#(Alfred)

[i-lick-your-gun]

Ay bro not to say that he isn't quiet but I did say "non-talkative" he's an introvert, but he does open up emotionally to his children and Alfred. He is not the "I am the PERSONIFICATION of LONELINESS and ANGST and NOBODY will EVER understand what I am going through >:|" type of loner the movies make him out to be.

Bruce: I wish I wasn't so lonely.

Alfred: Why don't you go out and talk to people?

Bruce: I don't wanna leave my house.

Alfred: Okay, invite people over.

Bruce: I don't want people in my space.

Alfred: If you love someone, you may feel different. Try starting a family.

Bruce: No, I'm scared of commitment. I guess I'll just be alone forever.

[ask-ok-hero]

[batsbr]

[thief-of-eggs]

Headcannon that due to diligently monitoring the Wayne family’s media image, Alfred is chronically online, and as such, is constantly dropping slang into conversation like-

(Over the coms)

Batman: Alfred, what’s the update on the Arkham situation?

Alfred: *Ahem* Unfortunately sir, it is as they say- ‘we’re cooked’

Collective groans from Tim, Dick, and Jason over the coms

Batman: …Huh?

Jason: *muttering* I knew I should’ve stayed outa this one…

Damian: I don’t understand, what are we cooking?

Alfred: It’s giving ‘failure era’, sir-

Dick: Damn it!

Tim: We really are cooked

Damian: What does that -?

Alfred: It’s lowkey not-

Batman: In English Alfred. Please.

Alfred: *Sigh* My apologies, sir. The Joker has escaped.

[hellsitegenetics]

I’ve come to make an announcement: Shadow the Hedgehog’s a bitch ass mother fucker. He pissed on my fucking wife. That’s right, he took his hedgehog fuckin' quilly dick out and he pissed on my fucking wife, and he said his dick was THIS BIG. And I said “that’s disgusting!” So I’m making a callout post on my twitter dot com: "Shadow the Hedgehog, you got a small dick, it’s the size of this walnut except WAY smaller." And guess what, here’s what my dong looks like: PFFFFFFFFGJT. That’s right baby. All point, no quills, no pillows, look at that it looks like two balls and a bong. He fucked my wife so guess what, I’m gonna FUCK THE EARTH. THATS RIGHT THIS IS WHAT YOU GET, MY SUPER LAZER PISS. Except I’m not gonna piss on the earth, I’m gonna go higher. I’m pissing on the MOOOOOON! How do you like that, OBAMA? I PISSED ON THE MOON, YOU IDIOT! You have twenty-three hours before the piss d r o p l e t s hit the fucking earth, now get out of my fucking sight before I piss on you too!

String identified: ’ c t a a act: a t gg’ a tc a t c. cg . Tat’ gt, t gg c' c t a cg , a a c a T G. A a “tat’ gtg!” ’ ag a cat t ttt t c: "a t gg, gt a a c, t’ t t at ct A a." A g at, ’ at g : GT. Tat’ gt a. A t, , , at tat t t a a a g. c g at, ’ ga C T AT. TAT GT T AT GT, A . ct ’ t ga t at, ’ ga g g. ’ g t ! tat, AA? T , T! a tt-t t t t t cg at, gt t cg gt t!

Closest match: Molanna angustata genome assembly, chromosome: 4 Common name: Hood casemaker fly

[nosyrobin]

TODDLERTWIN!READER IMAGINE‼️

ToddlerTwin!reader who is trying to ignore toddler!damian who is pulling on their sleeve. Damian had accidentally ate reader’s last cookie, making the toddler puff and huff. Damian then starts to cry loudly, not liking the silent treatment as Alfred picks Damian up. Damian glares at Alfred while yelling “no! Down!” As he pushes a chubby hand against the butler. Alfred sighs and puts Damian back down to not make the tantrum even worse. Damian goes over to his twin and sit down with a hard thump. Annoyed at being picked up, he plays with reader’s hand. Making the ticklish reader giggle. That soon makes the other twin, Damian laugh as he keeps tickling reader.

Alfred can only smile as he walks to the kitchen to make more cookies

[jokin-around]

Day in the life 🦇

[thesuperheroesnetwork]

Texts From Superheroes

Facebook | Threads | Patreon | Instagram

[sheiyavlad]

Supersons as parents part 3

(i know no one asked for this but these'll keep coming i have so many ideas lol)

[deadsetobsessions]

Bruce didn’t come here often. Perhaps that was terrible of him but he couldn’t bear to visit his son’s resting place. It was difficult to equate his high-spirited son, bright as the sun itself and endlessly brilliant despite the more he grew up in, to the cold and lifeless stone engraved with his name and words that did not encompass everything his son was to him.

