#look at diana’s look at bruce’s hand on her arm and actively deciding against #but clearly thinking #she could rip his whole arm #but they were in public
the first few weeks of the justice league actually being a team are probably a fucking nightmare. superman keeps using midwestern expressions. you’re not going to need paper towels to clean this up, you’re gonna need an irrigation system, he says. nobody is entirely sure what that means. aquaman keeps leaving in the middle of fights to go save lobsters from restaurants, because he can’t just let them get eaten, y'know? wonder woman quickly figures out that there’s maybe three people here with any serious combat experience. the flash is just a police officer, man. that’s all he knows. she’s in despair. speaking of the flash, someone made the mistake of giving him caffienated coffee, and now the power’s out. someone tell green lantern that he can’t wear the same gross jacket to every meeting. shouldn’t his space cop uniform keep him warm. who keeps playing ‘mmm whatcha say’ over the speakers. batman keeps disappearing during after battles, and it turns out he’s at the daycare down the street hanging out with the babies. he got bored
23 year old Bruce at a party, chatting up a supermodel, stiffening suddenly and hissing, “Shit. Shit.”
Her luminescent smile slides off her face. “What’s the matter?”
Bruce closes his eyes. “I came here with a little boy. Black hair, blue eyes, about three foot ten. I need to find him.” Bruce steps around her, but she stops him with her hand.
“We can help!”
“Pardon?”
“The girls and I?” She gestures to the models staggered throughout the room. “We can help you find him.”
And that’s the story of how twenty or so models went dashing around the venue, peeking under chairs and searching nooks and crevices. 8 year old Dickie Grayson was found napping under the bar counter by the new face of Prada.
Dick: Okay, but when it’s about my life, everyone laughs.
——————–
Jason: I’m really trying, and it’s just not working.
Tim: There is no try. Only do.
Jason: I don’t think Star Wars is really going to help me right now.
Tim: *scoffs* Shows what you know.
Dick: You know, I’m proud he got that reference.
——————-
Jason: *messes up*
Bruce: *addresses the younger kids* Okay, he’s older. That means you should all learn from his mistakes or risk being just as much of a fuck-up.
Jason:Dad!
Bruce: *raises an eyebrow*
Jason: *sighs* It’s true.
——————-
Bruce: Okay Tim, you need some sleep.
Tim: You know, I’ve got enough problems in my life without you shoving your mainstream ideals and corporate agendas down my throat.
Bruce: …?
Tim: Yeah, goodnight.
———————
Dick: Okay, but if cotton shirts shrinkwhen they get wet, does that mean sheep shrink when they get wet?
Jason: Bro, sheep produce wool.
Dick: Really?
Jason: Cotton comes from a fucking plant.
Dick: *in a small voice* So…sheep….don’t shrink…..when they get….wet….?
Tim: I think your brain shrinks when it gets wet.
———————–
Damian: *walks into the kitchen at 12:00 a.m.* *sees Dick laying on the table crying*
Damian: So this is adulthood.
*like a month after that*
Damian: *walks into the kitchen late at night again* *sees Jason sitting in front of the fridge just staring while holding a jug of milk*
Damian: Is this like a thing? Does every adult in this family have mental breakdowns in the kitchen late at night?
Bruce: You’ll understand it someday.
Damian: *turns the light on* *sees Bruce sitting on the counter with a single piece of bread*
Damian: What was I born into?
———————–
*at McDonald’s*
Dick and Jason: *get their own food*
Tim and Damian: *have to share*
Damian: Dad, that’s not fair. Why do we have to share?
Jason: Because we’re older, nimrod. We’ve paid our dues.
Dick: Yeah. I’m older than all of you. Dad had to raise me before he knew what the fuck he was doing.
Bruce: Jokes on all of you. I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
———————
Jason: *ruins the end of a movie the others haven’t seen*
Dick: You know, there’s a special place in hell for people like you.
Damian: Yeah, it’s this family.
——————–
*at the pediatrician’s*
Bruce and Damian: *waiting for the doctor*
Bruce: *starts opening the cabinets* *finds the latex gloves* *starts stuffing them in his pockets*
Damian: Um, Dad? What are you doing…?
Bruce: I use these when I’m working (my dad does taxidermy sometimes and he uses gloves for that). I like the ones from my doctor better. These are all meant for small hands.
Damian: Well maybe you shouldn’t be stealing from your son’s pediatrician then—or your doctor for that matter.
Bruce: Maybe your pediatrician shouldn’t have such small hands.
Damian: That is so not the problem with this situation.
