of better.

You crouched behind a rusted dumpster across the street, camera pressed to your chest, breath shallow but controlled. Your phone stayed on silent. Your notes were already tucked away. You told yourself this was what proving yourself looked like. You told yourself you weren’t shaking. A car rolled up. Then another. Men stepped out, heavy jackets, heavier posture. The kind of stillness that came from knowing they were the most dangerous thing in the room. You lifted your camera.

Click.

Click.

Zoom in, faces, hands, the exchange of a crate.

Click.

Your pulse climbed higher with every shot, adrenaline creeping in, sharpening everything. This was it. This was the story. This was—

A sound cut through the air. You froze. It was soft. Almost nothing. A high, sharp trill. A birdcall. You frowned slightly, lowering the camera just a fraction. Another answered from somewhere above. Lower this time. Shorter. Your stomach dropped. That wasn’t random. That was—

A third sound. Different rhythm. Closer. Your head tilted up slowly. Rooftop. Movement. You didn’t even fully process it before chaos rained down.

They didn’t enter. They descended. A blur of black and blue dropped from the roof like gravity had finally decided to take sides. Another figure followed, red, heavier, more brutal in the way he landed. A third swung in from the side, precise and calculated. The fourth, smaller, faster, hit the ground already moving.

For a split second, the entire room stalled. Then everything broke.

“—What the—”

“BAT—!”

Too late. Nightwing hit first. You’d heard things about him. Everyone in Gotham had. The nice one. The one who smiled. The one who talked people down. The one kids pointed at when they saw shadows on rooftops and said, that one won’t hurt you.

You watched him move, and felt something cold settle in your chest. Because there was nothing gentle about it. His escrima sticks snapped out with a sharp crack. The first goon barely got his hands up before Nightwing struck, fast, controlled, precise, but hard. The sound echoed in the room like a drumbeat.

Crack—shoulder.

Crack—ribs.

Crack—knees.

Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Worse.

Intentional.

Measured.

Like he knew exactly how much force it took to drop someone without killing them, and rode that line without hesitation. Another man rushed him. Nightwing pivoted. The sticks moved again, faster this time, rhythm picking up.

It was almost—

Your breath caught. It was almost musical. Like a drum kit. Each hit placed with terrifying accuracy, building into something fluid and relentless. The goon didn’t stand a chance. None of them did. And Nightwing, he didn’t stop smiling. Not wide. Not friendly. But there was something there. Something focused. Something that looked right in the middle of the violence.

Gunfire.

Red Hood answered it. Loud. Immediate. Controlled chaos as he moved through the room like a storm given form. Red Robin was already disabling weapons, pulling people down, tying fights off before they could escalate. Robin, fast, furious, took down anyone who slipped past the others with sharp, efficient strikes. But you? You couldn’t look away from Nightwing.

A goon swung a pipe. Nightwing blocked it, twisted, brought his escrima stick down again, crack, and the man dropped. Another tried to run. Nightwing’s foot caught him mid-step, sending him sprawling before a final strike ended it. Clean.

Final.

Done.

Your camera hung useless in your hands. You should’ve been taking pictures. You should’ve been documenting everything. Instead, you were staring. Because this wasn’t what people described. This wasn’t the softened version of Gotham’s protectors people told themselves so they could sleep at night. This was something else entirely. Something sharper. Something real.

Nightwing paused. Just for a second. Breathing steady. Shoulders rising and falling once. Then, his head turned. Directly toward you. You froze. Completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs as his gaze locked onto yours across the room. The mask hid most of his face, but not all of it. Not the eyes. They flicked over you once, quick, assessing. Camera. Notepad. Civilian. Alive. Safe. He started walking toward you.

Your brain short-circuited. Move. You should move. You should step back, say something, do something. Your feet didn’t listen. Each step he took felt louder than the entire fight had been. Measured. Calm. Controlled in a way that made everything else, the chaos, the noise, the violence, feel even more real in hindsight.

He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. Close enough to notice the small scuffs on his suit. Close enough that the adrenaline still clinging to him felt almost… tangible. “Hey,” he said. Not sharp. Not accusing. It threw you off more than anything else. “Are you hurt?”

You blinked. Once.

Twice.

Your mouth opened, nothing came out. “I—no—I mean—” your voice caught on itself, tripping over the words. “No, I’m—I'm fine. I think. I didn’t—” God. You sounded ridiculous.

Your grip tightened on your camera like it might anchor you to something real. “I was just—working. I didn’t—I wasn’t—” You stopped. Because you didn’t even know what you were trying to explain.

Nightwing tilted his head slightly, watching you, not in that sharp, calculating way from before, but something quieter now. Checking. Making sure. “Okay,” he said after a second. “Just… making sure.”

There was a pause. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. If anything, it felt louder now in the silence. You swallowed. Your brain scrambled to catch up, to make sense of what you’d just seen, of him. The stories.

The rumors.

The way people talked about him like he was the safe one.

The easy one.

The one you wouldn’t be afraid of if you ever ended up this close.

Your eyes flicked to the escrima sticks still in his hands. To the unconscious bodies scattered across the floor. To the memory, fresh, vivid, of the way he’d moved. Precise.

Relentless.

Unstoppable.

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “…you’re the nice one?”

There was a beat. Then, Nightwing blinked. And let out a short, quiet laugh. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t harsh. It was almost, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing around the room for half a second before looking back at you, something a little amused tugging at his voice. “I get that a lot.”

You stared at him, something uncertain pulling at your expression. “…that’s not what I expected from the nice one.”

That earned you something closer to a real smile, brief, but there. “Probably not.”

Another pause settled between you. Lighter this time. Still tense, but different. He nodded once toward your camera. “You get what you needed?”

You looked down at it like you’d forgotten it was there. “I—yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” His tone shifted just slightly again, firmer, but not unkind. “Next time, don’t do it alone.”

Next time. Like he already knew there would be one. Like he knew you weren’t the type to stop. You let out a small, breathy huff that might’ve been a laugh. “…noted.”

