Damian Is Tiny: Ason Of Batman Experience

damian is tiny: a ‘’son of batman’’ experience

and my personal favorite:

I finally found this work of ART again after AGES!!!!

Batgirl (2009) #15

dick: i do wonder, how do you get ‘dick’ from 'richard’?

wally: god i wish i knew

dick: what

wally: what

That’s okay, I didn’t need my heart today

Robin (1993) #127

This made me beam 

Umbrella. That’s what Tim forgot; his umbrella was packed into one of the plastic bins that the movers dropped off that morning, along with his rain jacket and all the hoodies he owned. At least his boots were waterproof. The socks underneath them were safe. 

Tim stepped out of the limo and into the rain, half jogging— as much as he could jog on his single crutch— from the sidewalk to the cover of the balcony overhanging the entrance to his new home, formerly the Crime Alley movie theatre. He punched in an eight-digit code and stepped inside. 

The apartment was almost finished, fully furnished, with only a few boxes left in each room: Tim’s personal belongings, the last things to move in. There weren’t a whole lot of them. Safe from prying eyes, Tim stashed his crutch by the door and strode around the place without it.

It was Tim’s place. There was something satisfying about that idea, about a space that was his and his alone. It had taken time and a lot of renovation, but the old theatre was Tim’s now. The walls had his pictures, every room had his furniture, and all of his personal effects were sitting in boxes, ready to be unpacked. The fish in their tank were his too. He had named all of them. 

The rain tapped slower on the windows, like it wouldn’t last much longer. Tim moved around the boxes in the living room anyway, checking for his rain equipment. He didn’t have anything to do for a few hours, but he needed to be at Wayne Enterprises that night. Best to be prepared. 

He spotted the red of his old raincoat through the transparent plastic of a box labelled several years back. That one wasn’t appropriate for a formal event, but Tim popped the seal on the box anyway and pulled the jacket out. The object underneath it caught his eye: a skateboard.

It wasn’t the Redboard. Tim knew version two was down in the sub-basement with the rest of his vigilante gear, stowed in one of the drawers in his vehicle room. No, the skateboard in the box was Tim’s first board, bright green and chipped from a few hundred wipeouts. 

Tim stared down at it. Tim had an idea. It wasn’t a good one. 

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