(I know Bruce is hella rich, but my fam isn’t. lolol)
——————-
*getting free samples from the store*
Bruce: Okay, Jason take your jacket off and go up there again. She’s elderly and will probably think your someone else.
Jason: *rolls his eyes* *goes anyway*
Dick: Dad, that is horrible.
Bruce: Do you want lunch son?
Dick: Yes?
Bruce: Okay then. Roll your shorts up, put your hair in a ponytail, and pretend you’re my daughter.
Tim: We’re all going to hell.
———————
Dick, Tim and Jason: *fighting over what movie to watch*
Damian: *gives a suggestion* *gets ignored*
Dick, Tim and Jason: *keep fighting*
Damian: Hello!
Dick, Tim and Jason: *still ignore him* *still fighting*
Damian: I DEMAND ATTENTION, YOU ASSHOLES!
Dick, Tim and Jason: *turn to Damian in shock*
Damian: That’s right. I am capable of speaking. I may be the youngest, but I still exist.
———————-
Jason: Hey, Dick?
Dick: JUST LEAVE ME ALONE TO DIE!
Jason: What’s wrong with him?
Tim: Someone ate all the Lucky Charms.
———————-
Jason: How do you know when a fish is dead?
Dick: That’s an ominous question.
Jason: But like, how do you know?
Dick: I don’t know. Usually if they’re upside down at the top of the water.
Jason: So…laying at the bottom of bowl all pale and colorless probably means dead, right?.
Dick: JASON WHAT DID YOU DO?
Jason: I DON’T KNOW!I think I fed him too much. I mean, he just kept eating. I figured he was just that hungry!
Dick: Damian is going to kill you.
Jason: This is like his fifth fish. How attached could he have been, really?
———————–
Damian: I thought I said that this family was banned from going anywhere near my fish. Why do you all keep killing my pets? Dad freaking swallowed one!
Jason: Wow Dad. I just overfed one. At least I didn’t eat it.
Bruce: That wasn’t my fault! You shouldn’t be putting them in water bottles!
Damian: I WAS CLEANING HIS BOWL!
———————–
Tim: Why is the world against me?
Damian: Is that rhetorical or would you like me to answer?
———————–
Dick: *wakes up* I really feel like today is going to be a good day.
Dick: *spills his bowl of cereal on himself*
Dick: I’m going to go to bed now.
Bruce: Dick, you just woke up.
Dick: Well the world doesn’t seem to care!
————————
Tim: Can you have a midlife crisis at 17?
Damian: I don’t even think I’ll make it to 17.
Jason: I’m pretty sure I died the day I turned 19.
Dick: I’ve been having a midlife crisis for the past three years.
Tim: So that’s a yes.
————————
Bruce: I miss being young and childless.
Jason: As your child, that’s just so nice to hear.
————————-
Bruce: Why aren’t you in school right now?
Dick: Dad, why does life feel like an endless abyss of self-loathing and humiliation?
Bruce: …
Bruce: I’m just going to call and say you have the flu.
Dick Grayson is Rromani. Making him into a genocidal fascist is not only an insult to his character but to the Rroma. This is in no way acceptable. It is antiziganist and incredibly disrespectful on so many levels.
He is one of, if not the most iconic Rromani characters and him being made a fascist follows the decision by marvel to have Wanda Maximoff join hydra, a nazi organization. These are blatantly antiziganist and follow a dangerous trend in recent media that threatens the safety of minorities. We are being demonized and being made to be the perpetrators of fascism, of genocide, of Nazism. I have had enough and it is time the creators knew this.
if you are gadje please reblog this. The Rroma will not stand for this. Neither should you.
The fun thing about smutty fanfic is that kinks are weird and nonsensical and often impossible to predict based on someone’s public-facing persona, so most of the time it’s basically impossible to be out of character. Is Batman into petplay? Does Hans from Frozen get off on being beaten with sacks of oranges? Go for it - it’d make as much sense as anything else!
Batman fights crime in a borderline-daddy leather fursuit with only his eyes and mouth visible and you’re wondering if he might be into weird shit.
To be fair, Batman lives in a world where that sort of thing seems to be regarded as normal.
Are you implying that Batman’s outrageous kink would be vanilla sex?
Well, kinks are defined in relation to societal norms.
It’s often been remarked that Spider-Man’s schtick wouldn’t work nearly so well if he didn’t live in a town with so many tall buildings, but consider: how well would Batman’s “I am the night” routine work if he was operating out of a normal city where people actually live, rather than a perpetually twilit urban hellscape that looks like the Art Deco movement had a one-night stand with Soviet Brutalism in a wrought-iron-and-gargoyle factory?