Across the room, a voice cut in, “We need to move.” Red Hood. Impatient. Watching. 

Nightwing stepped back. The distance returned all at once. “Get somewhere safe,” he said. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought, “And try to stay out of trouble.”

Before you could respond, he turned. One step.

Two

And then he was gone, the others moving with him, shadows folding back into the night like they’d never been there at all. The silence hit differently this time. Not empty. Just… settling. You stood there for a long moment, staring at the space he’d been. At the aftermath. At your shaking hands.

Slowly, you lifted your camera. Checked the shots. Every frame told the same story. Violence.

Precision.

Control.

Truth.

But none of them captured the way he’d looked at you. You lowered the camera slightly, exhaling. “…the nice one,” you muttered to yourself. Then, after a beat, you almost laughed.

Based off this TikTok bc dick is actually a menace

[crookshanks-07]

The Nice One

Nightwing x reader 

Summary: Reader gets caught up trying to chase a lead for their story and Nightwing comes to the rescue 

Masterlist

Asks/requests are open!!

The Gotham Gazette didn’t give second chances. You’d learned that your first week. By your third, you understood something worse: they didn’t give first chances either, not the kind that mattered. Not the kind that put your name on a front page instead of buried under someone else’s byline.

So when the lead came in, half-whispered, barely substantiated, passed between desks like something fragile and unwanted, you took it before anyone else could decide it wasn’t worth the risk. Falcone-connected movement. Late-night shipment. East End. Sketchy enough that not one senior wanted to touch it without backup.

Perfect.

The building looked like it was trying to cave in on itself. Brick sagging. Windows blacked out. A single flickering light near a side entrance that made everything look worse instead of better.

You crouched behind a rusted dumpster across the street, camera pressed to your chest, breath shallow but controlled. Your phone stayed on silent. Your notes were already tucked away. You told yourself this was what proving yourself looked like. You told yourself you weren’t shaking. A car rolled up. Then another. Men stepped out, heavy jackets, heavier posture. The kind of stillness that came from knowing they were the most dangerous thing in the room. You lifted your camera.

Click.

Click.

Zoom in, faces, hands, the exchange of a crate.

Click.

Your pulse climbed higher with every shot, adrenaline creeping in, sharpening everything. This was it. This was the story. This was—

A sound cut through the air. You froze. It was soft. Almost nothing. A high, sharp trill. A birdcall. You frowned slightly, lowering the camera just a fraction. Another answered from somewhere above. Lower this time. Shorter. Your stomach dropped. That wasn’t random. That was—

A third sound. Different rhythm. Closer. Your head tilted up slowly. Rooftop. Movement. You didn’t even fully process it before chaos rained down.

They didn’t enter. They descended. A blur of black and blue dropped from the roof like gravity had finally decided to take sides. Another figure followed, red, heavier, more brutal in the way he landed. A third swung in from the side, precise and calculated. The fourth, smaller, faster, hit the ground already moving.

For a split second, the entire room stalled. Then everything broke.

“—What the—”

“BAT—!”

Too late. Nightwing hit first. You’d heard things about him. Everyone in Gotham had. The nice one. The one who smiled. The one who talked people down. The one kids pointed at when they saw shadows on rooftops and said, that one won’t hurt you.

You watched him move, and felt something cold settle in your chest. Because there was nothing gentle about it. His escrima sticks snapped out with a sharp crack. The first goon barely got his hands up before Nightwing struck, fast, controlled, precise, but hard. The sound echoed in the room like a drumbeat.

Crack—shoulder.

Crack—ribs.

Crack—knees.

Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Worse.

Intentional.

Measured.

Like he knew exactly how much force it took to drop someone without killing them, and rode that line without hesitation. Another man rushed him. Nightwing pivoted. The sticks moved again, faster this time, rhythm picking up.

It was almost—

Your breath caught. It was almost musical. Like a drum kit. Each hit placed with terrifying accuracy, building into something fluid and relentless. The goon didn’t stand a chance. None of them did. And Nightwing, he didn’t stop smiling. Not wide. Not friendly. But there was something there. Something focused. Something that looked right in the middle of the violence.

Gunfire.

Red Hood answered it. Loud. Immediate. Controlled chaos as he moved through the room like a storm given form. Red Robin was already disabling weapons, pulling people down, tying fights off before they could escalate. Robin, fast, furious, took down anyone who slipped past the others with sharp, efficient strikes. But you? You couldn’t look away from Nightwing.

A goon swung a pipe. Nightwing blocked it, twisted, brought his escrima stick down again, crack, and the man dropped. Another tried to run. Nightwing’s foot caught him mid-step, sending him sprawling before a final strike ended it. Clean.

Final.

Done.

Your camera hung useless in your hands. You should’ve been taking pictures. You should’ve been documenting everything. Instead, you were staring. Because this wasn’t what people described. This wasn’t the softened version of Gotham’s protectors people told themselves so they could sleep at night. This was something else entirely. Something sharper. Something real.

Nightwing paused. Just for a second. Breathing steady. Shoulders rising and falling once. Then, his head turned. Directly toward you. You froze. Completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs as his gaze locked onto yours across the room. The mask hid most of his face, but not all of it. Not the eyes. They flicked over you once, quick, assessing. Camera. Notepad. Civilian. Alive. Safe. He started walking toward you.

Your brain short-circuited. Move. You should move. You should step back, say something, do something. Your feet didn’t listen. Each step he took felt louder than the entire fight had been. Measured. Calm. Controlled in a way that made everything else, the chaos, the noise, the violence, feel even more real in hindsight.

He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. Close enough to notice the small scuffs on his suit. Close enough that the adrenaline still clinging to him felt almost… tangible. “Hey,” he said. Not sharp. Not accusing. It threw you off more than anything else. “Are you hurt?”

You blinked. Once.

Twice.

Your mouth opened, nothing came out. “I—no—I mean—” your voice caught on itself, tripping over the words. “No, I’m—I'm fine. I think. I didn’t—” God. You sounded ridiculous.