His hands were full of flowers, Jason’s favorite books, a round rock, and his son’s favorite foods.

Bruce didn’t come here often, because it broke his heart even more when he did, but today was a day that love and grief triumphed over his need to avoid.

He walked down the winding pathway, Alfred a silent sentinel behind him. He hated it, but he understood. Today was the only day Alfred allowed himself to be emotionally closed off. He’d lost a grandson.

Bruce didn’t come here often, but his son’s birthday was a day Bruce would remember how to love and live again, just for Jason.

“I will be over here, Master Bruce.” Alfred stopped at his designated spot, where Bruce had added a bench and a draping tree to shade Alfred as he stood vigil.

The first time they’d- it was April, and the sun- after the funeral, Bruce was lost in the throes of grief and had kneeled over the freshly tilled dirt for hours. Alfred had stood there, in that same spot, in the city’s rare blazing sun until Bruce came back to himself.

Bruce had almost lost his second father that day, and what good was wealth if it could not prevent that? And so, water, shade, a bench, and a space heater was added.

Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Alfred can be, when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, he didn’t have to raise Bruce after Martha and Thomas died.

“Alright, Alfred.”

Bruce splits from the haggard butler with pointed looks at the water bottles he’d prepared for today for Alfred (who manages, this time, a faint but amused raise of an eyebrow) and walks towards Jason Todd’s grave.

Here where his son is buried, the grass is kept green. In April, Forget-Me-Nots bloomed and dotted the place where Bruce’s world collapsed with bright colors. In August, it is still green, but the tin engraved with the names of the deceased stood out without the flowers.

Bruce kneeled and quietly arranged the flowers before placing them in the tin. He set the platters of food down and uncovered them. The scent of chili dogs made his heart stutter, flashes of a bright smile and book references blinding Bruce with their nostalgia.

He swallowed, grief building, and placed the stone he’d brought atop the gravestone. He sat back, gripping Jason’s book with white knuckles.

Bruce didn’t turn around when clothing rustled behind him. Alfred would have verbally cut down anyone that dared to approach them today, especially here. That he didn’t do so was telling of who it would be.

“I’m still mad at you, for not telling me as soon as you knew.” Dick Grayson sat down, hand over one of Jason’s school bag pins he had carefully attached to the front of his jacket.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He deserved better. I should have been there.” Dick whispered, placing another bundle of flowers into the tin. It fit, but barely. “I would have dropped everything to come find him. Even if it wasn’t on time, even if it wasn’t enough, I deserved to be there when he was buried. We were family.”

“I know.” Bruce repeated, no less regretful. In his grief, he had wronged his loved ones. “I’m sorry.”

Dick casted a quiet, assessing eye at him. Bruce stayed quiet.

“It’s too dreary,” Dick said. He took out paints, little statutes of robins, bright birds, and bits and bobs Bruce knew Jason would have loved had he been alive out of his pockets.

“It should be more colorful,” Dick murmured as he placed them artfully against the headstone.

They sat there, for a while. Dick glanced at… at Bruce’s hand, and settled down.

It’d been a while since they’ve spoken, but he knew what the man intentioned to do today. This will be the most Dick will have heard Bruce speak outside of his civilian obligations.

Bruce took the cue and gently opened Jason’s book. He’d bought it for Jason- the first gift- and he’d read it to Jason every night. Dick had a similar book.

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse…”

——

A boy with black hair and blue eyes wandered amongst the graveyard. They’ve been here for a while, and the man’s low rumble was soothing to listen to. The shades that hung about the graveyard settled as he read out loud from the book as his son sat quietly beside him.

As the boy, invisible and intangible, brushed his hand against the gravestone, he wondered why they were reading to an empty grave.

——

Dick had left long before Bruce did.

And when it was time to go, as stars began to climb and as the cold began to nip at his fingers, Bruce heard a quiet voice.

“Do not stand at his grave and weep,” and Bruce turned, recognizing the poem. “He is not there. He does not sleep.”

But there was no-one.

[gameraboy2]

Batman (1966), "Batman is Riled"

[laxxarian]

Danny swore he was napping under a tree at the park so why is he sitting at a dinner table along with other kids inside a mansion?

Answer: Danny was mistaken as Damian who was also napping under a tree

The kids didn't notice but Alfred and Bruce did, the three were staring with questionable looks

[deaddovedecadence]

What would platonic yandere Batfam do if reader got sick and fevered to the extent that they just didn’t understand what was going on? Would they use this to their advantage?