That is my favorite description of the Batman aesthetic ever.
OMDFG that’s a perfect description.
Imagine Spiderman ballooning in wide open areas. No, sorry, can’t get to that crime, its against the prevailing wind.
Also, Batman brooding on top of a Wafflehouse.
Batman: God, this stupid city with its sufficient lighting and lack of crumbling infrastructure to shoot grappling hooks into
Superman: Everyone for miles has lead poisoning, I’ve spent the entire night stopping crossword puzzle museum robberies and heists at the Second National Bank of Gotham on the corner of second street and second avenue, and earlier the wall of…clouds? smog?…cleared up for a minute and I’m pretty sure the sky was literally blood red
Look, guys, you need to know something really important about Batman.
The whole traditional English butler thing? Yeah, “master ____” is a form of address used for children. Alfred has been lowkey calling Bruce a manchild for decades.
i always assumed that when bruce got older, alfred called him ‘mister wayne’ exactly once, because the look on bruce’s face when alfred called him what he’d previously always called thomas wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again
Anonymous asked: Ngl I ship Alfred × the Waynes REALLY REALLY HARD now. Curse u!! How dare u make me ship something that there is literally 0 content for aaaah
when i started wayne manor i did not intend for this to happen but quite frankly it’s all thomas’ fault. WELCOME TO HELL.
i don’t know if there’s a name for a ship that is so obscure it might as well not exist, but then if you voice the idea out loud people go “WAIT BUT THAT MAKES SENSE??” but anyway that is the level of hell we are at with this and it’s just the worst.
The alarm went off, and Thomas grumbled, rolling over until he could reach far enough to hit it. Then he rolled back, throwing out an arm as he took his designated position as Biggest Possible Spoon. Martha sighed, comfortably nestled into her place as Rather Tall But Currently Littlest Spoon.
Alfred was of course in the position of Middlest Spoon, or possibly Actually Taller And Handsomer Than Average Spoon Even If You Wouldn’t Know It To Look At These Other Spoons, or to use an entirely different metaphor, The Blonde Center Of A Raven-haired Sandwich. He objected to being the cream filling, because that had connotations.
“Alfred,” Thomas mumbled, nuzzling at the back of his head. “Go make sure Bruce is dressing appropriately for the museum.” Despite this, he had made no move to allow Alfred to escape.
“He’s your son,” Alfred said. “You do it.”
“I’m doing it by making you do it,” Thomas said.
“You can’t make me,” Alfred said.
“The hell I can’t,” Thomas said, indignant.
“Tommy-love, you haven’t rehired him yet,” Martha reminded him.
Thomas had rules about fraternizing with staff. Thomas did not break rules. Particularly not rules about ethics. He had the kind of ironclad and unbreakable sense of right and wrong that consistently and without fail inconvenienced and annoyed the shit out of everyone around him.
Which is why Martha had fired Alfred.
Martha was very good at finding workarounds for her husband’s sense of ethics.
“Alfred,” Thomas said, his voice adopting the particular baritone of Professionalism, as if he were not still in mid-cuddle with the man. “I hear tell my wife fired you last night.”
“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” Alfred said, interrupted by a yawn. “I’m sorry to leave, of course, but I’m not a man to overstay my welcome.” His hand wandered over Martha while he could still get away with it, and she giggled.
“Between you and me,” Thomas said, “I’m afraid my wife may be suffering from her monthlies.”
Martha gasped. They could hear the fire lighting in her eyes. Immediately Alfred clamped his arms around hers.
“It may even be hysteria,” Thomas added, and he had to wrap his arms around both Alfred and Martha to keep his wife from sitting up and hitting him. Thomas could feel the subtle shaking of Alfred trying not to laugh as Martha tried to get her arms free. He was trusting Alfred enormously not to let her go, since Martha had a mean right hook and a manicure that could kill. “I’m a doctor,” he added, in case anyone had forgotten. “This is my professional doctor-man opinion.”
“I see,” Alfred said as seriously as he could, having to lean his head back toward Thomas so Martha couldn’t headbutt him.
“How about you just come on back to work,” Thomas said, “and we forget this whole thing ever happened?”
“While I can think of nothing I’d like better,” Alfred said, “if I’m going to be returning to such an unstable work environment, I will require greater compensation.”
Martha’s angry struggling was forgotten as she started to laugh.
“God damn it,” Thomas said, clearly outmaneuvered.
“Oh, Alfie, you’re marvelous,” Martha said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wayne,” he said. “One does one’s best.”
“I don’t suppose you take payment in dick?” Thomas asked, and Martha laughed again.
