Requested by Anon -
Damian meets a girl from the darker parts of Gotham and she is almost the exact opposite of him, but he finds himself falling for her. (Can Damian be about 17)
Damian walked past the old abandoned amusement park on the pier that the Joker often frequents when he escapes from Arkham. Of course, nothing was happening now since the sun was still up, and the Joker was still in Arkham. Damian was in street clothes, having been ordered by his father to get out of the manor for the day. His father claimed Damian needed to get a life, which was quite hypocritical of him if you asked Damian.
Nevertheless, Damian did as his father suggested and roamed the streets. He told himself he was investigating criminal activity, but he was kidding himself. The truth was Damian didn’t know where to go.
Damian was about to cross the bridge to the ruined boardwalk when he noticed a person walking towards him. It was you, strolling clumsily towards him with a bundle of balloons in your hand. He stopped to stare at you as you gave him a small smile before continuing on your way. Maybe it was because you were alone, or because you seemed a little lost yourself, but Damian felt himself drawn to you.
“Are you alright,” Damian called out, making you stop and turn back to him.
“Yes, I’m fine,” you assure him, giving him another tiny smile. His stomach fluttered. “Are you okay?”
Damian raised an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I’m well,” he answered. Both of you stared at one another for a long moment before you held out your bundle of balloons to him.
“Did you want a balloon,” you offer, thinking that was the reason he stopped you. No one ever talked to you before when you were walking around.
“No,” he refuses bluntly, glancing around him. “Are you out here alone?”
You glance around, prompted by his movement. “Well, you’re here,” you shrug a shoulder at him. He was so intense, it made you a little nervous.
“That is not what I meant,” he shot back, annoyed. Damian didn’t like the idea of you being out by the Joker’s amusement park alone. It was funny, but he felt protective of you even though he barely knew you.
“But that’s what you asked,” you tease back before turning around to continue on your way. Damian’s mouth dropped open in shock at your treatment of him. He found he was attracted to you, which was strange. You seemed to be his opposite in every way.
Damian stomped after you. “I wasn’t finished talking to you yet,” he demands, slowing to walk beside you. You give him a sideways glance.
“Really,” you remark, genuinely surprised. “Sorry about that. Continue talking.”
“Where are you going,” he asks, finding your tone to be strange. Your words seemed to be sarcastic, but you didn’t mean them in that way.
You gesture in front of you. “To the end of the pier,” you state simply. Damian gives you a suspicious look.
“Are you planning to jump,” Damian questions gently. For some reason, the idea of you drowning was unbearable to him.
“I know I may seem strange, but you really think I’d come out here to commit suicide, “ you answer, shaking your head in disbelief. This boy was a weird one. You couldn’t believe he was talking to you as he seemed to be your opposite in every way. Graceful and muscular, he was the complete opposite to your clumsy and flabbiness.
Damian sighed, irritated with your round-about way of talking. If he was honest, he kind-of liked it. “Then why are you going to the edge of the pier?”
You give him a sad smile before relying. “I’m going to release these balloons.”
“Why,” Damian asks, giving you a strange look.
“They’re for my brother, he would have been six today,” you state simply with a trace of gloom. You had both reached the edge of the pier, and stood a few feet from the water.
Damian gazed at you for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he consoles, placing a hand on your shoulder. You give him a gentle smile before handing him one of the balloons.
“Do you want to help,” you offer softly with unshed tears in your eyes. Damian pauses for a moment, and slowly takes the extended balloon.He found his gaze to be frozen on you as you took a deep breath. You were beautiful in this light, Damian had the itch to draw you.
You hold out the balloons in front of you. Taking a glance at Damian, you ask, “Are you ready?” Damian nodded as you let the balloons float into the air. Damian copied you with his one balloon. You two stood there for a long time, watching the balloons disappear into the clouds.
Damian watched you from the corner of his eye. He wanted to comfort you, but didn’t know how. Even though it was against his nature, Damian gently took your hand in his. You glanced down at your entwined hands for a moment before giving his hand a squeeze. “Thank you,” you whisper, tears steaming down your face.
“TT,” Damian huffed awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. He began to think of what Grayson would do in this situation. “Do you want to go get some coffee,” Damian posed casually, hoping you would agree to come. He wanted to be close to you.
“Sure,” you agree, wiping your tears from your face. With Damian’s hand still in yours, you both walked away from the pier. A smirk crossed Damian’s face when he realized he may have found “a life”.
all time low
being called ‘smol bean’ by ur friends
diff types of aesthetics
phineas and ferb
the sun emoji (on android)
watching people fall in love
pottery (like the clay stuff not harry potter sorry for the potterheads out there)
HIS DREAMS WALK ABOUT THE CITY WHERE HE PERSISTS INCOGNITO
I woke up this morning in Borneo, went for breakfast in a crowded kopi tiam, where I greedily devoured a lip burning, nose running, utterly delicious bowl of Kuching style laksa. Tomorrow, I’ll board a long boat and, for the second time in my life, head up the Skrang River—this time for Gowai, the Iban harvest festival, where I will, I am warned, be drinking way too much rice whiskey. I have asked that my former headhunter hosts give me a hand tap tattoo. Possibly a durian pattern. I have been having regular foot massages—something they do particularly well in this part of the world. My room smells of jasmine, and outside the window, across the river, the former palace of the “White Rajah” of Borneo is visible in the late afternoon light. The muezzin’s calls to prayer will soon echo from the mosques throughout the city, one voice joining another, then another—a chorus from every direction.