Your grip tightened on your camera like it might anchor you to something real. “I was just—working. I didn’t—I wasn’t—” You stopped. Because you didn’t even know what you were trying to explain.

Nightwing tilted his head slightly, watching you, not in that sharp, calculating way from before, but something quieter now. Checking. Making sure. “Okay,” he said after a second. “Just… making sure.”

There was a pause. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. If anything, it felt louder now in the silence. You swallowed. Your brain scrambled to catch up, to make sense of what you’d just seen, of him. The stories.

The rumors.

The way people talked about him like he was the safe one.

The easy one.

The one you wouldn’t be afraid of if you ever ended up this close.

Your eyes flicked to the escrima sticks still in his hands. To the unconscious bodies scattered across the floor. To the memory, fresh, vivid, of the way he’d moved. Precise.

Relentless.

Unstoppable.

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. “…you’re the nice one?”

There was a beat. Then, Nightwing blinked. And let out a short, quiet laugh. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t harsh. It was almost, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing around the room for half a second before looking back at you, something a little amused tugging at his voice. “I get that a lot.”

You stared at him, something uncertain pulling at your expression. “…that’s not what I expected from the nice one.”

That earned you something closer to a real smile, brief, but there. “Probably not.”

Another pause settled between you. Lighter this time. Still tense, but different. He nodded once toward your camera. “You get what you needed?”

You looked down at it like you’d forgotten it was there. “I—yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” His tone shifted just slightly again, firmer, but not unkind. “Next time, don’t do it alone.”

Next time. Like he already knew there would be one. Like he knew you weren’t the type to stop. You let out a small, breathy huff that might’ve been a laugh. “…noted.”

Across the room, a voice cut in, “We need to move.” Red Hood. Impatient. Watching. 

Nightwing stepped back. The distance returned all at once. “Get somewhere safe,” he said. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought, “And try to stay out of trouble.”

Before you could respond, he turned. One step.

Two

And then he was gone, the others moving with him, shadows folding back into the night like they’d never been there at all. The silence hit differently this time. Not empty. Just… settling. You stood there for a long moment, staring at the space he’d been. At the aftermath. At your shaking hands.

Slowly, you lifted your camera. Checked the shots. Every frame told the same story. Violence.

Precision.

Control.

Truth.

But none of them captured the way he’d looked at you. You lowered the camera slightly, exhaling. “…the nice one,” you muttered to yourself. Then, after a beat, you almost laughed.

Based off this TikTok bc dick is actually a menace

[papayafromtv]

ten year old Tim Drake having a minor phase of liking archeology bcs of his parents so he starts digging shit up in his garden, but because he’s Tim Fucking Drake he does it too well and accidentally unearths one of the tunnels that connects to the fucking batcave.

ten year old Tim Drake who already knew who Batman and Robin were, finding out he now has a secret tunnel in his garden connecting his house to their lair, and he’s just like ‘fuck yeah that’s cool.’ and starts exploring.

thirteen year old Jason Todd bored and fucking around alone in the batcave system when he comes across a fucking ten year old who knows his identity, clearly idolises the hell out of him, and is just kinda wandering around the cave system alone and completely chill about it. they see a super dangerous spider and Tim just starts info-dumping on the species. when asked if he has a curfew to go back home by he goes ‘uh, July i guess? that’s when mom and dad get back.’ it is early February.

thirteen year old Jason Todd who takes a minute and then goes ‘ok this is funny as fuck i promise i won’t snitch to Bruce.’

Jason Todd and Tim Drake being secret cave buddies. Jason Todd and Tim Drake hanging out in the tunnels and making fun of Batman and Nightwing from the shadows. Tim Drake who has to buy a whole new set of night-vision camera lenses for his new photo album that’s just photos and selfies of him and his new best friend Robin fucking around in the underground pitch-dark.

Jason Todd who dies, gets revived, is told by Talia that Tim Drake has ‘replaced him’ unknowing they’re already friends, and Jason who all he can think of is that time they played hide and seek in the cave system and Tim clung to the fucking ceiling via a stalactite for 45 minutes straight. Jason Todd who just looks at Talia and goes ‘yeah sounds about right for him.’

Jason Todd being told he has to deliver Damian to Bruce and he decides ‘absolutely the fuck not’ to the idea of even touching the front door. they have a Ring camera he is not getting caught on that bullshit.

Jason Todd who just goes to Drake Manor and uses Tim’s old entrance to get into the tunnels, his home away from home, dragging Damian along, until he gets to a spot where he can secretly signal into the batcave for Tim to sneak the fuck away.

fifteen year old Tim Drake who gets called into the tunnels to find the Red Hood, unmasked as Jason, presenting to him a random child which he declares to be the son of Batman.

fifteen year old Tim Drake who comes full circle and says ‘ok this is funny as fuck i promise i won’t snitch to Bruce.’

the cave boys are reunited. a third is added to the club. a new photo album is filled. when Tim brings Damian up through the tunnels into the cave he looks Bruce dead in the eyes and says fully straight-faced ‘this is your cave son. i found him wandering, he was born from the shadows of the bat.’

eleven year old Damian Al Ghul-Wayne who’s spent the past three and a half years under Jason Todd’s influence and sombrely declares ‘the cave birthed me for you, father. i am darkness. i am your child.’

Bruce Wayne who genuinely is starting to lose it.

[papayafromtv]

ok somebody requested this as a fic within an hour of me posting it LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

[papayafromtv]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 51 (masterpost here) *faint whooshing of air*

Dick: -was arguing with B for like three hours. he's genuinely trying to crack down on- *panicked yelp* *grunt* -whoooooly shit that was close, i almost swung straight into that stop sign.

Jason: you have got to stop drinking and swinging.

Dick: you're the one that dared me to shotgun it! it's fine, it's a bank holiday tomorrow. nobody ever does shit before a bank holiday; like they think they deserve a break from committing crimes as well.