“I thought that was the benefits package,” Alfred said.
There was a familiar sound in the bedroom walls, a faint thump.
“Shit,” Martha said, all three of them bolting upright. “We took too long.”
Immediately and without preamble, both Waynes shoved Alfred downward and covered him with the comforter. He did not protest.
“How much do you wanna bet he’s wearing the pith helmet?” Thomas asked.
“That’s not even gambling,” Martha said with disdain.
Bruce appeared outside their bedroom window, because they’d made it too difficult for him to get in directly through the vents. He’d gotten in the habit, instead, of going through the walls and then out a decorative window, clambering across sills to get to theirs.
Martha was beginning to consider re-opening some of the secret passages into the bedroom, if only so he didn’t fall while climbing on all the architecture.
Bruce was, surprising no one, wearing his pith helmet. He was the sort of ten-year-old that believed very strongly in dressing for the occasion.
He had the window unlocked from the outside in no time at all, bending halfway through it so that he could retreat if he was seriously yelled at.
“The museum opens in an hour,” he said before they could say anything, clearly upset with their lollygagging. He was also the sort of ten-year-old that believed very strongly that ‘on time’ meant ‘a minimum of ten minutes early, but preferably more’.
“Brucie,” Martha said, her voice stern. Since she didn’t sound the kind of upset that Bruce considered dangerous, he slid inside, having the approximate weight and compressibility of a Hoberman sphere made of balsa wood. “What have I told you about breaking into our room?” The comforter was wrapped around her chest and tucked under her armpits, and she managed to make it look dignified.
“I might as well just pick the lock on the hall door,” Bruce said, as dismissive as any child repeating something he’d been told a thousand times. “This route was more efficient. And if we’re not one of the first two-hundred people in the exhibit, we don’t get the collector’s coin!” His change of subject was a flawless pivot, holding up the brochure that the museum had sent them in the mail, which of course he’d brought with him as a visual aid. He pointed at the embossed picture of the coin.
“Brucie, we’re their biggest donors,” Thomas reminded his son. “If you want a coin, all we have to do is ask.” They were technically included free at the ‘recurring five-hundred dollar donation’ level, which the Waynes far exceeded.
“That’s cheating,” Bruce said, not for the first time. “We have to get it right or else it doesn’t count.”
Bruce also had a particular sense of right and wrong, and it made his love of collecting things much more difficult than it had any right to be when his parents were billionaires.
“How,” Martha asked, “is crawling in the window a more efficient route than just taking the hall?”
Bruce huffed impatiently, lowered the brochure. “Because I went to Alfred’s room first, which is the other reason I’m here, because Alfred is missing and we need to find him because I’m not leaving without Alfred.” He stomped his foot to emphasize this point.
Thomas pressed his lips together into a thin line of not-grinning.
Martha pointed at the door. “Back to your room,” she ordered. “Dress properly, this time.”
“Mooom,” Bruce protested, putting his hands protectively on his hat. “I’m wearing it in the old-timey paleontologist way! Not the old-timey archaeologist way!”
“No one can tell that to look at you, darling, you look like a grave-robber with a mild case of syphilis.”
“Mother!”
“Go put something on that suggests you know we’re living in a society, so that your father and I can get dressed. Then we’ll all go find Mr. Pennyworth so we can go to the museum together – and we will arrive on time, when it opens and not a moment sooner. Won’t that be lovely?” She smiled, dazzling white, and Bruce knew there was no point arguing.
“Fine,” he said, dragging his feet as he headed for their bedroom door. “But if we get there, and there’s a long line and I don’t get my coin, I’m going to put on a brave face and try not to let it ruin my day because there’s so much cool stuff to see, but it’s still going to ruin my whole day, and you’re going to be able to tell because I’m bad at lying about my feelings, and then you’re going to feel bad and it’s going to ruin everyone’s day.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Martha said, because she had a much better sense than her son of exactly how many people were clamoring to get in to the obscure new exhibit on trace fossils.
“You hear that?” Thomas said when Bruce had left, lifting the comforter. “You’ve gone missing.”
“How distressing,” Alfred said, wiggling back out from underneath it. “Do you think you’ll be able to find me in time?”
“Bruce won’t rest until we have,” Martha said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
“No Alfred left behind,” Thomas agreed, kissing the other.
“I suppose I should – I don’t actually need a raise,” Alfred said suddenly. “To be clear, I’m… more than happy.”
<
p>“Too late!” Thomas said, ruffling Alfred’s hair in the way he knew annoyed him, leaning over Alfred to rub noses with his wife. “You’re in a new tax bracket now and nothing can stop me.”