Oh fuck yes, they would. I’m going to tell you how each one of them would do it. This will be taking place in something I call the sunshine verse aka the mob au verse

Alfred: He’s so gentle. You don’t realize that you’re slipping in and out of reality, telling you the entire time that you’re safe, that you’re loved, that you belong here. You will not see him drug your food, but he might, if you don’t let yourself get better

Bruce: He tells you that he’s your father, you call him dad in a fever weak tone and he smiles, all predator. You do not see how makes the world small, you’re too sick for that.

Dick: Dick is the one that twists everything that makes it your fault, that tells you you’re supposed to trust them, that you’re supposed to let them care for you. He makes promises that you won’t remember whe you wake up he holds up anyways

Jason: Gets locked in his room because otherwise he’d try to kill most of his siblings. He remembers the way that dick used to be with him when he got sick and he is terrified of that happening to you. He can’t stop it and that’s the worst part

Cass: Really likes helping care for you while you’re sick because then she doesn’t have to force you to be calm. Almost wants you to stay sick so that she can take care of you more often

Tim: Got you sick in the first place. He noticed it starting to happen and just kept pushing you and pushing you until you broke because it’s more useful to gently break yo then force it

Duke: Duke keeps you on their lap, humming lullabies and just holding you through your sickness even when you want to run away and hide from the rest of the world. They are the person you trust and go to so this sickness really reinforces that for you

Damian: dunks you in the pits after you offer him a pitbull

[xypheris]

Tim: I got Bruce a coffee maker for Christmas.

Barbara: He already has three.

Tim: Yeah, but this one has bat ears.

[messenger-of-babel]

Family Resemblance

Summary: You turn up on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, pleading for your brother to let you in. (Damian Wayne x sis!reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: I originally had the Harley fic for today but I can't find it??? So ofc I did what I did best and wrote an entirely new one for today. Pivoted hard too smh. I hope people enjoy it! First Damian fic for this site so I'm still getting his personality down. Hope that people enjoy him regardless, and sorry to anyone who actually checked ahead and wanted the Harley one, I'll throw it on my blog after Angstober when I find it. Much Love~! xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If Damian Wayne was a spitting image of Bruce, then your mannerisms were exactly the same as Thalia's.

He had inherited the black hair and facial features of his father, something that rich Gothamites liked to point out at the galas repeatedly. However the way you held yourself on the doorstep, the tilt of your head and the shimmer in your eyes were anything but Bruce's. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn that it was Thalia herself standing there.

"What do you want?" he asked coarsely, untrusting. His eyes flicker over you, the way your eyes are rimmed and puffy, and the frown on your face. He blocks the entrance with his body, half a mind to leave you on the doorstep.

"It's been so long since we saw each other, Damian." you say softly, frown deepening. "I thought you might be happy to see me."

He scoffs. "You're still an agent of the League." he responds. "I doubt this is a personal call."

"Well, you better believe it." you say firmly, arms hugging your side. "I'm here to request protection."

His eyebrows shoot upwards at that, leaning on the doorframe. "Yeah, right." his says, tone disbelieving. "You, a fully trained assassin, can't take care of herself? I didn't realise the League had gotten so weak in recent days."

You bristle at that, the way that you tighten your hold and your jaw, but you just turn your head away and do not say anything. Damian remembered you as a spitfire, although you both were much younger then. You had a fiercely competitive spirit, and he would frequently catch you training to surpass him. Now you were taller, facial features a little more defined. Your hair was a little different, but still the same colour he remembered. What made him suspicious however was that the pride you usually had, the sheer arrogance that came with being the grandchild of Ras Ah Ghul, was diminished. He had never seen you hang your head outside of being scolded or disciplined by the League, and he hadn't expected to see it on the doorstep of Wayne manor of all things.

"Damian, please." you say with a sigh, shaking your head in defeat. "I have nowhere to go."

He sighs but tosses his head. Sure, you were his twin, his sister, but his gut won out. "I can't let you in." he says, frowning. "The League will be mad if they know you're here. You should go home before mother finds out, if she hasn't already."

He goes to close the door, but you block it with your foot.

"I'm running from them!" you shout, eyes glossing over as you press against the door, fighting to get it open. "They're going to kill me, please Damian, please! Mother, the League, they're going to kill me." you cry, sticking an arm though the crack you've managed to hold open.

