#alfred is a good baker

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #10: Inter-Dimensional Bake-Off

Alfred was checking the mail the manor had received that day when he found it. In between bills, fan mail, and company missives was a regal purple envelope addressed to one Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth. Intrigued, Alfred set aside the rest of the mail and sat to open the letter.

Inside was a high quality cardstock invitation of a metallic silver color decorated with luxurious midnight green script. It declared on the front:

“You Are Cordially Invited”

Alfred raised an eyebrow and flipped open card.

Dear, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth You have been cordially invited to participate in the first annual inter-dimensional bake-off to celebrate the coronation of the young, King Phantom, age 21, Ruler of the Infinite Realms, the Great One, Protector of Souls, Keeper of Peace, The Perfect Balance, The Infinite King, Ancient of Space and Reality. We have discerned that you are among the top 25 bakers in the 11 most stable and prominent dimensions with an open connection to the Infinite Realms. Thus, we would like to offer you the opportunity to show off and test your skills against talented competitors. Should you accept, all transport, accommodation, amenities, materials, and potentially needed medical care shall be provided by the King and his court. If you would like to bring any specific ingredients or tools you are welcome to file a request for them when you arrive and they shall be summoned to you at the start of the competition. You are allowed one plus one either as an assistant or moral support. Should you have any questions please write them down and place them on the sigil on the next page and recite the incantation bellow: “bonvolu respondi mian demandon” The event shall occur in a fortnight upon the weekend before the kings official coronation ceremony. In order to confirm your participation in the competition please burn this letter with one of your most recently made baked goods. In order to decline simply dissolve this message under running water. Please confirm your attendance or absence within a week’s time. Kind Regards, the Council of Ancients Advisors to the Good King Phantom

Well, it seemed like Alfred had earned a place in a rather prestigious event. ‘It seems a finally have a reason to make use of all those vacation days Master Bruce keeps insisting I must utilize.’ He smiled to himself, tucking the letter into his pocket. ‘I wonder if Master Jason would be amicable to accompanying me for a weekend of baking in a magical dimension?’

~ Just in case anyone has trouble reading the letter:

Dear, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth You have been cordially invited to participate in the first annual inter-dimensional bake-off to celebrate the coronation of the young, King Phantom, age 21, Ruler of the Infinite Realms, the Great One, Protector of Souls, Keeper of Peace, The Perfect Balance, The Infinite King, Ancient of Space and Reality. We have discerned that you are among the top 25 bakers in the 11 most stable and prominent dimensions with an open connection to the Infinite Realms. Thus, we would like to offer you the opportunity to show off and test your skills against talented competitors. Should you accept, all transport, accommodation, amenities, materials, and any potentially needed medical care shall be provided by the King and his court. If you would like to bring any specific ingredients or tools you are welcome to file a request for them when you arrive and they shall be summoned to you at the start of the competition. You are allowed one plus one either as an assistant or moral support. Should you have any questions please write them down and place them on the sigil on the next page and recite the incantation bellow: “bonvolu respondi mian demandon” The event shall occur in a fortnight upon the weekend before the kings official coronation ceremony. In order to confirm your participation in the competition please burn this letter with one of your most recently made baked goods. In order to decline simply dissolve this message under running water. Please confirm your attendance or absence within a week’s time. Kind Regards, the Council of Ancients Advisors to the Good King Phantom

The Esperanto translates to “please answer my question"

Edit: now with possible contestants

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: Two Into One Will Go (2.9, LWT, 1972)

"Randall's our man. I know: don't jump to conclusions, don't make guesses; but if you'd seen him this morning, you'd have known. So cocksure, so convinced that nothing can touch him, that he's got everything covered. He invited us to try and nail him. That's just what I intend to do."

[batman-katflap]

10 year old Dick: "Okay, the cake's ready! Try some and lemme know how it is!"

Clark, taking a bite: "Wow! And here I thought Bruce was the best baker in the family. I have an idea, why don't you go grab Alfred so he can come have a little taste and see how good you're getting."

Dick, already running out the room: "Okay! Try not to eat it all before I get him, Clark!"

Clark: "I'll try, but it's gonna be hard!"

Bruce, the moment Dick's out of ear shot: "How inedible is it this time?"

Clark, already shovelling down mouthfuls of cake: "Oh, you'd all be dead for sure."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request headcanons of Jason Todd with a reader who is a talented chef and baker?

Jason loves, loves, loves to eat but he loves to eat whatever you make especially.

It’s just so damn good and enticing that he can’t help but want to steal a bite while you were working your magic on some cookie dough in the kitchen.

Jason likes to claim he’s helping you when in actuality he was just being a little shit.

You still remembered the time where you had caught Jason red hand eating something he shouldn’t have, and still have the audacity to look at you with his attempt at puppy dog eyes.

He should be lucky you like him enough to make him whatever he wanted in bulk, seeing as how he had quite the appetite as you’ve once watched him wolf down four homemade burgers, chips and still found room in his stomach to indulge in something sweet.

You couldn’t count how many times you had to swat him away with your spatula when you saw his hand creeping towards a cooling tray of gooey double chocolate chip cookies.

‘Jason!’ You exclaimed. ‘Stop trying to eat the cookie before they’ve had time to cool down!’

‘But sweetheart it’s not my fault that your cookies are so good! They even maintain that gooey chocolate chip goodness that you know I like.’ Jason says as he hugs you from behind, pressing kisses into your shoulder, neck and head.

‘You’re just buttering me up so that I’d give you an early taste.’ You pouted, looking away from him as you feigned hurt. ‘Admit it, you’re only with me for the fact that I can cook and bake your favourite things.’

Jason, feeling a little bad for making you think that, was quick in having you look at him as he apologised. ‘I’m sorry chipmunk, you know I love you beyond your ability to cook food and sweet treats and make it look like an art form. How about I help you cook tonight or let me took for you instead to make up for it?’ He asks as he kept you close to him and planting kisses across your face.

His lips tasted very much like the chocolate chip cookies and after a while you just couldn’t keep up pretending to be mad at him and smile into his lips as you kissed him back before inevitably pulling away. ‘That sounds perfect jay bird but let me cook and you just stand there and look pretty.’ You cheeked as Jason gasped.

‘You only like me because I’m pretty? How shallow of you chipmunk.’ Jason joked and you couldn’t help but kiss his lips once more. ‘I like you because you’ve got a bottomless stomach.’ You then playfully prodded at his tummy and Jason jolted at the touch, which made you laugh as you went back to what you were previously doing before Jason interrupted.

‘Can I at least have a nibble?’ Jason asked after a moment of silence against your neck.

‘No, I think you’ve already had enough nibbles don’t you?’ You asked with a smile as you felt Jason pout.

‘Mean.’ He muttered childishly.

‘Mean is you eating the cookie dough and saying oops after I caught you.’ You replied and Jason stayed silent after that.

Jason hyped up your cooking and baking simultaneously and would praise your natural talent for it to anyone with ears to hear him, which had lead to one or many instances where his friend Roy or his family came over to see what all the hype was about.

Needless to say you’ve gotten more people who were obsessed with your baking/cooking and as for Alfred? You were sharing recipes and what techniques you use when prepping food, the usage of spices and herbs and so on in hopes of enhancing the flavour of the dish.

[issdisgrace]

I'd love to request, jason x male reader, who has a prosthetic arm and leg, you can decide. And the reader meeting the Wayne family for the first time, and Bruce being a bit judgy. Maybe Bruce even asking Jason in Private if he's sure the reader is the right person

I hope you're comfortable writing this :)

YOU SURE ABOUT THIS

WARNINGS: None unless you count swearing.

A/N: Y/n just has a prosthetic arm. Also when i was writing i wrote this with Bucky Barnes in my mind.

I look over at Y/n as I park in front of the manor.

“Are you sure about this? We can go home and order takeout.”

“I can do this, Jason. I need to, they are your family.”

“You don’t need to do anything that you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“If I didn’t step out of my comfort zone, then I wouldn’t be here with you right now. So let’s get this show on the road.”

“Ok and remember we can leave at anytime.”

“I’ll be fine Jason and stop worrying so much, it will give you wrinkles.” Y/n days before giving me a quick kiss on the lips before getting out of the car. I sigh to myself before getting out as well. He’s right. He’s always right. Can’t he ever be wrong? I reach out for his hand and gently lead him up the steps of the manor. As I got to knock on the door, it opens and revealing Alfred.

“Master Jason and you must be Master Y/n pleasure to meet you. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the butler. Please do come in.” Alfred says, stepping to the side to let us in. Walking in the warmth of the manor is comforting, like always, especially on cooler evenings like this.

“Pleasure to meet you to Alfred. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jason.” 

“All good, I hope,” Alfred says as he closes the door.

“Very much. I heard that you are an excellent cook.”

“And baker. He makes a mean snickerdoodle.” I add.

“You always know how to falter me, Master Jason. Anyway, your father and brothers are in the living room. I must get back to the kitchen to make sure nothing burned.”

“Alright, thanks Alfred.” I watch as Alfred walks down the hall and when he’s out of earshot, I ask.

“You good.” Y/n grabs my face with his hands.

“I’m good Jason.” He says before giving me a kiss.

“Ok.” I say as I pull away.

“Now, how about you introduce me to your family?”

“Alright, it’s just this way.” I say as I start to lead him towards the livingroom. I notice the way he looks around. It’s in admiration.

“This place is very beautiful.”

“I guess.” I say, leading them into the livingroom.

“Jason, my son. It’s good to see you,” Bruce says, getting up from his armchair.

“Good to see you too, old man. This is Y/n, Y/n this is Bruce.”