Jason: tell me about it, i got so bored on my patrol route i've stopped and i'm now painting the outside of this lady's house for her. do you think you'll take some drinks on the stakeout?

Dick: *considering hum* depends on if i win my argument with B and get to take Dami with me. he's really trying to put a stop to unneeded team ups on stakeouts, it's insane.

Jason: he's such a coward, like he wants us to get along and spend time with each other, but once we're suited up? nooooooo~,

Dick: *annoyed mimic* 'taking more than one person to go sit in a room and watch for information is a waste of assets that we cannot afford right now' -one of us needs to take one for the team and get horrifically injured while on a solo stakeout so that he has to eat his words and admit we shouldn't do them alone.

Jason: i blame Tim. i fully blame Tim, because two weeks ago he took Steph, Kon, and that Flash-kid all on a 'stakeout' to watch for drug exchanges during some party. 50 minutes in and they got bored, started playing truth or dare, and Tim ended up just going and joining the fucking rager.

Dick, snickering: fuck, yeah Damian told me about that over the phone, what the fuck were they thinking? he's still grounded from that, isn't he?

Jason: i dunno but now they've ruined it for the rest of us because now B is cracking down- oh. oh hold on,

*faint mumbles from Jason's com*

Jason: No, no, no te preocupes, estoy bien, no necesito limonada. Estoy usando un casco, no funcionaría.

*more mumbles*

Jason: *chuckle* Gracias, gracias. -ok i'm back.

Dick: who the fuck drinks lemonade at half twelve at night? actually- who the fuck asks for their house to be painted at half twelve at night?

Jason: to be fair to her she's like, seventy and nocturnal. also she just wants the whole building to be white, it's kind of hard to fuck up regardless of the light levels. and the helmet has night vision.

Dick: *grunt of acceptance*

Jason: so do you think you'll get B to let Dami join you on that stakeout?

Dick: if he says no i'll just sneak him out to me anyway; i miss the kid, we haven't hung out in a while.

Jason: *hum*

Jason: also, Damian on a stakeout is, like, my favourite thing to experience in the entire fucking world. he is genuinely the funniest child i've ever met.

Dick: *abrupt excitement* rIGHT?!?! LIKE WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENS TO HIM THAT HE JUST BECOMES A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?!

Jason: oh my- no, D, you don't even know. I've literally had conversations with Talia where we've drained entire bottles of wine discussing the science behind this, it's insane.

Dick: he is just... a creature. and i love him.

Jason: my theory is that because he's so obsessive about being productive and busy at all times, that the only occasions where his brain will let him, like... chill the fuck out and just sit, is when he's on a stakeout or something. because in his brain it's like 'well this is still vigilante work, so you have to do nothing for a while'. and then he instantly transforms into my favourite person on the planet.

Dick: what gets me- what makes me laugh is the snacks. have you seen the shit he makes himself when he's locked in on a stakeout for hours on end?

Jason: seen? motherfucker i'm the one who taught him to cook, may i remind you,

Dick: *laughs* ok so- so can you- can you tell me what's up with the custard thing...?

*pause*

Jason: *dramatic, long sigh*

Dick: *cackles* WHAT- WHAT WAS THAT?

Jason: i'm just-! *breathy laughter* no i'm just- i'm just preparing myself, because the custard thing- fucking hell,

Dick: ok so you do know what i'm talking about then?

Jason: *resigned* yeah,

Dick, amused and expectant: go on then.

Jason, resigned and hesitant: well... it was something cheap i could make easily when i was a kid, right? because it's literally just a couple dollars for a massive tub of powder and then you just mix a little of it with milk and sugar and bam, a whole meal-!

Dick, incredulous: -OF PLAIN CUSTARD?

Jaosn: FUCK OFF MY MOM WAS AN ADDICT. anyway, when i got to the league i realised that Day was like, the main heir of the league and therefor his entire existence was just about training; the kid got fed nutrition bricks and the occasional slab of meat, that was it. so when i became heir and like, usurped Damian's position, i told everybody that since he wasn't the firstborn anymore that they could all fuck off with their shitty child rearing and start treating him like a person,

Dick: -yeah didn't he mention he used to sleep in a cell before you came along?

Jason: yeah he fucking- i changed all that shit. made them give him a bedroom, cut down on his classes, started sneaking him out of the compound to spend the evenings with me and my crew in Nanda Parbat; and then i started getting him to try new foods and shit, cookin' for 'im.

Dick: and you made him *snort* -sorry, and you made him custard?

Jason: fuck off, ok? he wanted to help me cook and i figured just stirring a pot 24/7 until the goop thickened was as easy enough job. so it was the first thing i taught him to cook and i guess it stuck with him. he says the smell of it's nostalgic now, like a comfort food.

Dick: ...i guess that is kinda sweet.

Jason: yeah but now it's like, the first thing he starts craving the second he wants to relax or chill out for a bit. like i remember the first time i did a stakeout with him in Gotham we were planning for it and i was like 'ok this is gonna be at least eight hours so i need to grab some cigs; i need me some vices to stop from getting bored' y'know? and fucking Damian just hums in agreement and then goes 'agreed, i'll have to bring a portable gas cooker', and i'm like what the fuck are you-

Dick: *audible gleeful* HE- HE, THE FIRST TIME I DID A STAKEOUT WITH HIM- the first time i did a stakeout with him i didn't see what he'd packed for it until we got there, so i didn't know what the fuck was going on until an hour in when i brought out a pack of jelly babies and asked if he wanted a snack, and he went 'oh i'll make my own' and pROCEEDS TO SET UP AN ENTIRE FUCKING CAMP KITCHEN-

Jason: *starts laughing, slowly increasing in pitch*

Dick: AND I'M THERE-, i'm sat there side-eyeing him while keeping track of our target as he starts filling an entire fucking pot with milk and heating it up, just thinking like, 'shit i can't question him about this; what if this is like, a part of his culture or something-?'