"Just what is happening here?" Comes a stern voice, followed by the clipping of dress shoes. Damian turns to see Alfred, a frown pulled over the elderly man's face. With the moment of distraction you shove the door forward, throwing Damian off balance and eh stumbles away from the door. Now that it's fully open you rush through, the tears that were brewing now dripping from the corner of your eyes.

"You have to help me." you say, lips trembling and gaze fitting between your brother and the elderly man. Alfred looks between you and Damian, who's rolling his eyes. "Don't believe them." he scoffs. Alfred looks at him with a disappointed look.

"And what makes you say that, Master Damian?"

"Because she's my sister." he huffs, pushing off from rocking on his heels. "And like our mother, she's a liar."

Alfred looks down at him in shock before turning back to you and gently grabbing your arm. He sends a pointed look to Damian. "Go fetch your father, he is in his office this evening." he says, making Damian narrow his eyes.

"You cannot be serious."

Alfred meets his stare, managing to get Damian to look away first. "I think if he has another child, he deserves to know." he says haughtily, before his face warms looking back to you. "Let's get you settled with a nice cup of tea, and you can let me know what's brought you here today, hm?" he says, making a smile ripple across your face.

"I'd like that." your sniffle, rubbing at your nose. As Alfred leads you away you send a hopeful stare to your brother, who responds with a glare before he turns on his heel.

Alfred entertains you until a man comes into the living room, well dressed but eyes are tired and lined with bags. Damian trails behind him, matching the clipped step of the older man. You meet the eyes of the man you know as Bruce Wayne, rising to your feet and giving him a slight bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you." you say softly, eyes hesitant as you look at him. A smile falls across Bruce’s face, and he crouches to your height.

"No need for formality. Damian tells me you’re his sister, is that right?" he asks softly. You study his face, and you can see your brother in his features, the lines of his chin and nose. The same black hair, same one-sided grin that falls to the left.

"That's correct, sir." you say politely. "We're twins."

Bruce hums, standing up and walking to one side of the couch to settle. "I assume you know that I'm your father then too?" he asks, and you can see in his body language that he's preparing for the chance that you weren't aware.

"I know." you say softly. "Mother told me when we sent Damian away."

You see how his eyes darken when you mention Thalia, knuckles coming up for his teeth to scrape against. Then he hums, and the hesitance that was around him fades. "Damian also tells me that you're also a part of the League." The warmth that he was holding flickers away for a brief second, and you can see the eyes of Batman studying you, even without the cowl.

You nod. "Yes sir." you say, eyes filling up once more. "I was being trained alongside Damian, and mother continued after he left. However, I made her angry, well, not her exactly..." you trail off. "I made grandfather angry."

Bruce leans forward onto his knees, and Damian sends you a quizzical glance from your peripheral vision. "You mean Ras?" he asks.

You nod, wiping your tears with your fingers before Alfred offers you the handkerchief from his pocket.

"I wanted to prove myself, but when it came to it, to having to kill someone..." you take a shaky breath. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't do something that awful. I realised that killing senselessly wasn't going to fix the world. When I refused, Grandfather chased me out. Even mother." your hands shaky as you cry into the handkerchief. "The League is hunting me, and there's never been anyone who's ever escaped their grasp. Except one." you raise your head up, eyes glistening.

"That's why I need your help." you whisper. "I know I had to find my father."

Damian makes a noise of disgust, drawing all sets of eyes to him. He comes forward, arms crossed. "You really believe her?" he asks incredulously, a hand thrown your way in distaste. "She's clearly lying."

"Damian," Bruce warns.

"No, father." he snaps back, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. "I don't know what you want, sister, but you're a liar. You've killed before. We both have, as soon as we could hold a weapon."

"But I realise it was wrong now!" you protest.” I realised that I have a choice, and I could start making my own decisions. I didn't need to kill."

"Bullshit, plus he's not your father-"

"Damian." Bruce calls, voice heavy and stern. His handsome face is sending a glare to Damian, not backing down when the boy sends once back. "That's enough."

Alfred grabs the young boy's arm, making him sit down on the couch opposite you. You turn your eyes back towards Bruce. "Please," you plead, and the older man sighs. "I don't have anywhere else to run."

Bruce wipes a hand over his face before signalling to Alfred. "Give us a moment, sweetheart." he says, standing and placing a warm hand on your shoulder. "We'll work something out, just give us a second to discuss." He sends you a smile as he and the older man leave the room, headed up the stairs, likely to his study.

That left the both of you in a room together.

