You had one rule when it came to your apartment—one sacred, unbreakable decree: no one touches your plushie collection.

Each plush had been carefully chosen, a cherished part of the soft, huggable kingdom you had built over the years. They weren’t just toys—they were companions, witnesses to your late-night movie marathons, and silent providers of comfort after long days. And they had one designated place: neatly arranged on the shelf near your bed.

So when you walked into your bedroom and noticed Percival—your beloved penguin plushie—missing, your instincts kicked in immediately. There was only one person reckless enough to commit such a crime.

You stormed into the living room, arms crossed, already glaring at the culprit.

Dick Grayson, Gotham’s resident acrobat-turned-vigilante, sat on the couch, looking far too comfortable for a man who had obviously done something wrong. In his lap sat Percival. But the real offense? The sheer, unforgivable audacity? He had put a tiny black domino mask on him.

Dick glanced up, his blue eyes filled with mischief, barely containing his grin. “Babe, listen—”

You held out your hand. No words. Just judgment.

He sighed, shaking his head as if you were the unreasonable one here. “Percival has joined the Nightwing Corps,” he announced solemnly, adjusting the plushie’s mask. “He’s my new partner now. We fight crime together.”

Your eye twitched.

And then—before you could react—he bolted.

In a blur of acrobatic nonsense, Dick sprang off the couch, cradling Percival in one arm. He vaulted over the coffee table with ease, moving so fast it took your brain a second to catch up.

“Nightwing and Nightpenguin, away!” he shouted dramatically, executing a perfect flip onto the fire escape.