Jason: *hand clapping* a part of his culture,

Dick: LIKE WHAT IF THIS IS AN ARAB THING AND HE THINKS I'M MOCKING IT?! I DON'T FUCKIN' KNOW,

Jason: and he- the worst part is that he will literally make like, five servings in a single fucking batch. like- like the pot is full by the time he's done, and then he'll carry it and one of those big ass adult-spoons over to where he's sat and just proceed to raw dog this entire pan of fuckin' custard; face blank, eyes unfocused, just shovelling it in,

Dick: *weeping*

Jason: *eager* -he took a pot to the movie theatre once.

Dick: *indignant* FUCK. OFF.

Jason: no i'm serious, we did a- *choked snort* we did a stakeout once that got cut short abruptly, because the guy killed himself three hours in, and we'd already blocked out most of the night to be there, so we were like 'ok well shit, what do we do now?' and there was a movie theatre down the street from where we were based, so i was like 'well we could go watch a movie', right?

Dick: *prompting hum*

Jason: and we settle on a movie and i go onto the site to book the tickets online real quick, and i notice this little fucker out the corner of my eye, as he starts nonchalantly getting out his fucking pot,

Dick: *abrupt wheeze*

Jason: and i'm like, don't you- *wheeze* kid don't you fuckin' dare,

Dick: *silent gasps of laughter*

Jason, struggling not to laugh: he looks me dead in the eyes as he brings out the custard powder and says *solemn tone* 'i will need snacks for the movie, brother'. AND I'M FUCKING- i have to be like 'hey, hey Damian? Damian, my sweet sweet boy? NOT THIS.'

Dick: *bursts into a new round of cackles*

Jason: LIKE THAT'S- THAT IS ILLEGAL. YOU CANNOT DO THAT. YOU CANNOT- and this fucking child proceeds to cook himself one of his fucking pans of custard, shoves a spoon in, and then carries it down the street into the movie theatre.

Dick: *while crying* and you- you had to go in with him...?

Jason: i swear to god i showed the ticket guy our tickets, the dude looked at me, looked at Damian with his fucking pot of steaming custard, looked back at me, and i had to be like 'yeah man- i'm not fucking happy about this situation either; like this is also not where i want to be on earth right now, you and i are both victims here, but unfortunately this child does have pepper spray on him right now and i don't think trying to take the pan away would be very productive'.

Dick: -aND THEY LET HIM IN WITH IT?!?!

Jason, sombre: Dick- Dick. you don't understand. he finished the fucking pan before the ads were over.

Dick: HE- *uncontrollable choking wheezes*

Jason: i saw him mentally calculating whether or not he could go and make another pot before the movie started and i had to put my foot down like 'if you dare leave this fucking seat before this movie is finished i will shave your fucking head'.

Dick: *still crying, tone high-pitched* i love stakeout Damian so much...

Jason, voice dry: yeah he's a fuckin' gem.

Dick: *cackle*

[papayafromtv]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 52 (masterpost here)

Dick: -no that- that misconception is what pisses me off the most.

Jason: RIGHT?!

Bruce: i will admit even i was confused when he said it.

Dick: -like, me and Jason did not spend that much effort on making shit the fuck up and then rabbit-holing until it seemed slightly plausible just for Tim of all people to swoop in and take our role.

Bruce: i didn't even know he meant Tim at first, either. Clark was just talking about conspiracy theories online and Oliver asked me 'oh your kid's really into conspiracy theories, right?' and i said 'yeah Dick and Jason used to be really obsessed', and he responded with 'no i meant the third one, Red Robin.' and my mind went blank. pass me that screwdriver, Damian. thanks.

Jason: such bullshit; everybody's forgetting our roots.

Damian: i thought Tim was the conspiracy theorist of the family? by the way, father, the cave is low on bandage rolls.

Jason: shit, is there enough for my leg? i got nicked by a knife just before we came back in.

Dick: there's some spare in the batmobile i think,

Jason: oh hell yeah- somebody smack Damian by the way, that was disrespectful as fuck.

*smacking noise*

Damian: *squawk* RICHARD-!

Dick: he's right, though, that was so disrespectful. Tim being the true conspiracy theorist? me and Jay used to live on those back in the day.

Damian: *amidst distant clacking* i think there's a difference between what Tim does and how stupid the two of you are when put in the same room unsupervised.

Jason: no- fuck off! *whining* Bruce, tell him!

Bruce: *sigh* sorry Damian, i do have to agree with your brothers. they were surprisingly crafty when they were younger.

Dick, incredulous: 'surprisingly crafty', we were geniuses,

Bruce: chum, i love you but i don't think a single thing you two came up with was correct. *strained grunt* ...ok, Jaylad try the engine?

Jason: yeah im turning the key, it's doing fuck-all. you really fucked it up this time huh?

Bruce: i need my tool kit, Damian can you go and grab-?

*metallic thud*

Bruce: ...thank you. but next time don't throw it.

Damian: i'm not walking all the way over there. you can tell me to type up the night's reports or you can tell me to help you fix the car; you can't tell me to do both.

Jason: *whistles* you know if i ever spoke to my dad like that, he'd hit me with a golf club.

Dick, bland: Jay, your dad was a criminal.

Jason: what, and B isn't? just because he's the commissioner's favourite criminal doesn't mean it isn't still illegal for him to physically assault people in the streets.

Bruce, offended: hey,

Jason: shut up.

Bruce, indignant: see- *hissing* and you wonder why he thinks it's ok to talk to me like that-!

Jason: -listen if you didn't establish dominance over your first two kids then them influencing the new ones is honestly on you. the point is, me and Dick were hardcore into theorising when i was Robin; Timmy-boy doesn't have shit on us.

Damian: were you two that bored back then? i thought the golden era was supposed to be 'more insane and cartoonish than anything we could imagine'?

Dick: to be fair, it was like... the only thing we could talk about without arguing.

Jason: yeahhhh, for the first two years at least we couldn't stand each other, but Alfred and B kept trying to make us hang out and be brothers.