“Nice to meet you, Bruce.” Y/n says, reaching out to shake his hand. Bruce shakes his hand and I can see the way his eyes flicker to Y/n’s prosthetic arm. We take a seat on the empty couch and I silently pray to the gods he doesn’t say anything as my brothers introduce themselves. Of course, the last one is Tim.

“Tim and that a nice piece of metal you got there.” I try to contain myself, feeling the urge to strangle him.

“Yeah, a friend of mine made it for me shortly after I lost my arm. And I’ve been rocking with it sense then.”

“Cool, does it function?”

“It does see,” Y/n says, showing how the arm and hand can move around.

“Thats neat. How do that?”

“I have a plate built into my shoulder that my arm attaches too and that is hooked up to my brain and that’s how I control it.”

“Damn that pretty high tech.” Tim says.

“It is, Drake. May I ask how you lost your arm?” Damian asks surprisingly kindly. Hmm, that is weird. I look over at Y/n and take his hand, giving him a gently squeeze. 

“I lost it during my time as a P.O.W..”

“Thank you for your service.” Dick is quick to say with a smile. I sigh to myself, finally relaxing, Its was nice to see Dick

being Dick. I just hope short stack and Bruce don’t say anything insensitive. 

“It was my honor to serve.” Y/n days.

This whole thing definitely went better than I suspected. I smile to myself as watch as Dick practically pulls Y/n out of the dining room behind him, wanting to show him around the manor. Tim and Damian following behind them. As I go to join them, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I brush the hand off and turn around to look at Bruce. 

“I know this isn’t my place, but are you sure about them? Are you sure they’re the one?” He asks. When he asks that I see fucking red.

“Why? You think they're damaged goods because they lost one of their arms. Well listen here, old man, I love them and I will marry them one day. So keep your shit opinion to yourself and go fuck yourself.” I say making sure my anger was on full display. I then turn around and leave the dining room to go find where my brothers dragged my boyfriend off to.

EXTRA:

“Master Bruce, that was very out of line of you.”

“I just want to make sure he’s making the right decision.”

“He is an adult. He can make his own decisions and, remember don’t judge a book by its cover, Master Bruce. I raised you better.”

[kingoftheclaudes]

Welcome to the King of the Claudes Tournament!

A silly little place with polls about our favorite silly little actor, Claude Rains!

Prior to the creation of this blog, we were shocked (shocked!) to find that across the Tumblrverse, time and time again, Claude Rains would be beaten by fearsome opponents in the race for the crown of various hottest/scrungliest/what-have-you titles. So, we've decided to take matters into our own hands to give some well-deserved love to this beloved character actor through various polls!

The King of the Claudes Tournament has begun! Polls will be posted once daily at 7PM EST!

We're going to be matching up all (and we mean all!) the roles Claude has played over his decades of acting to decide which one of them will be The King of Claudes! All characters(we're talking the famed Captain Louis Renault, the mad scientist Jack Griffin, as well as other lesser-known portrayals like the kindly Mr. Jordan and the cankerous Professor Benson) will be submitted by default and it's up to the voters to send in their favorite propaganda(pictures, GIFs, stories, video clips)!

Our list of active polls can be found HERE or through our #round one tag!

As of this time, we're only going to be looking at Mr. Rains' film career, so no TV, stage, or radio portrayals will be in the running this time around. This goes for propaganda, too, so please don't send in entire radio broadcasts as propaganda(we know they're great, you don't have to tell us!).

FAQs

Who's Claude Rains? Great question! William Claude Rains was a British screen/stage/radio actor who was primarily known for his character acting and there was never a role he couldn't seem to play (When asked about his versatility as an actor, he replied that he "can play the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker"). He was a frequent collaborator with stars such as Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart, and Cary Grant, among others and worked with directors such as Michael Curtiz and Alfred Hitchcock. He was nominated for four Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actor and won a Tony Award for his role in Darkness at Noon. Oftentimes, people know him as "that guy" when talking about his roles in iconic films (such as Casablanca, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Invisible Man, and Lawrence of Arabia). He also served in WW1 (even fighting alongside individuals such as Basil Rathbone and Sir Cedric Hardwicke) and called himself a "gentleman farmer", often returning back home to tend to his farm in between shooting for films. Also, if you search up the term character actor, you see a lovely still of him in Sons of Liberty!

Why is this blog a thing? Because it has been a deeply saddening affair to watch Claude Rains get stricken down during various polls (and we mean every. single. one. [although, we had a grand Round One victory over on @vintagetvstars!]) and we feel he deserves to win something! Also, this blog hopes to bring more recognition to his great work! We'd also like to thank @hotvintagepoll for directly inspiring us to create this blog and if you haven't already, please go check them out!

Who should I vote for? We are judging the portrayal of the character here, not the characters themselves. Claude played a lot of baddies (some worse than others) but we are not judging how good or bad a character is morally, only on the portrayal. Who will be the winner? That's up to you! Which of these Claudes deserves to be crowned the King of them all? What makes them the King in your eyes?

How can I submit propaganda? Before the tournament starts, we will be accepting propaganda through a Google Form and we will be accepting written and visual propaganda(pictures, GIFs, and video clips) to go along with each character. We're also only looking for propaganda from the particular film a character is in, but we're open to headshots/professional stills from the time it was filmed! Please only submit propaganda for one character at a time and don't hesitate to send in multiple submissions! We'd like for each character to have propaganda, so go nuts in your submissions! Tell us why you think your Claude should be crowned King of the Claudes! Again, we are not looking for character submissions, only propaganda for that character! Don't fret, every Claude from a film will be submitted! Here is a list of all the possible characters to send propaganda in for!

Additional Propaganda? We encourage additional propaganda through our ask system or by tagging us @kingoftheclaudes. As previously stated, we will only be accepting/boosting propaganda from Mr. Rains' film career, so no GIFs from his various Alfred Hitchcock Presents or radio snippets from his various Lux Radio Theatre broadcasts. We also tag each film and each Claude in an effort to make things easier when searching through the taglist.

These polls are mean to be short 'n sweet (much like Mr. Rains!) and not meant to be taken seriously! We just want to have a good time enjoying the many works of Claude Rains and all views expressed in propaganda and tags are not our own!

The tournament is scheduled to kick off on Sunday, November 10th (coincidentally[or perhaps, not] Claude Rains' birthday!) and will compile of 28 matchups of 56 characters (since the character of Adam Lemp appears in three movies [Four Daughters, Four Wives, and Four Mothers], we are combining all his appearances into one and, contrary to Wikipedia's listing, Mr. Rains did not provide the voice of Jacob Marley in Scrooge. We are also opting to omit the character of Clarkis from Build Thy House, since there is limited knowledge on the film available, as well as omitting the character of The Mayor from The Pied Piper of Hamelin, since despite it later being released in theatres, it debuted as a TV special). We're tentatively planning on scheduling 5 polls a week to make this tournament last longer and each poll will run for one week!

What happens after the polls end and the crown is handed off? We may be open to doing a series of mini-polls, such as 'Best Father', 'Best Villain', 'The Battle for Science', 'King of TV Land' and 'Historical King of the Claudes' among some others. If you have some more ideas, let us know!

My question isn't answered! Feel free to send in an ask but always check the FAQ before, since your question may have already been answered!

We hope you enjoy our fun little polls and wish all the Claudes the best of luck!

(sneaky @tournament-announcer tag and a bonus Claude as a thanks for reading this far! :))

[sleepyangelkami]

BUTTER ICING d.grayson

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

DICK GRAYSON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - thinkin' about dick grayson taking care of his baker!so who sometimes forgets to take care of herself.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mentions of eating? fluff, pet names, reader is mentioned to be short, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

yet another call from his ex-bulter had dick rolling out of the bed at, according to his beautiful girlfriend, you, 'ungodly hours'. he had pressed a mere kiss against your forehead, telling you that he'd be home soon and joking for you to 'be good'. you'd merely giggled under the blankets, thankful no one was waking you at such an hour and snuggling back into the comfort of your bed.

and he couldn't help but admire you. one would think after so many phone calls for him to leave whether it was early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night, you'd be somewhat mad. but you understood dick and his line of work and his especially impatient father.

he truly didn't deserve you.

he kept his promise, somewhat. he wasn't exactly home 'soon' but he was home as soon as he could be. getting bruce off his back was like a work out he hadn't prepared for. but nevertheless, it was around seven in the evening when he was walking through the door, charming smile on his lips. "honey, i'm home!" he'd joked in a sing-song voice. he did this every time he stepped through that front door. he could only imagine you rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

"kitchen!" you'd yelled back as he found himself walking towards that very room, discarding his bags near the living room door, deciding to deal with that later on. all that was on his mind was you.

and there you were, in the kitchen as you'd told him. only you weren't standing up, instead you were knelt on the kitchen counter, attempting to reach past the top cupboard where your containers for your baked goods were. "darling?" he received a hum from you, your tongue darting out between your two lips. "what are you doing?"

finally, you turned with a huff. "i can't reach the containers." his eyes glanced to the kitchen table which held a multitude of cupcakes. they were all decorated with yellow butter icing, little chocolates placed delicately on top. the smell of cupcakes was rather rich in your shared kitchen.

he could only chuckle softly, his hands moving to your under arms and gently lifting you down from the counter. if you kept climbing up there, you were bound to get hurt. "you shouldn't put them where you can't reach them then." he spoke, a playful smile on his lips as he reached his long arms up, taking down one of your containers. "who are these for anyway?"

being a baker had it's perks but being the baker's boyfriend was even better. he could eat as many treats as he liked and he didn't even have to lift a finger. "miriam." you spoke, thanking him softly for getting the container before loading the cupcakes in. "she'll be here at eleven tomorrow." as you turned your back, dick eyed you before taking one of the cupcakes into his grasp. by the time you turned around, half of it had been emptied into his mouth. you just blinked at him. "you know, i make extra cupcakes just because i know you'll eat them all."

with a mouthful, he spoke. "sorry." but you could only smile at him, placing the other cupcakes into the container and leaving a couple extra scattered across the counter for the dog to eat, oh, my bad, for dick to eat. "you can't just make cupcakes and expect me not to get hungry."

your eyebrow raised. "you were at the manor all day, don't try to convince me that alfred wasn't practically shoving food down your throat."

god, he did love alfred's cooking. "a man's gotta eat." he shrugged. "what'd you have for dinner."

he watched as your eyes widened. "crap! i was supposed to make―"

"shh." he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head. "i'll make some spaghetti bolognese." he was already moving toward the fridge where he new the contents lay.

you often times forgot to go shopping, it was always him that was stocking up the fridge, making sure you didn't go hungry while he was away. don't get me wrong, you still went to the manor with him more often than not. but as a baker, as a home-working baker, you often had to spend your days cooped up in the kitchen so you couldn't join him on his trips.