And yet….and yet…in the midst of all this….exotica…my mind runs to New Jersey.
New Jersey, too, was exotic to me, once. For much of my childhood. The then working class riviera of Barnegat Light where I spent many happy summers. The dark mysteries of off season, pre-casino Atlantic City, with its vast, empty hotels, its novelty shops, boardwalk, salt water taffy and amusement pier. Leafy bedroom communities where I grew up, others where I was later whisked off to school…the hard packed night time slopes of Great Gorge and Vernon Valley…the fabled Pine Barrens, where untold horrors awaited amidst the discarded gangsters and mythical, griffon-like creatures said to feast on little boys. The fastidious, house proud Victorian severity of Ocean Grove right next to the decidedly honky tonk Asbury Park. The Palisades. The meadowlands—a vast wonderland for juvenile delinquents…Even the refineries of Elizabeth had secrets—their omnipresent but ever changing odors, unknowable. I came of age as a passenger in cars driving aimlessly around Route 80, Route 46, Route 4 …cruising for burgers, cruising for girls, cruising just…because….
So, to me, much maligned New Jersey was always magic. Until, like so many of us raised in the Garden State, I left—forever—for better, more “sophisticated” territory. In my case, right across the river to New York City. Everybody, of course, is from New Jersey: Frank Sinatra, Jack Nicholsen, Meryl Streep, William Carlos Williams, Alan Ginsberg, Queen Latifah, Stephen Crane, Glenn Danzig, Peter Dinklage, Donald Fagen, Ray Liotta, Martha Stewart, Lee Van Cleef, Tom Colicchio and..oh yeah…Bruce Springsteen. Anyone else not listed here was probably born there but just won’t admit it.
I get angry now when people speak badly of my home state. (I may not have been born there—but I was certainly raised there from infancy until age 17). And I get angry, from afar, when people abuse it, try to paint it in a bad light. Certainly the reality series, depicting roid-raging, Valtrex popping mesomorphs did the state no favors. But New Jersey hardly has the exclusive on meatheads. I’ve watched in dismay for much of my life as politicians from both Democratic and Republican parties have used New Jersey as their personal feeding trough. And if you think the Christie traffic scandal was no big deal, think about how you’d feel if it was YOUR 6 year old daughter, first day of school, trapped in a school bus for 4 hours, desperate to not piss herself in front of her classmates—all because a bunch of vindictive, spiteful, gloating political hacks were peeved about matters completely outside your control or understanding—and decided to use YOUR kid as a club to beat their perceived enemy with. YOUR dad, waiting for an ambulance or emergency responder.
And certainly, what’s become of Camden, once a principle engine of the industrial revolution, after generations of mismanagement from the other political party is even more egregious. And has anyone, ever, taken as large, as ugly, as steaming a shit on a city as Donald Trump’s ‘Taj Mahal” in Atlantic City? LOOK at it! (We do, in this episode). Can you imagine an uglier, tackier structure—one more oblivious to its surroundings? It seems designed specifically to obscure the beach, the boardwalk, the gorgeous architecture of Atlantic City—the very things that (still) make AC wonderful. Of course, Donald seems eager to separate himself from his leavings these days—not because it’s an architectural abomination—but because it’s apparently become a financial embarrassment.
It would be easy to make New Jersey look amazing if I concentrated on its farmland, its beaches, its parks and its finer restaurants. Easier still if we chose to film in summer. But I thought, let’s shoot this show in WINTER. When New Jersey is supposedly at its greyest, most inhospitable, ugliest. And lets go right to those parts of New Jersey that are supposedly the most fucked up, the places where everything went horribly wrong. It is MY contention that New Jersey is so magnificent, so unique, its spirit so unsinkable and its sense of humor unparalleled that even there, seeing those places—as I do—with affection and respect and no small measure of hope, that those who watch this episode will find my beloved home state awesome and beautiful too. Even the refineries—the sprawl of bridges and highways and clover leafs—there’s beauty there. We worked mightily to show you those things as we saw them. As I feel about them.
New Jersey, it is my contention, was amazing all along. It was when we tried to “fix it” that we went astray. Drive Ventnor Avenue from Atlantic City to Margate and look out the window, and you’ll see, still there in parts—what was lost and what could be again. Look at Asbury Park—how its coming back—against all odds. And watch one lone woman’s struggle in Camden to take back, one block and one child at a time, a city she grew up in, loves fiercely and wont let go of.
The hero sandwich of my youth. Steamer clams. Jersey Italian. Birch beer. The smell of dune grass. Vanilla salt water taffy. Fried clam strips. These things should be eternal. They are eternal.
Happy Splatoon Launch Day! Here’s my entry for Nintendo’s fanart contest.
I was majorly inspired by the Splatoon concept art and Santa Monica Pier where the Splatoon Mess Fest was held a few weeks ago. As far as I know, there’s no amusement park pier stage yet in the game, but it’d be really cool don’tcha think?