Really Wanted To Draw Little Dick Grayson After Too Much Work Stress And Ended Up Going On A Binge. Bonus

Lads, he's back at it again

Blue | Art | Quotes

Garth says he doesn’t own a tux because he lives underwater and doesn’t need one, but he also clearly owns an entire wardrobe of “human” clothes that all fit his aesthetic so my conclusion is all of his clothes are just gifts from friends. His entire look was handpicked by his buddies. squad-appointed vibes, if you will.

the only thing you need to know about the batman movie is that this bruce is dumb enough, emo enough, and guilty enough to adopt an acrobatic orphan and think it’s absolutely the right decision

If you asked the guys, they’d say they hated the parties. They had a point, she guessed, because really— if Steph had to pose for the cameras like they did, she’d probably hate it too. It was bad enough that she had to explain over and over again that she and Tim weren’t dating anymore, (“We’re actually just friends now… good friends. Please get the microphone out of my face.”) but they had to put up with a lot more than that. 

Anyway, Steph liked Wayne parties. They had nice food. She’d be the first to admit though, they could get a little crazy, which is how this one was turning out.

It all went downhill while she was helping herself to a slice of cake—her phone rang: Dick calling from across the room. So that was suspicious.

“Um, hello?”

“Hey! Listen, I need a favor.”

Steph glanced around the foyer until she saw him by the front door, clutching onto Damian’s shoulders for dear life. It didn’t look good. “Okay, shoot.”

“One of the board members had too much champagne. He’s been saying some, uh, kind of impolite things about Damian and his mom, so…”

“Oh lord. Any casualties?”

“Yeah, not yet, but that’s kind of what I’m worried about. I was wondering if maybe you could take him home? Probably better if— yes you are— he leaves before— child, no— somebody gets hurt— stop struggling I told you NO— or worse. Oh, for the love of— Damian!”

“I can do that, I guess,” Steph told him, regarding her cake regretfully. She supposed she could steal some from the kitchen later. “Yo, Tim, I’m leaving.”

He nodded at her, so she swept through the dance floor. Damn, though, she looked good. That was another nice thing about Wayne parties— they usually came with really sweet dresses. Oh man, she was totally going to… focus. She was going to focus now, before Damian shanked a WASP with half a cake platter. 

Stephanie brushed past a few party goers on her way to the door. She was almost there when she heard him. “I’m just saying, the little bastard doesn’t belong in a boardroom at all, and I— Well hey there, honey, where are you going in such a hurry?”

Seriously? Did that really just happen? Wow, that was so not gonna fly. Steph swung around.

“I was just… you know, maybe I don’t have to leave just yet.” She smiled at him. “What’s your name?”

“Anthony,” he told her. She didn’t like the way he was looking her over. Gross. 

“Prescott, isn’t it? You’re on the board?”

“That I am.”

“Listen, Anthony, can I ask you a favor? My phone just died, and I need to send a couple of texts. Would you mind…?”

“Oh, not at all.” He dug into his pocket and fished out an iPhone, which he unlocked and handed to her. Oh hell yes this was about to get awesome. Stephanie grinned. 

“Thanks! Now let’s see… I want… contacts! There we are. Now what have we got to work with here…?” 

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just trying to decide who to call about your manners. Let’s see we’ve got… Dad… Mom… Ooh! Grandma. Now how what would your grandma think about the way you’ve been behaving?”

“Oh my god, please don’t—”

“Well now I just have to find out, don’t I? Let’s give her a call!” Stephanie pushed the button. “Ringing, ringing— oh sir, you do not want to do that.” He’d lunged for the phone.

“Give me back my phone you little—”

“Honey, that isn’t helping your case. Hey! Is this Anthony’s grandmother?”

Anthony panicked. He grabbed her arm, so she flipped him— he fell on the floor, and she planted one of her wonderfully glittery heels on his chest and kept right on talking. “Fantastic! It’s great to meet you. My name is Stephanie, and I just met your grandson at a party. Yes, he is very good looking.” She rolled her eyes so Anthony knew he wasn’t. 

“Listen, I’m calling because he’s been very rude to me. Yeah, Mrs. Prescott, you know how they are. I really don’t appreciate it. I should probably mention that I’m a teenager. Yes ma’am. Eighteen. He’s what, at least forty? It made me uncomfortable.”

Stephanie was really liking Mrs. Prescott. “There’s actually one other thing. I have this friend, and your grandson called him a little bastard. I mean, if we’re being completely fair, that’s what he is, but it’s the tone, you know? My friend is ten years old, and he’s very upset. Thank you so much, Mrs. Prescott! I was hoping you would say that.” Stephanie leaned down so Anthony could hear her. 

“Your grandmother wants to talk to you.” She handed him back his phone. “You know, I was just thinking— it’s a pity you’re so old because she probably can’t cut your allowance anymore. Then I remembered that they—” she pointed to the Waynes— “control your salary. So great job, dumbass. You absolutely just insulted the wrong ten year old. Have fun with grandma.” 

And she waltzed away like the badass she knew she was. People were staring at her, but hey, she had caused a scene. And she was gorgeous. She really couldn’t blame them. Even Dick and Tim were gawking at her with their mouths hanging open. Damian actually looked impressed. 

“Good enough?” she asked him.

“Good enough.”

“Awesome. Let’s hit the road. We both have better things we could be doing.”

Damn, she loved Wayne parties.

art journal

father daughter bonding

Destined only to be moths Riding on the backs of giants I was not drawn to you Because our wings are both blue But because they are the same Colour as everyone else’s And you were willing to listen To why that scared me.

Savannah Brown, Loving like an Existentialist. (via puckleberrytaytay)

– Emily Dickinson, “One need not be a chamber to be Haunted”