"dick, you don't have to do that." you were standing behind him, all bashful as your fingers fumbled together.

dick loved taking care of you, don't get me wrong, he just wished you loved it as much as he did, perhaps then you wouldn't be forgetting to feed yourself. you were often times forgetting to do the simple things, the things that involved caring for your own mind and body but when it came to others, you were in tip top shape, ready to care for the next person who walked in the door. he loved that about you but he really wished you'd care about yourself as much as you cared about others.

but it was okay, because as long as he was alive and breathing, he'd make sure you were taken care of.

he'd turned around, his hands finding your waist as he gently soothed the skin. he watched as your cheeks heated up and your smile couldn't wipe from your cheeks. dick was well aware of the affect he had on you. "let me cook you dinner, baby." and when he talked to you like that, well who could refuse?

"okay." you mumbled gently. "thank you."

"don't mention it." but he still leant down, pressing yet another kiss to your face only this time it was to your lips, short and sweet.

by the time dick had started cooking, you were sitting up on the counter, your legs dangling as you took a giant bowl into your hands. dick glanced over, his brows furrowed. "what's that?" he questioned, watching as you lifted a finger from the bowl, covered in butter icing. he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "you know, i think eating mouth fulls of butter icing is probably worse than a couple cupcakes."

you merely shrugged, licking your lips clean. "a baker's gotta have some relief." and it was true.

you didn't just bake because you thought it was rather easy, you loved baking. baking was both a stress reliever and a way to calm down whenever you needed it and hey, it also got you money. but your all time favourite thing about baking? licking the bowls, spatchala's, really anything you could get your hands on, clean.

especially the sweet butter icing.

"here, lemme taste." and as you moved, your hand turning towards the drawer so you could get him out a spoon, you were cut off by the feeling of his lips on yours.

you practically melted into him, allowing him to kiss you sweetly yet slightly rough. you didn't care, feeling your mind go hazy at the mere feeling of his lips. dick always had such an affect on you, you should have been embarrassed yet you simply couldn't find it in yourself to be.

he was the first to pull away, watching as you blinked up at him, slightly dazed. "hmm, sweet." he commented before turning around to the frying pan and using the wooden spoon to turn the contents around.

you, whose stomach had turned to a swarm of butterflies, hopped off of the counter. "I'm gonna..." your head feeling slightly floaty. god, you thought, pull yourself together. "gonna go fill the dishwasher."

and dick, who didn't even bother looking up from the frying pan, wore a little smirk that tugged his lips upwards. "okay, pretty girl."

he really was going to be the death of you.

however, you were sure you could die a happy girl while eating the dinner he'd made for you. sure, you liked to bake but nothing did taste better than one of dick's homemade dinner's. you'd been seated across the couch, your legs had been on dick's lap before he'd gotten up a couple minutes ago, pressing a kiss to your lips and not telling you where he'd been going.

you assumed it was to go eat more of your cupcakes and this theory was proved right as you turned your head over the couch, spotting him bent down slightly to read the calendar, chewing on a cupcake while another was in his hand. "sweetheart?" he called out, not bothering to move his gaze from the calendar.

"yes?" you leaned yourself up on the couch, laying your arms flat on the back of it and placing your head down on top of them, admiring your pretty boyfriend. he truly was beautiful, even when he was stuffing his face and he had a smudge of butter icing on his nose.

"when's your next day off?" he questioned, standing up straight again as his eyes flickered back to you.

you shrugged your shoulders. "had a big cancellation for sunday, why?"

"then it's settled." he spoke, opening the buncase of the next cupcake. "i'm taking you out for dinner on sunday."

"wha― you don't have to do that." finding your heart soften at the mere offer.

"it's only fair." he spoke, shrugging his shoulders. "i ate half of your cupcakes."

the perks of being the boyfriend of a baker.

the perks of being the girlfriend of a billionare's son.

main masterlist/dick's masterlist

[ultimate-marysue]

The Batfam and cooking

Alfred: we have so much canon info about this one. He takes pride in meeting the demands of his grandkids, but the kids sometimes just pretend to like it for his peace of mind.

Bruce: No. And I don't mean in the meme way. He's more than capable of sustaining himself and following instructions. He also chooses to subsist on those "nutritional milkshakes". Like to him is not a matter of learning how to cook, he's a chemist measuring his exact nutritional needs in a cup. It's disgusting and he shouldn't be allowed near the blender.

Barbara Gordon: not the best, not the worst. She has cooked, she will cook again. She's also not trying to make anything too fancy. She prefers take out mainly because she has (and will again in the future) burnt her food to a crisp because she got distracted with oracle stuff. A quick check while the potatoes are in the oven is a very dangerous thing.

Dick Grayson: he would love to be that guy that takes Instagramable pictures of his food. Sometimes he manages to do just that, but that's not sustainable for him. He has a few fancy recipes he likes to bring out to impress people or to feel like a responsible adult. Most of the time he's sauteing random vegetables with some rice and chicken and calling it a day. It's good, healthy and filling but is not much in the great scheme of things. I feel like he'd make really good salads too for some reason.

Cassandra Cain: she's not very good at being people. Cooking is part of that, a survival skill and not much more. She really appreciates nice food but doesn't see the point in learning herself when her time is better spent elsewhere. I can see her breaking into the other's houses to join them for dinner because she forgot to make her own.

Jason Todd: this man cooks. I don't care if the whole "Alfred's favorite" thing is a bit fanon, it's fun fanon. I think that since he is aware of how they lie to Alfred sometimes, he'd be an even better cook. He's the kind of guy to make any recipe work first try, even if he keeps workshopping it until it's perfect. He's also very neat and cleans after himself. Cooking helps him wind down after a hard night. If he messes up though he might cry.

Stephanie Brown: she took the whole "cooking is like science" and decided to be a mad scientist. Her cooking works for her because she has crazy tastes. Like she'd make a salami and Nutella sandwich and consider it her Magnum opus. She loves baking too just so she can fuck around and find out. Steph usually leaves the mess there until she needs the space to cook again. Not because she's dirty it's just that she gets so caught up in trying the final product she forgets about it. She stresses the fuck out of Jason.

Tim Drake: he's more of an utilitarian, closer to Cass. He learned a few simple recipes when he was a kid and that's all he needs. Through the years he's had to add a couple more to make it more balanced and fit his needs (first with the increase of physical activity and then the asplenia). He has a very healthy but very limited diet. He refuses to add anything else because there's no need. He already knows how to cook the things he needs and likes well, thank u very much.

Duke Thomas: this man can cook. It takes him a while to get into it, but he has great instinct for it. He's more of a "vibes only" kind of cook, which makes him an awful baker but Alfred has the sweets covered anyways. Part of his process includes picking the spices from the back of the rack that Alfred pretends don't exist. He's creative but not in as much of a messy way as Steph. And unlike her, he does have functioning taste buds so sometimes he ends up a victim of his own hubris. Most times it works out for him.

Damian Wayne Al Gul: he helps his siblings whenever he mooches food from them (because Alfred is the only one that tolerates idle hands in the kitchen). He loves Jason's cooking but he has more fun with Duke and Steph. They allow his input and suggestions which makes him feel like he's contributing. He prefers Duke though, because his success rate is higher.

[let-spretend]

hey guys !! this is the start to a platonic batfamily & reader fanfic series !! for some background, this is a crossover with re7/8 and batman. i tweaked a lot of how the mold works and the whole timeline with re7/8. if you have any questions, send through the ask ! i'll be happy to answer.

2/18/2024 - edited !!!

cw body dysmorphia/dysphoria, self-harm (self-destructive behavior), vomiting, over-thinking

mold for thought pt. 1

hit me on the head !

Alfred’s carbonara had crispy bacon bits mixed in, with a fresh egg cracked on top. Damian sat ways away from you, across, five chairs down. It’s not like that was where he had to sit. He always just chose to. His pasta was different, a Lemon Basil vegan pasta.

Coming down to eat, it was always just the two of you. Damian ate with class, properly spinning the fork in the pasta. Honestly, you hated watching him eat. Something about it always screamed like he was trying to seem better than you. He was always judging your way of eating, or anything for that matter. Digging your fork into the egg yolk, you watch it spill over the pasta. Your mouth felt dry. Food has made you antsy because of what happened three years ago. Your fingers touch your mouth. You’re fine.

Copying Damian’s movements, you flick the fork and swirl it to collect the pasta. Nothing was wrong with it at all. If anything, it looked perfect. The sauce, creamy. Pepper decorating the pasta and the yolk running down it. You remember the rotting food and foul smell of the Baker’s dinner table. Fighting to not let them shove the rotten food down. Ethan screaming in pain from the prying Jack did to him.

Damian was staring at you intently, waiting for you to eat. You push past the memories and chow down on the pasta. It was good. Really good. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the carbonara, Mastress Y/N.” Alfred hands you a white handkerchief. The white was now stained with a yellowish sauce. 

