Damian probably hated/hates the U.S. He was raised on “you do things perfectly-good-you slip up-punishment” (that’s obviously horrible) but the U.S. and all its systems are oftentimes OVERLY complicated. Can you imagine how hard it would be to go from an abusive, perfectly, structured environment, to one that’s constantly divided over the simplest things?

Not to mention that if we’re going with the backstory of him having lived in the desert for the majority of his childhood, there’d be a massive climate change. Like he’d probably have allergies, and maybe eczema.

Can you imagine finally getting to meet your father and you breakout and nearly asphyxiate because of the air pollution. (Slight hyperbole)

Ra’s Al Ghul is a horrible, abusive man but he’s relatively environmentally conscious (still horrible and abusive)

And with Dick?

If we go off Haly’s Circus being an European traveling circus, and his mother possibly being a French-speaking Roma, we can understand why it’d be difficult for him to adapt to life at Wayne Manor.

You travel 3 hours from London and you end up in Paris. A kid who’s used to that type of learning environment would HATE the American school system. He’s sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair listening to a teacher drone on about something he will never use in his life. When he used to be taught physics, while doing a handstand on the railing of the freaking Ponte de Rialto.

Regardless of potentially having ADHD or not, he’s still fidgeting in his seat—yearning for recess. But because this is America (and likely around the early 2000’s or so) his teacher rudely points out his fidgeting and the rest of the class see the boy that looks different from them, acting differently from them as well. And Children can be cruel.

I can’t imagine the experience of being an extroverted child who is used to forming connections with children, who look different from him, BECAUSE of his talents and uniqueness, being thrust into an environment that discourages that,WHILE HE’S GRIEVING HIS PARENTS.

Also Damian and Dick are both tan/brown skinned, and they’re likely going to a rich private school without a lot of people that look like them. (Gotham Academy did not start gaining a more diverse population until Jason came around and that was the reason he wanted to go to public school[I stand by this headcanon…bcus fiction imitates life])

Not to mention the unreasonable amount of prejudice towards Arabs in this country and others. That’s a rough time for a 8-11 year old who JUST moved here and already has a disconnect with his peers due to his abuse and forced maturity.

SO, SO much I’ve said and so, so much I still haven’t. I haven’t even BEGUN to talk about Cass and how difficult it had to be to come to THIS country not being able to understand spoken language at all? She was a teenager when she met Bruce but that just makes different, not better.

Once again I am Black, so while I have experience as a minority in this country, I have no experience with being an immigrant so if I have said something offensive do NOT hesitate to let me know.

Also does this count as me writing something? Probably not huh?

Miles: It stormed last night

Miles 42: it did not storm

Miles: well it rained and it was windy

Miles 42: it didn’t rain

Miles: it did I was up and I heard a whole bunch of noises

Miles 42: Mmcht what time was it?

Rio: yeah Miles, ask him so he can tell on his self

Miles: *rolls his eyes* I don’t know what time it was

Rio: mhmmm

Miles: it was like 10:30 or 11 sumn

Miles 42: Mmcht It was not raining I was out round that time

Miles: *eye roll* well it sounded like it was raining

Miles 42: it was windy yeah but it wasn’t raining, it’s gon rain tonight though. Bottom line I’m right and you wrong

Miles: 😑

Miles 42: *on the phone with Rio* he’s messing with me

Miles: *eye roll*

Miles 42: she said stop messing with me

Miles: Mmcht no she didn’t cus she know you the one aggravating me

Miles 42: that’s not true momma don’t believe him

Miles: well I'm going to sleep; go watch an anime

Miles 42: I don't have the data capacity to do such a thing

Miles: Why you say it so proper?

Miles 42: When it comes to my data and anime I get very professional

Miles 42: *texting the spider-kids group chat* guess who got his data back

Miles: Let me guess you?

Miles 42: yes

Miles: You don't know how to act now

Miles 42: Yep I'm bout to be on all the illegal websites 😁

Miles: You and your anime

Miles: Who said it's just anime😈

Miles: GONZALOOOOO😭😭😂😂

With that, you open the door to see your boyfriend who has a smile on his face to match yours.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He exclaims. Your brows immediately furrow, and your eyes follow his as they flicker to his hands.

He's holding a pretty blue and gold box with a ribbon so perfectly tied you know he couldn't have done it himself. It's really nice but...