It's tense between you two, and the way Damian refuses to look at you doesn't make it better. "Damian, please look at me." you say softly. "Do you really hate me that much?" you begin to cry, trying to keep the sounds sealed behind your lips. That makes Damian break, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"We aren't children anymore." he chides. "Stop crying."

"Sorry Dami." you sniffle, biting your lip. You look over to your brother, fidgeting in your spot and itching to get closer to him. however, you could tell through the body language of the young boy, that he was already closer to you than he'd like.

When you call him that nickname, he lets his shoulders sag. If he was completely honest with his feelings, he would tell you deep down that he did miss you, that he had thought of you the first time he had moved into the manor.

You were twins and were raised together, always together. You slept in the same rooms, you sparred together, you ate together, you did tasks for the League together. Leaving and going to Bruce was the first time he had ever been apart from you, and he could still recall the way you waved goodbye at him sadly when mother had taken his hand and told him he was going to carry out something important.

He had never seen you since, until now.

"I really missed you, Damian." you sniffle, giving him a hopeful smile. "I wanted my brother back. it was so lonely, so so lonely without you. I had no one to spar with, and Mother never let me see you."

"I... missed you too." he huffs out, arms crossing over his chest and your eyes brighten.

"Really?" you ask, voice hopeful. You cast a quick look the way the two older men went before standing up, hands nervously clasped in front of you. "Can I ...Can I hug you again?" your voice wavers, shaking slightly. Damian softens for only a fraction.

Just once, he'd let you hug him like before, and then you would be gone.

Out of his hair. Back to Thalia.

"Just once." he finally concedes as you come over, and he awkwardly holds his arms out once he’d stood up. When he looks down at you and your eyes meet his, he sees his twin sister from those years ago that followed him like a shadow. He saw the traces of your smile that stayed the same, the same way that mother smiled, just a tinge sweeter. However, as your arms wrapped around him and then tightened, he remembered the first thought he had when seeing you again on the doorstep, and his breath catches slightly.

Damian was a spitting image of Bruce, but you were still a mini Thalia.

He can't even push you away when he feels the shooting pain in his back, crying out before your hand clamps over his mouth to muffle the sound.

Your smile, like Thalia's, except coated in a much sweeter poison. Your eyes that were leaking tears so heavily before now cold and scornful.

Damian feels his body drop to the floor, or more accurately, he’s unable to feel his body.

There's a tingle that starts in his fingers and toes but goes up past his arms, limbs not moving when he tries to, mouth not moving in the right shape to form words. "You were so close, brother." you hum, looking down at him crumpled on the floor. The feeling of wetness begins creeping across his back into the shirt he wore, and he knows that it's most likely his blood staining his shirt. "It seems that mother was right, spending time with father has made you soft."

"Why?" he croaks out, trying to crane his head upwards weakly. His face is pressed into the carpet, and he only manages to turn it slightly.

"Because everyone loves you." you spit, and he grows confused. "Because even though you're here, and I'm still there," you hiss, waving the blade you had concealed in your sleeve, "Grandfather still wants you to be the Demons Head. The same way that he wanted father to be his predecessor. Even though I've killed, razed cities, hunted criminals just to show him how much more capable I was than you."

Your words drip with a cold malice, a cruel flicker of your lips pulling in a grin. "But you are right. Mother doesn't know that I'm out. She would forbid me from killing you, but it isn't her decision." you say with a roll of your eyes, as if this situation was all too regular for you. Damian's vision is beginning to grow blurry, the ache turning into a sting and finally a burn that began consuming his back. He groans in pain, the wound angry and he shifts it slightly.

"Now they'll finally see." you say, voice wavering. tears spring back to your eyes, and he can tell that these ones are real this time. You clean the knife with the handkerchief before dropping it in front of his face, the embroidered 'A. P' catching his eye on the blood-soaked cloth.

"I'll be the head of the League that you never deserved to be, the head that people fail to see that I can be."

You storm away from the scene, footsteps light before you turn around. "Goodbye, Damian." you say softly, before you melt into the shadows and he can no longer see you. The logical part of his brain yells at him to slow his breathing to slow the loss of blood and your poison. It screams at him, knowing he should have never gotten caught off guard in the first place. Yet as you walk away, his brain can only conjure the image of the little girl he used to share a room with, who got scared of the dark at night. The same girl who'd steal the things he hated off his plate at mealtime, so he didn't have to eat them.

Even as he slipped into unconsciousness, the sound of alarmed yelling far away ringing in his ears, all he could think about was the young girl he left behind one too many years ago. The young girl who had grown into Thalia faster than he had grown into Bruce.