Bruce: you two were nightmares. conspiracy theories were like that generation's version of cocomelon. you were at each other's throats 24/7, but if i sat you both down in front of that creepy pasta website and told you one of them was real and about a JLA member? you'd be happy for hours.

Damian: *snort* you're joking.

Dick: dude, we- *snicker* we would make a mystery out of anything. i remember once i had to come home for thanksgiving and we spent the entire holiday obsessing over the possibility of uncle Clark lying about being an alien because i saw him taking human-medication in the front hall.

Bruce: *slightly smug* yeah, those were mentos. i told him to eat them in a 'suspicious manner' so you two would behave while we had guests.

Jason: -I FUCKIN' KNEW IT!

Dick: unbelievable- this is why we have trust issues you asshole!

Bruce: I DON'T WANT- I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT; YOU ONCE THREW THE TURKEY OUT THE WINDOW OVER A GAME OF GIN RUMMY.

*two seconds of silence*

Dick: that's actually-

Jason: yeah ok-

Dick: -i'd lie too.

Jason: -were a handful, sure.

Bruce: thank you.

Damian: you actually thought that being from Krypton was something Superman would feel the need to lie about?

Dick: hey, it wasn't nearly as buck-wild as some of the theories Jason came up with.

Jason: hey- hey, my conspiracy theories were, and always will be, fuckin' smart. may i remind you i predicted the court of owls being involved with haley's circus YEARS before that whole thing went down.

Dick: oh- fuck off, Jason. you didn't predict shit-

Jason, yelling over him: i said- I SAID, THAT THERE WAS A BIRD CULT,

Dick: -YOU SAID HAD NOTHING TO FUCKING DO WITH THE COURT OF OWLS-,

Jason: -OWL IN THE NAME,

Dick: -YOU THOUGHT MY PARENTS WERE BIOLOGICAL BIRD MUTANTS, TWATPOLE-

Jason: -AN OWL IS A BIRD-

Dick: -ITS A POLITIAL GROUP NOT A DAMN-

Jason: -HAS WINGS, HAS BEAK, LAYS EGGS,

Dick: YOU STUPID FUCKING-

Damian:

Visit Original Link

*complete and utter silence*

*more silence*

Jason, carefully: Damian, i want you to know that although scientifically that was funny, if you come within fifteen feet of me during the next twenty-four hours i will throw you into Gotham harbour by your balls.

Dick: -my ears are bleeding and you are no longer my brother.

Bruce, exhausted: Damian, step away from the batcomputer before you get yourself hurt. please. and stop using it to play music clips through the cave speakers.

Damian: well somebody needed to break them up and you said cocomelon-

Bruce: NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT- just go take off your suit. just- just- for once. for once, Damian. for once. listen to your father.

Damian: ...i will, but only because you seem to be on the verge of tears.

Bruce: just go.

[papayafromtv]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 53 (masterpost here)

Damian: you complain that we're mean to you but it's clearly how you prefer to be spoken to.

Dick: *high pitched laugh*

Tim, indignant: no don't- shut up Nightwing, don't laugh at that, that's not what he meant.

Damian: no no, don't worry, i'm sure it reflects how you are in the bedroom as well,

Tim: HEY.

Dick: *laughing louder*

Tim: you can't fucking- you're a child, you can't infer stuff like that about me!

Dick, mouth clearly full: child on child crime.

Tim: shut up- stop eating my breadsticks-

Dick, mouth full: the fuck brings breadsticks on patrol? *fabric shifting* you are way too short to take these off me, give up.

Damian: -look i'm just saying you very clearly don't know how to respond when people are friendly with you on a consistent basis. you're more comfortable being insulted, you like the power play of succeeding under duress and insults.

Dick: *slight cough* to be- to be fair that could just be because he's not used to having friends.

Tim: oh- OH- *supremely indignant* DON'T YOU DARE- if any of us isn't used to having friends, it sure as fuck isn't me.

Damian: *snort* ok then who?

*pointed silence*

Damian: why are you looking at me like- ...

Damian, dry: you must be joking.

Dick: it's alright Robin, you just... weren't in the right environment to-

Damian: I HAD FRIENDS?!?!

Tim, audibly gleeful: cattle doesn't count.

Damian: shut the fuck up- look i'll get Hood on call, you'll fucking see-

Dick: Rob, i don't think he'll answer any texts right now, he's undercover on a case. he hasn't been answering me the whole weekend.

*connecting ping*

Jason, amidst muffled bass-boosted music: yo, you told me to join this line?

Dick: oh you fucking favouriting bitch-

Tim: *cackles*

Dick, instant: -and what are you laughing at, degradation kink?

Tim: *abruptly silences*

Jason: ...what the hell did you just drag me into? i'm in a club bathroom right now Day, i'm literally infiltrating a drug ring.

Damian: i know but this was important, you said you'd always talk no matter where you were if i said it was important.

Jason: yeah, and? you're all on patrol right now, right? do you need backup? i'm wearing silver booty-shorts and a beaded necklace right now, man.

Damian: i didn't need to know that.

Dick: i fuckin' did. that's my brother, ladies and gentlemen!

Jason: yeah yeah, i know you dream of this, don't worry.

Tim: i hate both of you so much.

Jason: so why am i here?

Damian: tell these two imbeciles that i had friends when i was younger.

Jason: ...are you taking the piss?

Tim: Rob come on, you were the prince of a murder cult. i believe you had servants you were amicable with?

Damian: I HAD FRIENDS.

Jason: *considering hum*

Tim: HA.

Jason: well- *annoyed huff* ok, well, he did and he didn't. they were my friends, but they liked him too.

Damian, indignant: they were not just your friends,

Jason: they were- to be fair to Damian, there were kids his age in the compound. some of the new trainees would come in as young as five, as depressing as that is. plus some of the servants and assassins would knock each other up, and Ra's both didn't care enough to have the kids killed, and also didn't care enough to grant maternity leave. so as long as you raised your kids not to get in the way of anything, they were just allowed to chill with the parents around the base.