“Thanks, Alfred.” You say, slightly embarrassed. He collects your plate and you struggle to hold in your food. It was tasty, but it felt like it was fighting its way up. You hastily get up, running to the nearest bathroom. Damian was staring at your sudden outburst, but who cares. With no time to lift the seat up, you just splurged into the toilet. The burning sensation in your stomach disappears, instantly. The barf didn’t even have food in it. It was all black, mixed with some blood. The mold. Oddly, there’s always no smell or difference in color. You sigh in relief and waste no time flushing it all down. 

When you were first getting used to the Wayne manor, you used to cut to see if your blood was also mold. You convinced yourself it was just to check. Partially, it was true. With Superman’s help, you’ve slowly just accepted that you have mold. It’s always tempting to go back, but you know it only spirals for the worst. Throwing up was also self-destructive and you knew. You don’t know why you keep doing it. You touch what scars you could see, some self inflicted, from that place in Dulvey, others from crime-fighting. It never gets easier.

You needed to go out today. The mold was practically screaming at you to release some of it out of your body. Washing your hands and scooping some of the water into your mouth, you feel somewhat refreshed. Going back to the dining area, Damian was nowhere to be found, except his dishes were left on the table. You collect them and help Alfred with the dishes. “I gotta go out tonight. I’ll shovel the snow before I sleep, deal?” He chuckles and places the two clean dishes on a drying rack.

“Be careful, Mastress Y/N.” Alfred lightly smiles. You smile back and wave before leaving. Gotham in December was beautiful. You could almost forget the horrors of the city when it was silent and the moon was out. The lights hit the snow and everything seemed brighter. 

Your backpack was hidden within some trees, containing your costume and weapons. It wasn’t anything special. Just baggy clothes, some gloves and a mask that covered your entire head. All black but has white where your eyes would be on the mask. Changing into your costume, you feel safer somehow. Your identity being unknown, just felt, nice. Your abilities come from the mold. Besides the mold, it gave you superhuman strength, the ability to reattach limbs, and heightened senses. The mold comes in handy to grapple around the city. You don’t use it to apprehend people or touch anything living. It’s not that you’ve actually seen people get infected with your mold, but you’ve seen non-sentient living items crumble from it. You aren’t going to risk anything. You’re reluctant to let anyone touch you if not necessary.

Fighting petty crime was your thing. Not fighting global threats, not busting huge gang activity, but small robberies, stopping physical or sexual assaults and more. It made you sad that these crimes were considered petty and too small for major heroes to handle. The people named you, the Peril. Which was funny since, what exact peril were you bringing to Gotham? It didn’t really bother you since the name was cool, but you don’t go around calling yourself the Peril.

Being a vigilante, there were its perks and disadvantages. For you, a disadvantage is the Bats. You would encounter them every other time you would leave to be fighting for civilians. 

While swinging around, you find a man being mugged. You swoop down and kick the robber’s face in. She falls to the floor and drops the man’s wallet. You grab her by the shirt and threaten her with anything you can think of. The robber looks you in the eye and scurries off, holding her cheek. You try not to engage in combat. It’s not like you were bad at it, but you were a dirty fighter. Unlike the Bats, you don’t know any martial arts. Just street fighting and your ability to use guns. You don’t want to kill anybody. So no guns. Plus, being in Batman’s “turf��, you had to respect his no gun policy. But you were working on making guns with safe bullets. 

You could feel a presence watching over your encounter. Maybe Batman? Silently, you give the man his wallet. He thanks you profusely and runs off. You tend to not talk when it's not necessary.

You turned around and cock your head, gesturing he talk. Batman seemed surprised that you knew he was there. Robin stands next to him, disinterested in you. His arms crossed and his head looked the other way. You pay no attention. 

“The Peril.” Batman says. You let out a stifled laugh, you always do. He never gave you the time of day out of costume. Without him even asking, you knew he was trying to recruit you. 

“No.” You answer, curtly. Grappling away, you leave Batman and Robin in the alley alone. He asks you at least once a week. Which you feel is both a perk and downside. You wish for his approval and want to be of use to Batman. At the same time, you want to lash out toward the man, for being so ignorant.

You feel your phone buzz, deep in a pant pocket. Superman. You like his company. Compassionate and a symbol to the people, yet, an outsider. Being infected with the mold, you feel out of place and in the wrong body. Superman is an alien, trying to find his place within Earth. He’s taught you to be okay with the fact that you are different now. But you feel like he’s hiding something from you. He was sitting on a rooftop of an abandoned building. “Superman.” Your feet land on the ledge he was sitting on. 

“P.” You both meet up when you can. He has been the one guiding you through the vigilante scene. Other than him, you have only worked with the Red Hood. He was a mystery to you. From what you’ve seen, he’s somehow related to the Bats. You don’t really care for his identity. He can be nice to you, but he often does his work in ways you disagree with. He’s erratic and does what he wants. One thing you both have in common, is your distaste for Batman.

You knew Clark’s name because he told you. You never really knew why. He doesn’t know your name. Or at least, he hasn’t called you by it. He could easily look through your mask and see your true identity. You’re grateful he’s respecting your privacy. You decide not to call him by his name when on duty.

Superman takes off at a slower speed than normal and you swing after him. “Batman tried to team up with me again.” You say, defeated. Laughing a bit and sighing at the same time after you confess. It feels so stupid to be sad about it every time. You stop on top of a building. “I declined. Again.” He also stops. Superman lightly lands and leans close. He decides not to say anything. 

Clark gives you a piggyback gesture and you get on. He heads for Metropolis, fast enough to be there in mere minutes but slow enough to keep your skin on. At least once a week, you and Superman band together and work on whatever it was at that moment. Today it was Lex Luthor shenanigans. Although smaller threats were your preferred thing, fighting big threats wasn’t bad. 

After the fight, you go out and eat ice cream; Being with Superman helps you forget things. He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to explain things, kiddo?”

“Definitely not. I’m honored that he’s interested in my skills. But, he doesn’t know it’s me. I know when he finds out he’ll lose interest and stop me from doing this. Or, maybe he won’t. I don’t know. I’m not going to risk it.” You latch onto Clark’s back again and he starts flying toward Gotham. You peer down to the bottom and admire the small people and buildings. You slightly tug at Superman’s shoulder to get his attention. “I’m going to be gone for a week. I don’t know when, but I’ll text you then.”

He keeps facing forward but acknowledges your message with a slight nod. “I’ll miss you a lot. I like our talks.” He breathes deeply out of the nose. “I’ll try to do what I can with Bruce. Without being obvious.” You’re very grateful he’s doing all this for you. He lands at the same spot you met up at.

“Thank you. Oh, and here. For Jon.” You hand Superman a cat keychain from your backpack. “He told me about his cat. My stitching isn’t very good but maybe it’ll cheer him up a bit.” Superman pocketed it safely, god knows where. You check the time and sigh. “I gotta go. Told Alfred I’ll shovel up the snow at the manor.” You swing away while waving goodbye. Still, that looming feeling hasn’t left you and it’s definitely not Batman this time.

-

Stashing your backpack in the same place as before, you tread quietly into Wayne's property. It was two in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you take the shovel. You sigh at the amount of land Bruce owned. Deciding to just shovel the snow on the pavement, you treat it as training. Scooping as much snow as possible and carrying it around, tossing it or regular shoveling. You wish you could train where and how your siblings did. 

Staring at the gigantic pile of snow, you put your hands on your hips and lean backwards. Back problems at 17? You laugh at the thought. Entering through the front door, Alfred greeted you with some hot chocolate. His infamous hot cocoa, filled with mini marshmallows. “I could never pass up your hot chocolate.” Alfred makes eating much more enjoyable and feel safer. The hot chocolate was right in the middle of a tray. The liquid burns your tongue but it warms up your insides. 

“How was patrol, Mastress Y/N?” Alfred asks.

“Oh, nothing special.” You quickly turn it down. You don’t really let Alfred entertain any thought about your work. He knows of your secret “vigilante-ing” and decides to keep your promise of keeping it a secret from Bruce. You don’t really understand why, but you guess Alfred understands your situation and tries to get Bruce to be a parent to you. He tries to remind Bruce every now and then. Wants Bruce to notice himself, but his work consumes him. Bruce also thinks you’re okay because you can't physically and mentally be hurt anymore like his other children, who fight crime. While that could be true if you didn’t, that doesn’t mean you should be put aside. 

“Thanks for waiting for me, Alfred.” You add. He nods.

 “You must go to sleep. It is a school night after all.” You set the mug back onto the tray and apologize for the extra dishes to wash. Quietly slipping into your shared room with Damian, you celebrate when he’s not in the room. He was a light sleeper and he always questions why you’re out so late. You made him believe you’re some party animal. Which, you admit, would be cooler than being a vigilante.

You’ve always wondered why you and Damian shared a room. The manor was spacious and had ample room for both of you to have your own. You sometimes think they somehow knew you were being self-destructive and made him monitor you. Or, maybe to punish him by being with you. You try not to question everything Bruce decides, but it’s hard not to.

You sink into the silky bed sheets and just stay that way. Not bothering to get into them. Your room was a place of comfort, but being in the manor always tired you. It reminded you of the absence of Bruce and your siblings. Being away from Ethan, you feel you miss out on so much. Bruce and your siblings have a bond over being Bats, Ethan has Rose now, and Alfred doesn’t just take care of you. You’re happy that he gives you any attention.

Alfred the Cat climbs up onto your bed and snuggles into you. One reason you’re happy you’re rooming with Damian and not somebody else. You’re reluctant to pet him because of the mold. But you convince yourself you can do it. You pet him softly and sigh. He meows quietly from the petting and begins to purr.