"It's nowhere near Valentine's Day, that was like six months ago."

His smile doesn't falter.

"Only six months? that's close enough, nothing has really changed."

"It's summer," you deadpan.

"It feels like nothing has changed."

He says it in an airy way like it's just so obvious.

Like he hadn't been complaining about the historically low temperature when you first met this winter.

You shake your head with a small smile.

"We've been together for four months; six months is a long time."

He smiles to smirk, and you prepare yourself for what's coming next.

Here we go.

"My love, I wish us much more than six months."

You scoff incredulously. But He grins with a proud look on his face.

He's still as optimistic as the day you met him.

"Pavi."

"But six months is half a year. Half a year plus half a year is a full year, and a full year from Valentine's Day is Valentines Day.-

"Unless it's a leap year" you interject.

Pav continues as if you hadn't spoken at all, "So, it is basically Valentine's Day Eve. Which means I'm early, and it's after noon so... Happy Valentine's Day!"

He shoves the gift out towards you but instead of taking it, you blink at him dumbly.

"I don't know if I should be more concerned about the mental gymnastics you just did, or the fact that I understood you."

"Don't be concerned at all, you're just assimilating to me."

You grin, "that's concerning."

He rolls his eyes and the head tilting he does causes some of his, insanely perfect, hair to fall in front of his eyes.

Your fingers itch to smooth it back.

"Stop deflecting," he says, a knowing grin forming.

You sigh and your eyes flicker from the gift back to him.

"I didn't get you anything." Your hand reacts on your impulses and you brush back the hair from his eyes. He freezes for a moment and his shoulders rise close to his ears as he smiles warmly.

You return his smile with a far more shy one and the you two stand there, grinning like idiots, until his eyes make their way back down to the gift in his hands and he clears his throat.

"I don't believe receiving a gift is part of gift giving."

"When did you become a dictionary?" You scoff playfully.

"Deflectinggg." he responds in a sing-song voice, tilting the gift box in a taunting manner.

You sigh again and take it from him, "Are you sure?"

"Ayyōṭā, open it."

You run your fingers over the raised decorations on the box. It's a pattern of swirls that almost look like the Mehndi you'd seen Pav drawing on himself. It wasn't as unique though, it was definitely made with a pattern, but the gold brush seemed done by hand.

You squinted and tilted the box around a little.

"Did you do this?"

"The box? no. I did tie the beautiful and symmetric bow."

"Uh huh." You give him your most skeptical look.

He cracks with a roll of his eyes.

"Auntie was very willing to assist me."

"She probably wouldn't have been if she knew you would take all the credit."

"And certainly not if she knew you wouldn't open it."

You glare at him and his stupid charming smile for a minute, before giving in and carefully unwrapping the bow. Opening the lid revealed a hand painted yo-yo.

When you first met he had attempted to impress you by showing the tricks he could do on a yo-yo. It was really corny, but it still drew you in so you didn't have any room to talk.

You gasp and carefully take it out.

"Pav, it's so pretty."

He grins boyishly and his shoulders rise once more.

With the hand not holding the box, you run your fingers over the yo-yo; aimlessly tracing the designs.

"I didn't know you could paint. I mean I know you've done Mehndi but I didn't know the steady hand transferred over."

"Mehndi," He responds, mocking your pronunciation.

You roll your eyes and he laughs softly.

"Painting is easier; there's no possibility of Aadhya carrying out her threats when my hand cramps."

A giggle bubbles out of your lips, more out of nervousness than amusement, because his becomes a little too soft as he smiles at you.

His personality is so infectious, he lights up and practically glows when he smiles, and when he turns that radiance on you?

Your heart practically sings in affection.

"I'm happy you like it."

"Of course I do, it's amazing. But it might be a bit too much for someone who's only just learned walk-the-dog."

"It's a very impressive walk-the-dog. I was fooled!"

"That's not as big of a compliment as you think."

He rolls his eyes and mumbles something but you barely hear it, focusing on the yo-yo in your hands instead.

Before you can second guess yourself, you throw your arms around him.

He lets out a small squawk, but his arms immediately come to wrap around you.

It's insanely probably ridiculous to be so happy over something so seemingly inane.

But it's Pav, nothing he does is meaningless. A hand-painted yo-yo because you learned one trick?

It wasn't ridiculous when it came to him.