Damian: see. i had children to play with, not just servants.

Jason: yeah but Damain, they didn't like you.

Damian: *offended noise*

Tim: *slow build of laughter*

Damian: i wasn't- they didn't all hate me,

Tim, through giggling: oh, sweet vindication,

Jason: dude they did. you kept calling them 'expendables' and telling them that your brother could beat up their parents whenever you asked him to. it was- it actually caused problems, because i had to tutor some of those kids and they were too terrified of me killing their parents to focus on learning.

Tim, still laughing: oh my- dude, you were insufferable! you were like- *gleeful* you know what this is? you were essentially the league equivalent of that kid on Roblox who tells everybody his dad is the game dev and he could get you banned.

Jason: *abrupt laughter* holy shit he was-!

Damian: i was NOT-

Dick, also giggling: aw, that's actually so cute though! you were so proud of Hood being your brother!

Damian: shut the fuck up.

Tim: i knew you were a friendless child.

Damian: I WAS NOT- HOOD.

Jason: *laughs* ok, ok no to be fair to the kid, he didn't have friends his own age, but he still hung out with people. i had a platoon of my most trusted subordinates that i worked real closely with after i was made general or whatever, and he hung out with us a lot.

Tim: ok so- that's not him having friends, that's being nice to your boss's little brother.

Jason, snorting: no genuinely, they loved him. these guys were more friends than subordinates anyway--they had to be for me to trust them that much, so they were chill. we used to sneak Day out into the villages around the compound sometimes, they thought he was funny. he shot a dove once.

Damian: SEE. eat shit Red.

Dick: hold on what do you mean he shot a dove- i thought he loved animals?!!?

Tim: i still don't buy it. you are way too antisocial to have grown up in an environment where you had lots of friends.

Jason: Tim, Bruce told me that last week you got so tired of talking to people that you sat in the car for four and a half hours playing on your ipad while he went and took a WE meeting for you.

Damian: *scoff* oh and I'M the antisocial one?!

Tim: ...Hood i thought you were undercover get the fuck off our line.

Dick: WHY DID HE SHOOT A DOVE.

[papayafromtv]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 54 (masterpost here)

*connecting ping*

Dick: Hood, please tell me you're available right now.

Jason: uh, hey, yeah i'm just puttin' fuel in my bike, all clear. are you ok? i thought you were off duty tonight.

Dick, struggling to hold back laughter: no no, i'm not on patrol and this isn't an emergency. i just got off the phone with B and needed to tell you what he just told me.

*a beat*

Jason: holy fuck what did the kids do?

Dick: *high pitched giggles*

Jason, already amused: which- which one was it? or did they team up?

Dick: *attempts to tamp down laughter* ok, ok hold on... *deep breath* you need to- Jason this one's really good, you need to prepare yourself.

Jason: i'm ready, give it to me.

Dick: so, Bruce just called me on my mobile phone, while i was in the middle of shopping for groceries, very angrily, so he could tell me that our two youngest brothers, our darling Duke and magnificent Damian, have gotten themselves banned from the Watchtower.

Jason, snickering: okaay? B bans them from everything all the time, it doesn't mean anything.

Dick, gleeful: no no, Jason you aren't understanding me here. when i say they're banned from the Watchtower, i don't mean Bruce grounded them for a week; i mean- *slight wheeze* i mean Clarkothy Kenneth himself has pulled Bruce aside and told him that Signal and Robin are no longer allowed on the premises,

Jason: *starts laughing, steadily increasing in volume*

Dick: -because they- *loud wheeze* *high-pitched* because they have proven themselves to be a danger to the Justice League.

Jason: *uncontrollable wheezes* what did they- what did they do?!

Dick: B said that- *cackling* *deep breath* B said that Barry used his super speed to win a- a thumb war, against Duke. and afterwards he said 'better luck next time, squirt', and i guess-

Jason: *wheeze*

Dick: -yeah i guess Duke was already in a bad mood, and he didn't appreciate the condescending nature of the whole thing?

Jason: to be fair Barry can be- like he's the asshole uncle.

Dick: oh for sure. and he does it with Damian a lot, which i get why- it's understandable that seeing him do the same shit to Duke made Damian go like- ok well here's my chance to gain an ally.

Jason: in his- *wheeze* in his war against the Flash,

Dick: exac- *choking wheezes*

Jason, high-pitched, slightly muffled: so what- what did they do?

Dick: Bruce said- Bruce said they lured him into one of the outer rooms- *choking* they tried to- they tried to ej- *wheeze*

Jason, barely breathing: w-hat?

Dick, weeping: they tried to- they tried to eject him into space-, *broken wheezes*

Jason: *barely breathing* THEY- *silent gasps*

*silence for fifteen seconds, except for the sound of both men struggling to breathe through laughter*

Dick: n he- *whimper* Barry had to call Clark for help because they locked him in and then tried to open a fuckin' window; Duke said they wouldn't let him in again unless he won another thumb war, and when Barry said 'how am i supposed to do that if i can't reach your hand?' *cough* Damian- Damian went 'better luck next time squirt' and tried to decompress the chamber-!

Jason: i can't- *struggling to breathe* i can't-

Dick: *unintelligible weeping*

Jason: what is wrong with them?

Dick: i'm so mad we weren't that funny when we were their age,

Jason: like how do you even come up with that-?!

Dick, still giggling: they tried to kill the Flash, Jason. Bruce said he cried.

Jason: *loses his shit*

[papayafromtv]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 55 (masterpost here)

Jason: -like seven minutes out, but it's really quiet so i don't think it would be worth teaming for.

Dick: copy, i'm almost done over here anyway, then me and Robin are going back to the cave.

Tim: so. did Hood tell you guys that he's at war with all the middle-aged moms in his neighbourhood?

Jason: -oh don't get me started.

Dick, snickering: the 'middle-aged moms'? are you fighting a bunch of Karens from the home owners association?