-

A quiet click comes from behind you, quiet footsteps ensue after an hour of your sulking. “Are you still up?” Despite knowing he knows you’re awake, you decide to fake it. Your hand is still on top of Alfred the cat’s head. “I know that you are awake.” You sigh and decide to face upwards. 

You couldn’t make out exactly where he was standing but look in the general direction of where his voice was. “Okay, maybe I am. Why?” He also sits on his bed, slightly creaking.

“Was just wondering why you were throwing up your brains out after Alfred’s dinner. Rude, much?” Shit. He heard that? That’s why he was gone when you were back. You think back to when he was Robin a couple hours ago, giving attitude. Rude, much?

“Just nervous ‘bout the trip.” Which was true. “I’m going to visit Mr. Winters for a week, to see the baby. I want her to like me.” He lets out a sound that seems like he half believes you, but he doesn’t care enough to pry. “Anyways, I’m going to pick you up sometime next week. For publicity, as Mr. Wayne says.”

He sighs. “I know.” You wait for more, but all he does is settle in bed. What a cute little brother. No thanks or comment. Guess that’s just how they all act. 

Also trying to settle in bed, you feel bad again. Not trying to alarm Damian, all you do is put a hand on your closed eyes and try to soothe yourself. Ethan will understand this feeling, right? Your body doesn’t feel like your own anymore and you hate that you can’t even control your mold well. You still have to listen to it, have to release it. What if you suddenly couldn’t control it and it infects Damian right now? Turn out like the Bakers? Shutting your eyes tight, you flop your body so that you are lying on your stomach. Breathing deeply into your pillows, it slows. You turn your head sideways for fresh air. The cat was sleeping peacefully next to you.

Right. Tomorrow’s school. You had to be okay. You flip onto your back and close your eyes, letting your brain take over. Mold, mold and more mold. Accepting that your dream was going to be about mold, you sigh, letting sleep take over you. Damian watches, recognizing that you had some sort of stress-induced breakdown before bed. He jots something down and puts it away in this nightstand.

-

You wake due to a feeling of being watched, your eyes open to Damian looming over you. “What’s wrong, Damian? Are you okay, need something?” More worried than anything, you quickly get up. He never was this attentive towards you. Though, Damian was the one you talked to the most. 

“Nothing. Just confirming things, L/N” You were too tired to comprehend what he was trying to say. Rubbing your face, you force yourself to the bathroom, which was also shared with Damian. He follows you in, watching you brush your teeth. You roll your eyes.

“I’m doing my regular morning routine like always, Damian. You’ve got to get ready too.” Pointing to his body with your toothbrush, which was still in pajamas. He clicks his tongue in annoyance but follows your orders. 

-

Stepping out of the car, you thank Alfred for the daily rides to school. Tim was off before you could catch up or talk. You sigh.

Gotham City High school. Something happens here at least once a week. You don’t really talk to anyone like Tim does. Your mind was busy a lot and people couldn’t understand or want to wait. When you first were settling into the Wayne household, you remember Damian being upset with you because you were zoning out. It's happened more than you can count with regular people. It also seemed like people knew something was different about you.

During math, your body starts to feel weak. You could sense Tim staring like how Damian was yesterday, like he was assessing you. You stare down at the worksheet, trying to focus. Touching your face, you try to calm down. That burning feeling creeps up in your stomach again. Having no choice, you decide to go to the bathroom. One rule you had was to never throw up the mold at school. Anyone could come in at any moment and hear you. You slip toward the back doors of the school and open them slightly, just enough to see the grassy plains of the field. From your hands, you release your mold onto the grass. It turns black and crumbles into the air. It horrifies you everytime. If you could've, you would have preferred throwing it up for this reason. 

You were running back to class, realizing you were taking longer than what a normal bathroom break would be. “L/N.” Before you could open your mouth, you were redirected by the teacher. You slide the bathroom pass back with irritation and grab your things. It was not the first time you had to attend detention for your tardiness. Sometimes you were glad Bruce didn’t notice your slip-ups, he would be up your ass. 

You took as long as you could to the classroom. Touching the cold lockers as you went by, looking at posters and ignoring people passing.

“Again, L/N?” The supervisor hands you a reflection form for you to fill out. You were running out of excuses to write on them. Sighing, you decide to just sleep and not fill it out.

“L/N?” You raise your head up slowly, waiting for you to be scolded. “L/N!” You whip your head toward the voice of the supervisor. She looked frightened. What had her yelling? Feeling a hand grab your neck, you immediately push the person off of you with your elbows. They fall to the floor with a grunt.

“Fuck!” You yell out. The Scarecrow. He looked worse in person. “Sorry.” You stop in your tracks. Why were you apologizing to this man? He grabs your leg and brings you down with him. The supervisor runs out while the Scarecrow is distracted with you. Screaming from the halls leaks into the room. “What did you do?” He laughs and ties your arms behind your back.

He leads you to a getaway car which has one student already inside. Students and teachers were all yelling and screaming at the air. Scarecrow must’ve released fear toxin into the school. Did Tim also inhale the fumes? Was he okay? Did Scarecrow know you were of relation to Bruce Wayne? He shoves you aggressively in and gets in himself. The girl next to you was crying her eyes out, snot drooping down into her mouth. “Do I frighten you?” He asks. He laughs quietly from your silence and the girl’s loud sobbing. “I’m conducting an experiment, if you will. You two are my constants.” You eyebrow furrow. Constants? Is he going to create a new strain of the fear toxin? You decide to stay quiet but try to comfort the blonde girl next to you as much as you could. 

[bruciemilf]

Factually, I know Bruce is a bad cook. In my wonderland brain, however, he's a baker in some Hell's Kitchen-esque neighborhood, both flourishing and festering down the Narrow's ribs.

Curiously, The Bat seems particularly focused on protecting this joint. And whoever walks in it.

The classic myth of food is that it brings people together; That's the one thing everyone, under the greyscale rainbow in Gotham, has in common. Everyone has to eat, and everyone has to die.

And all kinds of people walk in there.

You get thieves with watchful, observant eyes nemorizing the concise, expert movement of your fingers and wonder how these machines of pain and violance can be delicate enough for sweets.

"I know what you are. I know who you are."

"I'm not exactly hiding. "

" I'm gonna rob you now."

" Take some tuna for Iris while you're at it,"

You get jesters with runny make-up and busted lips and a heartbroken hope in their eyes, crying over their fried ice cream,

" I'm stupid. I know -- I know what he's doing to me. And my mom's voice is just pounding in my ear, every fuckin' day, ' You're letting him, Harley. You're letting him and you deserve it. You should've married that fucking doctor. At least he didn't hit you, he just yelled and screamed and called you nasty names.'

Bruce drizzles some extra rainbow sprinkles on her ice cream. " And that voice is wrong." And he'll keep saying that voice is wrong till the day Harley doesn't like ice cream anymore. And that day doesn't exist.

And slowly, you learn not to be impressed. When you live with wolves, you sharpen your teeth. Dogs do what dogs do; they eat. An angry dog is a hungry dog.

And this boy, with a red scarf over his nose, waving a gun in Bruce's face, is looking plenty angry.

"Just fucking stay there, okay?" He'd probably sound more threatening without the glass tremble in his voice. "I'm just gonna take some cash, and,--"

Bruce's calm is frosty; He's got experience with guns being pointed at his face. " Your safety's on. "

Teal eyes are glossy, shining with feral, living fear, like it's Bruce who has him cornered, backed up to a wall and looming death over him. there's no kids in crime alley.

Whatever they are, they can't afford that title. But he looks exactly how boys in crime alley look; Young and scared and haunted.

"What's your name, honey?"

"...Jason."

" Are you hungry, Jason?"

The way he wolfs down three plates with tears running down his cheek answers Bruce plenty.

"You can have the cash, " I don't really need it, goes unspoken. It already feels slimy enough to take it. The charities and well- filled cups of homeless people don't ease that. "I'm guessing you need it."

"It's for my dad," 'Dad' drips from Jason's lips like liquid hatred, " He told me to rob you cause you never call the cops."

" Calling criminals to stop other criminals seems a little counter-productive, " He needs to do something with his hands; Or he'll take Jason and hug him and drag him to the manor, where Alfred can prepare the fluffiest bed, and the warmest bath. So he's packing him something extra, to take at home.

Still. Hearing Jason laugh makes it worth it.

" You can say you got dinner, too."

" I'm not giving Willis shit, " Willis. One of Harvey's guns. They need a chat about working hazards. " Gonna take this to Dickie and Timmy, thought. Dick's gonna love this..."

And Jason, Bruce comes to find out, doesn't know himself half as good as he knows his siblings.

He learns Timmy, the baby brother, loves to skate, and he's the reason they go to the ER every other Thursday. He learns Dick can never run out of energy; Learns he's running on spite alone and they can't go a day without fighting.

And when Bruce is fighting Nightwing, the newest villain in Gotham, he learns both he and Dick can land the meanest Produnova recorded.