He's a constant positive, he's stunningly stunningly soft-hearted, and he listens to you ramble about the littlest things. As evidenced by your new gift.

He's your valentine.

You finish getting ready quickly, and you actually look like a person who gets a normal amount of sleep (you don’t).

Yawning, you take the few steps into the kitchen.

Hobie’s standing in front of the cooktop cooking bacon, shirtless.

Not that you don’t appreciate the view…

“When you get popped by that grease, I won’t be listening to any complaints.”

He whips his head around with a grin and he turns the heat on the skillet down before turning back to you.

“Yeah you only hear complaints from yourself.”

You tense up immediately and Hobie leans against the counter with an amused smirk on his face.

Your hands come up to cover your face and you groan.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

It’s a very pathetic attempt to shake of your embarrassment.

“No? Need me to jog your memory then?”

“Nah my mind’s like a steel trap. So if I can’t remember something you must be making it up.”

He snorts and points at your forehead.

“Must’ve trapped someone up there.”

You sigh, “What’s for breakfast, Hobart?” One last attempt at changing the subject won’t hurt.

He sweeps a hand over the stove, “All the regulars, deary.”

He turns back to grin at you, and you just know he’s gearing up again.

“Your friend up there have any preferences?”

You glare at him and go up to stove, not so gently nudging him out of the way, and ignoring his comment.

“How high do you have this thing?”

He scoffs and nudges you back, “Dictating my cooking now? Better tell your friend up top things don’t work like that round here. ‘S ain’t a democracy, I’m big man.”

“That doesn’t sound like something an anarchist would say.”

He shrugs, “Never good to be too consistent y’know?”

You roll your eyes at him, he only ever uses that line when you trip him up.

He reaches for the skillet on the stove and your brain doesn’t even track the sheer stupidity until he’s already burned himself.

“BLOODY HELL!”

You stand there, your brain still trying to process what he just did, as he turns the tap on and sticks his hand under the water.

Finally, you recover and move to fridge and grab a stick of butter but a sudden bout of laughter stops you before you can put it to use.

Hobie’s finally stopped swearing and now he’s staring at you incredulously.

“Nah, you’re actually mad. I just roasted my hand hand on that pan, and you’re laughing?”

He sounds too shocked to be offended and that makes you giggle even more.

“No, that’s not it,” you gasp out, “I’m just-why would you do that? What possessed you to put your hand fully on the handle of a hot skillet? Palm in perfect position to be burned.”

“Thought I turned the heat down, forgive a man for making a mistake.”

Oh now he wants to advocate graciousness.

You grab a knife and cut a nice sized chunk of butter, before stepping over to Hobie and gently smearing it on his hand.

“I still can’t understand that. You thought you turned the gas down so you touched a hot skillet?”

“You had a full chat to yourself, in a bathroom, while you fancied yourself up?”

“So I’m crazy and you’re stupid?” You retort. “Neither of us comes out on top in this situation.”

His smirk returns and he somehow manages to make the massive burn in the middle of his hand look good.

“Nah, I’m taller, I’ll always come out on top”

You roll your eyes and toss a roll of bandages at him, “Just because you’re a giant means you’re right? This is why I prefer talking to my friend, he always makes sense.”

“Bit hard not to make sense when you’re talking to yourself, isn’t it?”

You don’t even roll your eyes this time, the motion couldn’t show just how exasperated you were with him. (Though that could be the exhaustion, from you not getting enough sleep the past week)

“Fix your hand up and leave me alone, please and thanks.”

“I can only do one of things sorry, and I’m afraid it ain’t gonna be the one you prefer.”

You huff, “Just finish cooking the damn food.”

He clutches his hand dramatically to his chest and looks at you as if you’ve just shown up to some fancy event in your sweats.

“You’d make a man with a burned hand, cook his own breakfast?”

You huff again and push him out of the kitchen forcefully, you barely did anything.

“Fine, I’ll finish it, go water your plants.”

“You talking to me or your friend, y’know-

“Hobart,” you grit out, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He gives you one last smirk as he leans in and kisses your cheek, dashing away before you can swat at him.

“Thank God,” you sigh.

“Gonna assume you were chatting to your friend that time!” Hobie yells.

“HOBART BROWN!”

You can hear him laughing and you flick your middle finger in the direction of the boat he ran off to.

“Gonna find me an actual friend to talk to all the time and see how he likes that.”