Jason: oh i got banned from the hoa like, a year ago. which is really ironic because they like Red Hood. they just don't like me.

Damian: are these the women who insulted your skincare that you told me about? said you needed to moisturize more?

Jason, intently: -Damian let me tell you i fucking hate these women. i hate them.

Tim: *evil cackling*

Dick: what's even happening? since when do you have bad neighbours?

Jason: oh my- i didn't even do anything, they just hate me for no reason.

Tim: dude, you dislocated a kid's shoulder.

Dick: wait, what?

Jason: NOW HOLD ON-

Damian: yeah be fair Red, that wasn't Hood's fault.

Tim, laughing: yeah but it's still funny.

Dick: wait wait wait- hold on now, hold on- somebody tell me the whole story, i need to hear this.

Damian: one of the spoilt brats in the building across from Hood's tried to break in to steal alcohol, and he dislocated his shoulder in one of the traps set up.

Jason: i fuckin- that kid was lucky. if he'd tried the other window he would have been shot with a dart to the face, so i don't wanna hear it. i came home from the library and the little twerp was sobbing on the floor of my bathroom as if he was the victim, and then i had to fix him up!

Dick: oof. ...to be fair you do have a lot of traps in your apartment Hood. like, more than i do.

Jason: -because the kid likes them! he likes trying to break through them when he comes round, it's our thing!

Damian: and that shit-stain of a preteen ruined the set up for me! i came by like an hour later and it hadn't been reset. waste of a B&E run.

Jason: yeah, because i was over the road getting yelled at by fucking Caroline, who apparently thinks her son has right of way in other people's private property.

Dick: *laugh* she got mad at you?

Jason: YEAH- she was like, 'i'll sue you for assaulting my son' and i'm fucking looking at her like, bring it the fuck on, bitch, i have access to Bruce Wayne's lawyers! lets see who wins! and then she- and then holy fuck D, you aren't gonna believe this but i swear to god she said this word for word,

Tim: *wheeze*

Jason: she fucking goes- 'that Red Hood man does not spend his every spare second protecting our streets and their people just for people like you to move in and provide danger for our children.'

Dick: WHAT.

Jason: YEAH- YEAH EXACTLY, THAT'S WHAT I WAS LIKE-! guys you have no idea the self control i had to have to not go back later with the helmet on like 'yo i hear you messing with my boy Jason, the fuck is wrong with you?'

Tim: *louder cackling* PLEASE- please, Hood please do that,

Dick: so what happened after?!

Jason: ugh, this bitch starts lying to all the other moms in the neighbourhood about how i attacked her kid in the street and how he did nothing wrong and i was just an egotistical prick who didn't like when children played outside- mind you i have fucking security footage of what actually happened,

Dick: oh so you're- you're literally in an all out war with them?

Jason: SOME of them; there are a couple moms whose kids i've actually babysat and who know me and that, those ones aren't taking Caroline and her posse's shit, so now me and my girls are in a turf war with these other bitches-

Tim: i've seen- *cackle* Wing, you gotta start going around Crime Alley during the day more. i went to a pottery class with Hood last week over there and afterwards we ran into one of the woman that has beef with him; they are feral.

Jason: WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A PUBLIC GROCERY STORE. I WAS TRYING TO BUY ONIONS. PEACEFULLY. and this bitch comes up to me throwing shade like 'oh you should really move out because we don't take aggressiveness lightly' and i'm like ME?!?!? IN THIS SITUATION, ME AGRESSIVE??

Tim: *wheeze*

Dick, audibly amused: i mean you do carry guns around, that isn't exactly non-agressive,

Jason: BUT THAT'S WHAT DRIVES ME CRAZY, IS THAT THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT THE GUNS. THAT'S NOT WHAT BOTHERS THEM! fucking- half the women that want me gone are carrying, and they all love Red Hood, but this woman was talking to me like 'it's obvious from the build of your body that you want to be intimidating; nobody works out like that unless you want the power',

Dick: *blows raspberry, dissolving into a loud cackle*

Jason: and i'm fucking standing there; coupon book out, sunscreen across the bridge of my nose, Tim next to me in a Hawaiian shirt holding the bag of pottery mugs we just made and painted together, staring at these onion prices; and i'm just like 'ok well first of all me being this jacked was a non-consensual operation and i don't appreciate you bringing up past trauma, Cindy.',

Dick: HOLY FUCK- *louder cackling*

Jason: -and now Cindy's telling me that people as strong as me don't go through trauma like that and that i'm making fun of real victims by implying such a thing-

Damian: this is insane,

Jason: -AT WHICH POINT TIM DECIDES IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO WHIP OFF HIS GLASSES AND SAY 'you know you keep coming back to how built my brother is; if you want to suck his dick you can just say that',

Dick: *uncontrollable wheezes* T-HIM-,

Tim: I REGRET- *cackle* I REGRET NOTHING.

Jason: -and now this bitch is threatening to call the police for sexual harassment, to which some random other woman who wasn't even INVOLVED in the conversation butts in, and she goes 'you know i've been listening to this conversation for the past five minutes, and i gotta say lady, you don't seem like the kind of person anybody wants to sexually harass',

Dick: *in awe* OH-?!

Damian: HOLY FUCK.

Jason: YEAH- YEAH. AND SO NOW I'M FUCKING STANDING THERE AS CINDY STARTS GETTING INTO A FIGHT WITH THIS RANDOM STRANGER, AND I'M JUST HOLDING MY FUCKING ONIONS, SIDE-EYEING TIM JUST 'so do you think we can leave?' BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THIS NO LONGER INVOLVES ME-,

Tim: -can i just say by the way? hands down, best day of my week.

Jason: yeah also i think Cindy's started an anti-me Facebook group. so.

*a beat*

Dick: ok but on a scale of 1 to 10 how funny would it be if we joined the group with the old official public Batman account?

Jason: OH MY-

Damian: -GENIUS-

Tim: -HAVE TO. WE HAVE TO.

Jaosn: EVERYBODY TO THE CAVE NOW.