[theoceansluvr]

Tim Drake x Baker! Reader

warnings; threats ? not against the reader or Tim author's notes; MY ALL TIME FAV !! I LOVE YOU TIM DRAKE😞 another indulgent work bc i haven't baked in years and every time i get a new favorite character i have to project my baking habits onto them <9 i yapped a lot but he's my lil guy so he deserves it

he LIVES for your baking

literally if you make pastries he's the first one to eat one and tell you how they're amazing

you might not be Alfred but he'll be damned if he says you aren't competing with him

i feel like he really likes scones ?? idk but make those and you have his whole heart

not that you didn't already-

he's a sucker for any kind of pastry really

he loves cupcakes and cookies don't get him wrong

but absolutely nothing beats muffins in the morning he doesn't care

specifically blueberry !

if your anything like me you hate other people being in the kitchen while you bake

and as much as he'd love to help you out

he's terrified of getting yelled at for trying to sample the batter

never again

but you do let him sit at the kitchen island while you work so he doesn't mind

since he's a tragic insomniac, you usually find yourself baking so he'll have something to eat at the wee hours of the night

he gives you a big ole kiss each time as thanks !

if you sell your stuff he makes absolute sure you get your money.

has ans will threaten to ruin someone's life over this

he means business when it comes to you

which also means chasing his brothers throughout the house because they stole the cookie that was left out for him.

every single time.

you've learned to just start making extras at this point because gods know these boys don't know how to behave

not Tim related but you've probably made Damian little animal shaped cookies

you are now his favorite person because of this. not that he'll ever tell you

back to Tim !

uses that good ole Wayne money to buy you the best stuff <9

only the finest ingredients for his rose i fear !

matching aprons even though he doesn't helpT^T

he thought they were cute and you couldn't argue

drops the worst hints whenever he wants you to make something like

"Oh wow you know what would be sooo good ? *Insert whatever baked goods you'd like*. It's so tragic we don't any.."

he's the worst and i love him

you bake every single one of his birthday cakes and nobody is complaining

it saves the time and energy PLUS everybody loves your baking !

and Tim slightly gets to brag about how good you are at it

(all of the Wayne kids show off their partners if you couldn't tell-)

he would LOVE spice cake and i can't explain why ?

sure he could eat any kind

but spice cake just does it for him

tried to bake you something once and he still hasn't gotten the flour out of his hair

Alfred almost had a heart attack when he found him on the kitchen floor with a cookbook

Tim made him swear to never tell you or anybody in the house..

it's a great wedding story though

he's your favorite and best taste tester as well ! he's fairly honest about what's good and what isn't

those detective skills also come to use with this for some odd reason ? can't explain why

with all that being said !

he's my absolute favorite man ever and he's perfect and he deserves everything i have ever baked !💛

[call-me-strega]

Potential Contestants for the Inter-Dimensional Bake-Off

My inter-dimensional bake-off prompt has got a lot of attention so here is a rough draft list of people I thought might be good (or funny) choices as potential contestants for the bake-off:

Alfred Pennyworth (DC Comics)

Lunch Lady (Danny Phantom)

Mr + Mrs Cake (My Little Pony)

Gary Prince (Fiona and Cake/Adventure Time)

Dylan B. Hollis (real life-YouTube/TikTok)

Brock and/or Cilan and/or Mallow (Pokémon anime)

Molly Weasley (Harry Potter)

Ice Bear (We Bare Bears)

Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng (Miraculous Ladybug)

Sanji (One Piece)

Brie Malik and/or Heath Nguyen (Gormet Hound webcomic)

Tiana (The Princess and the Frog)

Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games)

This is in no way a final list. I also don’t know how many people I would or would not be including if I wrote this, but they are all of the people I have been able to think of so far that are good at baking. If anyone has any suggestions please let me know.

[djbunnie]

🧁❤

Every Wednesday after school, a familiar craving tugged at Damian Wayne's stoic facade. It wasn't the rigorous training schedule from sports activities. No, it was the smell of warm bread and sugary treats wafting from a charming bakery called "Azarath's Knead" on the corner street. 

The culprit behind his yearning? Rachel. With her cascading black hair and eyes like polished amethyst, she captivated him from the moment he first saw her arranging cookies in the display window. 

His visits became a secret ritual.  He'd linger outside, pretending to be engrossed in his phone while stealing shy glances at Rachel. She, with her quiet demeanor and gentle smile, seemed oblivious.  Or maybe, Damian worried with a pang, she just didn't find him interesting. 

One particularly gloomy Wednesday, Damian found himself drawn inside.  The bell above the door chimed, announcing his arrival.  Rachel, dusting flour off her apron, looked up, surprised, warming her eyes. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice a soft melody. 

Damian stumbled over his words, his carefully constructed facade crumbling.  "Uh, I, uh…these cookies," he stammered, pointing at the display case.  "They look…good." 

Rachel smiled, her amusement barely hidden. "They are," she said, selecting a chocolate chip cookie and placing it in a paper bag.  "Anything else?" 

Damian shook his head, his cheeks burning.  He mumbled a thanks and practically bolted out the door, the warmth in his stomach rivaling the delicious cookie.  Small victories, he thought, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. 

The following Wednesday, Damian entered the bakery with newfound confidence.  He scanned the display case, his gaze settling on a blueberry muffin.  As Rachel wrapped it up, he cleared his throat.

"They're your best," he blurted out, surprising even himself. 

Rachel's eyes widened, then a shy smile touched her lips.  "Thank you," she said.  "I like making them." 

Their conversation, though brief, felt like a spark.  They talked about the bakery, Damian learning that Rachel helped her mom after school.  He, in turn, shared a (slightly embellished) story about his "extensive" training regimen (which mostly involved pretending to be interested in Alfred's lectures on etiquette). 

As he left, the paper bag clutched tightly in his hand, Damian felt a lightness in his step.  He wasn't sure what the future held, but Wednesdays at Azarath's Knead promised more than just delicious treats.  They offered the sweet possibility of friendship, and maybe, just maybe, something more blossoming with the charming baker named Rachel.

[the-batcomputer-project]

Batkids Hobby Headcanons

Dick - Gymnastics is the most obvious one. When he was younger, Bruce initially didn't want him to compete in competitions, or even join a team, because Dick would have an "unfair advantage". However, he eventually gave in and allowed him to join the school's team. Another hobby he has is baking. In most cases, he is forbid from the kitchen, however he is a fantastic baker. He is also very good at making fantastic stews, which Alfred has even claimed to be better than his own.

Jason - He's a literature nerd, with a particular love for the classics; Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte are his favorite authors. However, we all know Jason is a theater kid at heart. He did every school play at Gotham Academy, and though he hasn't acted in anything since his resurrection, he still goes to local theaters with Alfred fairly often. He's also a fantastic cook, and the only person in Wayne Manor (other than Alfred) to never receive any sort of kitchen ban.

Tim - Photography is Tim's favorite hobby. His first camera was one of the most meaningful presents from his parents when he was younger, winning several photography competitions. He hasn't indulged as often since becoming a vigilante. Barbara still keeps him on-call as her blackmail collector though, which he does happily. He's also into skateboarding, finding skate parks to be a nice escape when he needs time alone. Many of his photo shoots occurred at the skate parks, for very emotionally charged urban photography. Other than those, he likes disassembling things to see how they work. This destructive hobby was punished and frowned upon when he was younger, but when Bruce discovered that Tim enjoyed taking things apart, would start leaving things around for him to play with, like old microwaves, or failed bat-projects. Tim also loves comic books, of which he has an impressive collection.

Damian - Art is something Ra's looked down upon, calling it "weak" and "insubstantial in society". However, it was still something Damian enjoyed, so he had to keep his hobby a secret. He was terrified Bruce would kick him out, when he found the sketchbooks hidden in Damian's room, however Bruce just asked if there were any supplies Damian wanted. He's still a bit self conscious of his art, but he is more open, giving paintings to his family as gifts, and even entering in an art show. He still has a fascination with knives from his time with the League of Assassins, and enjoys collecting ones that interest him, particularly vintage knives, and unique knives made out of unconventional materials, or those with intricate designs. Jon was the one to get him into video games, which he denies enjoying, but the hours he's put into Cheese Viking would say otherwise.

Cass - Ballet was one of the first things she fell in love with after being adopted. It was so similar to how she was raised-people talking with their bodies-but without the violence she so loathed. She easily convinced Bruce to sign her up for classes, and for once, it was something she could do, to communicate with people in a way she knew well. Another interest she picked up was astrology. It was something fun that she didn't necessarily believe in, but was a comfortable guidance. Damian hand painted her a custom tarot deck, and she has a small collection of crystals she finds pretty. Zatanna has offered to enchant some of them for her, but Cass declined the offer, saying that giving them actual magic enchantments removes the aspect of belief that she found comforting. She understood that the black tourmaline necklace Bruce bought her wouldn't actually keep her safe, but it gave her comfort, and a sense of safety, especially because it was a gift from her dad. (author's note: I don't actually know that much about astrology, tarot, and crystals, so if anyone wants to add to this and give a more realistic description of how it works, I would love to see it)

Steph - similar to Dick, she is a gymnast, though not quite at Dick's level. She is also into martial arts and has taken a few classes in Taekwondo and Boxing, and whatever other free classes were being offered at the community center. Cartoons and anime are pretty big interests, as well as video games. She often jumps around from hobby to hobby, and has several miscellaneous skills in a little bit of everything. (author's note: a lot of Steph I based off of myself. She's a character I relate a lot to, so a lot of myself is projected into her. Her height and weight being one of them. However, that was also because DC doesn't seem to know what a human woman looks like, because most of the female characters in the Batfamily are 5'4" or 5'5", and around 120 lbs, including Steph. So I just borrowed by height and weight from highschool, when I was at peak physical fitness, at the gym 4 times a week, and doing 2 sports, once meeting 2 times a week and the other meeting 3 times a week. That would place her at 5'8" and 155lbs, which is far more reasonable for an active vigilante. rant over). She also feels like the kind of person who would be into scrapbooking. Most of her pictures are stolen from Tim, and the pages are brightly colored with fun stickers and glitter.

Duke - he gives off the vibe of a soccer player. However, because of his focus on school and crime fighting, he just plays for the rec team. It's a fun activity that he can enjoy when he was time, and also use to explain away his fitness level and injuries. He's also a huge movie buff, enjoying to analyze every aspect of the film, from the characters, to the camera work, to the framing of each scene. He isn't as interested in making his own movies, but gets very into it when he does. Quentin Tarantino is his favorite filmaker, however Damian has stared getting him into foreign films as well.

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: anxiety attacks

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

…and bentley is already not having a good time, bless him

part two

❝ MAFIA FAMILY ❞

SATURDAY — JULY 14 — 8:48PM

GIRLS WERE SO WEIRD.

Especially these ones. Weirder than Steph, who was already pretty weird.

Bentley, Layla, and Vera had taken up residence in a little lavish sitting area in one of the ballroom’s corners — the two girls sharing a loveseat, and Bentley sitting nicely in his own velvet chair. He had said next to nothing, simply watching, listening, occasionally texting Asten but making sure not to stare at his phone for too long. (Asten seemed quite enamored with how quickly Bentley managed to find himself in the presence of females. Bentley wasn’t sure why.) Now, said females seemed to be playing a game where they narrated random people’s lives just by looking at them, but… ridiculously.

Bruce was still talking to the rude couple. Bentley wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was. And it seemed like intriguing conversation. They were all moving their hands, and changing their expressions, but it didn’t seem like they were arguing. (He still wanted to know what they were talking about.)

Dick had disappeared again. Bentley had only seen flashes of Timothy Drake here and there, talking and chatting and doing things. Damian hadn’t appeared yet, nor had anyone else. Only Asten and Jason had the real opportunity to skip, yet Bentley hadn’t seen a single Wayne besides Bruce, Dick, and flashes of Tim for the past… how long had he been in here? Twenty minutes?

“That guy’s dad is an Italian baker,” Vera said, pointing at a dark-haired guy that was passing with a plate piled full of whatever little fancy foods Alfred had made for the occasion. “He has to get a flavor profile of every food here so his dad can add it to his Wayne Gala inventory. They’ve been stalking the Wayne family cook for years trying to get recipes out of them, but there’s just something they have that no one else does.”

Bentley snickered at that one. She wasn’t wrong, actually, Alfred was one of a kind. Bentley wasn’t so sure about the food, though. It all looked kinda… strange. He liked… y’know. Spaghetti? Normal things? He was pretty sure Tim had said one of the things Alfred always put on the table was fish eggs. (And he did not want tiny baby fish swimming around in him.)

“Okay, okay,” Layla chuckled, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear and pointing through the crowd. “That one.”

She was pointing at Steph, who Bentley hadn’t seen once until then. She was wearing a lovely long, purple, sparkly dress, and her hair was ironed into fancy curls. She was talking to a guy in a suit that looked at least double her age.

(Why were galas just the perfect place to hang out with the opposite sex? Because, frankly, Bentley didn’t want to go over there, either. Interrupting would be way too awkward.)

“She’s a runaway model from France who just wants to see the world, not be enslaved to the runway! She snuck in to feel the American dream coursing through her veins,” Layla said dramatically, shrugging, tugging at the bottom of her white dress. “And she has amazing hair.”

Okay, Bentley really did chuckle that time. Steph was many things, but a runaway model wasn’t one of them. He was sure, though, that she would get a kick out of hearing that.

“You try one, then, pretty boy,” Vera piped up.

Bentley glanced over at her, blinking momentarily. She stared back at him with her borderline lifeless brown eyes. “What?”

“You try one, if you’re going to sit here and judge us for it,” She replied, flicking her hand out toward the crowd. “Go on, pick anyone.”

Bentley, with a huff, looked back out toward the crowd. There were people everywhere, moving and walking and talking. 

And then he saw Damian. 

Maybe he really hadn’t been here before, because Bentley was sure he would’ve seen him — he was dressed in solid black dress pants and a blazer, with a blood-red button up underneath it. He was fifteen, now (Bentley wasn’t very fond of the little gap between birthdays where Damian was two years older instead of one.) and it was showing. He was starting to look less like a kid and more like a man. Like… at least guy or dude status. And Bentley, at thirteen, still looked pretty much like a kid. Which wasn’t at all embarrassing. (At least he didn’t go to public school anymore to put it on display, he guessed.)

Bentley pointed over at Damian. All he had to do was make something up, right? What was the most interesting thing Asten had talked to him about lately?

I’m telling you, dude, the mafia is real and they’re everywhere.

Bentley settled for that. “He’s in the mafia.”

That seemed to work well enough. Layla made a loud pfft noise, and Vera rolled her eyes, muttering: unoriginal. 

”Isn’t that your brother?” Layla muttered, peering through the crowd to catch Damian as he moved.

“C’mon, you can do better than that. Everybody on the internet thinks the Wayne’s are a mafia family,” Vera teased, her eyes flicking as she watched people walk by. “Give us something cool.”

Bentley scoffed. “Okay, what would you say, then?”

Vera peered back across the room, seemingly at Damian. “He’s Robin.”

Bentley choked.

“Nah, Robin is way cuter than him,” Layla spoke up, watching Damian move across the room. Her eyes flicked to Bentley. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Something shattered. 

Bentley jumped a mile and a half when the crash of a champagne glass sounded from right next to him. He whipped around quickly, and there was an older woman with shaky hands there, near his chair, looking awfully embarrassed.

Bentley looked at the broken glass. Broken, shattered, with little diamond designs scattered about the broken pieces. There was champagne pooling on the tile.

Glass with diamonds and alcohol on the floor. 

He saw his father.

No — he didn’t live there anymore. He turned back forward in the velvety chair and-

Didn’t he used to sit on chairs like these during his fathers meetings? In fact, his father’s house had been full of them. Tons of them. Fancy chairs just like these.

No. Stop. Bentley looked up at the girls in front of him, who were looking pitifully at the old woman, at the glass. Distract me, he begged, but no words came out of his mouth. He couldn’t just… he was… he was gala-ing! He had to be perfect!

His dress clothes started to feel a little less like new ones he got with Steph and a little more like the same ones his father forced him into.

No, he should be over this. He should be over it. His father was in prison, he lived in a good home, he was okay-

In a panic, the woman, trying to clean up the glass, cut her hand on it.

There was alcohol and bloody glass on the floor.

Bentley forced himself to sit upright, but- no, it didn’t work. He forced air in and out but that didn’t work, either. He tried to tell his body to stop it and shut up and get it together but it didn’t want to.

He’d watched Dick drop a plate in the kitchen not three weeks ago and he was fine. He’d seen blood and bruises after patrol and he was fine. He’d sparred with Damian and Dick and Jason and Tim and Bruce, and even with their hands flying at him, he was fine.

More likely to happen if you’re already nervous, the logical little Tim Drake that lived in Bentley’s head said.

There were people everywhere, people who looked rich, and they were talking and talking and talking about business and business and business and Bentley wasn’t having fun anymore.

Stop. He grabbed onto the wooden arms of the chair he was sitting in and squeezed them, hard. There were two girls sitting in front of him. Two girls that were probably weirded out and confused. 

He could hear his blood moving, and- crap. No. Not right now. 

You know we’ve all pretty much ended a gala before, right?

Bentley closed his eyes and focused on Dick’s voice. Remembering what they talked about. 

I broke a chandelier. Cracked a man’s ribs.

Crack! Went his father’s shoe against Bentley’s abdomen, and he was in the warehouse, being poisoned, and Dick was in front of him.

“Bentley?”

Crack! Now he was in a different warehouse, and Jason was dying.

But Jason was alive-!

Crack! Went his father’s glass against the wall. There was the smell of alcohol. The smell of blood.

Bentley was only coherent enough to fold over on himself in the chair, lacing his hands in his hair and resting his elbows on his knees. He could not. He could not have an attack right now. If he did, then he wouldn’t be able to control his powers, then all the water and liquid and blood in the room would move, then he could break stuff, then he could hurt someone, then he could kill people.

“Bentley, can you hear me? Your mind is a wreck!”

He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

His dad was going to kill him.

Someone touched his shoulder.

And it freaking sent him.

—

“-mon, Bentley. Hey. Hey, you with me, bud?”

He couldn’t breathe.

He was sitting somewhere very not the ballroom. It wasn’t loud enough. Or maybe it was. All he could hear was his blood — water? — he couldn’t hear anything else. It was too loud.

Someone was holding onto his wrists. Gently, keeping his hands away from his face. “Hey. Can you look at me?”

Bentley couldn’t really focus on anything besides his father. But he wasn’t with his father, right? He was with… everyone else. He was in the Manor.

“You’re in the Manor, chum. You’re not there anymore,”

Yeah, he was in the Manor. He was. He was. 

He was staring down at his own pants. He could hear his stupid wheezy breaths, but he couldn’t make them stop. He realized the reason someone was holding his wrists was because he was shaking near-violently.

His father was going to kill him.

“Bentley. Bud, look at me,”

His father was going to kill him.

“I’m right here, chum. I’ve got you,”

Someone’s hand raked through his hair, and he finally managed to bring his eyes up, locking on the icy gray ones that belonged to Bruce Wayne.

He smiled sympathetically. “There you are.”

Bruce Wayne. Sitting with Bentley in — where were they? It looked like a guest room on the other side of the Manor. Not in the ballroom. Bruce Wayne, crouched in front of Bentley, not in the ballroom. Bruce Wayne, not at his own gala.

In a mental whiplash, Bentley’s cluelessness was very suddenly changed to hyper-awareness. He could feel the water moving in the pipes, the realized that Bruce wasn’t at his own gala, that he’d probably had to have been carried out because he didn’t remember walking to the bedroom, that he couldn’t breathe, that this was happening again after seven full months without an attack, that there were a few more people in the room and they were all staring at him, that he could’ve hurt someone-

“Stay with me, pal,”

Bentley wheezed in and out a few pitifully fast breaths and curled his hands into fists, hoping that something would be in them, but nothing was.

Why was this happening again?

“He’s grabbing for something, B,” Came a voice Bentley knew. A voice Bentley knew he knew so well that he just couldn’t place it.

But the voice was helpful — Bruce moved Bentley’s hands so he was tugging at the bedsheets underneath him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Bentley choked on his own breathing. (At least he wasn’t crying, though, that would be even more embarrassing during a gala.) He squeezed the bedsheets and stared down at his pants, willing his lungs to work, for his body to stop shaking. “Go back.”

“Bentley-“

“Go back,” He repeated, moving his heavy irises up, back to Bruce’s face. “To the ballroom. I’m… okay.”

“Bud-“

Bentley shook his head. “Please.”

“The galas over, chum. Everyone went home,”

Bentley froze as much as a kid having an anxiety attack could freeze.

No. He didn’t.

“It’s alright, bud, just breathe. It’s going to be okay,” 

The bed dipped beside Bentley, but Bruce was still in front of him, and someone started rubbing up and down and up and down his back. 

He shook his head in an attempt to shove the water out of it, but it was really loud.

No, not water. Champagne.

Champagne screaming on the tile. Tons of it. In the ballroom, covering the floor, getting mopped up right now.

Champagne and blood on the floor.

No he didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to,” He whispered, nearly inaudibly. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright, Bentley. It’s okay, just look at me. Just breathe. We don’t have to talk about it right now,”

“What did I do?” He muttered, bringing his heavy eyes up to meet Bruce’s again.

Bruce looked at the person beside Bentley, as if they would help him decide whether to tell him or not. That’s about when Bentley realized that that person was Dick, and that Asten was lingering near the door.

Bruce looked back at him, his smile wiped from his features. “Bentley-“

“Dad,” Bentley started, squeezing the bedsheets again. “What did I do?”

Bruce breathed in. Shared another look with Dick.

“You shattered all the champagne glasses,”

Bruce didn’t elaborate, but Bentley got it anyway.

He shattered all the glasses.

In everybody’s hands.

Bentley exhaled heavily, squeezing the sheets so hard his palms would be bleeding if the blankets weren’t in the way. His eyes flicked down to Bruce’s right hand.

It was haphazardly bandaged, and there was blood seeping through.

Bentley opened his mouth, but Bruce cut him off with an immediate: “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

Bentley blinked, forcing a little burn that was surfacing behind his eyes away. “How long? Was the attack?”

“About an hour and fifteen minutes,”

Bentley exhaled sharply. He’d never had one that long before. 

Maybe that’s why he felt like crap.

“I didn’t mean to,” He mumbled, releasing the bedsheets and bringing his arms up and around himself. “Someone broke a glass.”

“I know,” Bruce said sympathetically, running a hand over Bentley’s head. 

Well, at least he was breathing better now, somehow. The shaking had gone down a little, too.

He felt like he’d been hit with a truck. His head was all fuzzy and felt like it was full of stuffing, and it seemed to be taking three times the brain power to will up any thoughts or statements.

Instead, Bentley just leaned his head over on Dick’s shoulder, who hummed sympathetically.

“On a brighter note,” Asten said, moving forward from the door. He was way taller than Bentley now, standing at sixteen years old, and his blue hair was a darker blue than it used to be. (Jason had taken up dying it for him, and he was shockingly good at it.) He was wearing pajama pants and a hoodie. “Those girls left their numbers with Damian. For you.”

Asten held up two little torn strips of… was that a napkin? That had writing on each of them.

Bentley breathed in and out.

He guessed ruining your first gala was just one of the dozens of ways to become a Wayne. 

(He wondered if getting phone numbers off of random girls by having an anxiety attack and hurting people was another one.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld ❤️

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[starwarsmum]

Maribat Mix & Match Monster Mash day 3, Oh Bite Me and Wings!

Dick Grayson hated attending galas. Parties, sure, but galas? Where tons of stuffy, elitist snobs looked down on him because he was a circus kid? Yeah, give him patrol any day.

He stood in the hallway outside his room, fiddling with the cape of his costume and playing with the artificial fangs and their adhesive. He had decided to go as a vampire, almost as an inside joke given Bruce’s other moniker.

“Master Dick, I hope that you are going to behave this evening,” Alfred said, preparing for a quiet evening whilst they were at the gala. Dick looked away guiltily, not wanting to promise anything he knew he wasn't going to stick to. After a few moments, Alfred sighed but said nothing more on it.

“So, what do you think of my costume? I wanted to get one that was more Dracula, but they didn't have any in my size,” Dick complained, pouting up at his kind-of grandfather. Alfred told him it looked ‘dashing’ and Dick grinned, pleased. Now that he was seventeen, he was much more invested in looking good to the boys and girls his own age. 

“Ah, good, you're ready to go.” Bruce appeared, wearing a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt. Dick didn't think he even knew who Mario was, but apparently that wasn't going to stop the man. “Come on, my old friend from school has insisted that we be only marginally late.”

“And when do we get to ditch?” Dick asked, thinking about all the different things that would be happening on the streets that night. He grinned at Bruce when he scowled and followed him out to the car a few minutes later.

Arriving at the party, Dick took his earliest chance to split off from Bruce. He didn't want the older man cramping his style when he talked to the people closer to his own age. He strolled around eagerly, but quickly lost his enthusiasm as he spotted very few teenagers. 

“No problem,” he replied, his voice becoming low and unhurried. He hadn't met this girl at one of these parties before so he wanted to make a good first impression. She raised an eyebrow at him, her stutter disappearing as he flashed a flirtatious look at her. “I don't think I've seen you at one of these parties before.”

His shoulders were just beginning to slouch when someone crashed into him. She exclaimed and he automatically put his hands out to steady her. They brushed against something soft and feathery and he took a moment to look over her outfit.

Unlike what he expected, she was wearing a black glittery dress and combat boots. The wings on her back were pure black and felt so real that he had a hard time not running his hands up her back to see where they melded with her skin. When they were both stable, she looked up at him with a stuttered apology and he was looking into a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, framed by black hair. 

“Wow, what next? Do I come here often?” The girl was clearly unimpressed and Dick felt himself flush a little, although his charming grin remained intact. “You need to work on your pickup lines, mister, because I've heard all of them before.”

“All of them?” Dick asked with an eyebrow raised. She gave him a dead eyed stare and he winced. “Right, okay, sure. I can get creative. Would you mind giving me a pinch? Because I have to be dreaming since you're so cute.”

“I'm not sure a pinch would cut it,” the girl said, leaning against the table next to them. Dick tried not to grin too much, but she clearly wasn't too bothered by him trying. “Tell me, do you just try lines on anyone who comes to these things?”

“Why, jealous?” He leaned towards her, noting that her face held mostly amusement with a tinge of exasperation. Whoever tried so many pick up lines on her before must have been a friend, he decided. “You don't need to be, I promise I'm only looking at you right now. So, are your parents bakers? Because you're a cutie pie.”

The girl was clearly struggling not to laugh which gave Dick a warm feeling that spread through his entire body. She lost the battle and a giggle escaped past her lips.

“Okay, look, that's not because it's a good line,” she said once she'd gotten the giggles under control. “I'm only laughing because my parents are bakers and there was no possible way for you to know it.”

“Hey, I'll take it,” Dick said, shrugging even as he grinned widely at her. She shot him a mock glare but still didn't tell him to leave. They stood in silence for a few moments before the girl pushed away from the table.

“I'm Marinette, by the way. And I promised my uncle that I'd do the haunted house, so as interesting as this has been, I'm going to go. Have a fun party,” she said. She started to step away and Dick felt an overwhelming disappointment and darted in front of her instinctively.

“I mean, I haven't done that either, if you'd be okay with company? It looks kind of scary and-”

“Oh, let me guess, you want to be available in case I need someone to cling to?” Marinette snapped back, any trace of amusement gone and a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Oh, hell no, I need someone to make sure I get through without turning into a big mess,” Dick said immediately and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “And lucky me, you just said you were going in! Take pity on this scaredy cat and go with me?”

“Fine, but only because I have a soft spot for cats,” she said with a smile that told him there was a story behind that. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dick grinned at her and followed along behind as she made her way across the room to the haunted house.

“You're not going to hold my hand?” He asked, giving her sad puppy er, kitten eyes. She rolled her eyes but held her hand out to him. It felt like a victory and he intertwined their fingers, feeling giddy when she didn't pull away immediately.

Walking through the haunted house was fun, Dick jumping almost as often as Marinette. They laughed every time one of them was spooked by an animatronic. The owner of the home clearly liked crocodiles because there were sinister and realistic looking fakes throughout.

When they finally reached the last room, it was dark and the soundtrack was ominously silent with the occasional sound of something large swishing, like a reptilian tail. Dick was on high alert as they looked for the exit and spotted another animatronic blocking what he assumed must be it. 

“Wow, that looks so life-like! And the soundtrack is so well done, it almost sounds like the thing is breathing,” Dick said excitedly. When it stopped moving, he assumed it must be motion activated and stepped closer to it. 

He frowned when it didn't move, wondering if it was broken. Marinette didn't step any closer, inspecting something else and he turned back to say something to her as he reached out for it.

When something clamped over his arm, he screamed and tried to jerk it away. There was suddenly a lot of activity around him, Marinette leaping to his side and saying something in a stern voice. He looked down and could just make out the shape of the clearly not animatronic crocodile that was latched onto him.

Dick would love to say that he was calm, cool and impressed Marinette with his chill demeanour, but he would be lying. He was pretty sure he was in hysterics when someone in fairly impressive zombie makeup burst into the room from the exit that was behind the crocodile.

“Fang, mate, let the kid go!” The man sounded almost amused as he took in the situation. He turned back to his companion and Dick would have groaned in mortification that Bruce was witnessing such a total meltdown if he wasn't, well, having a meltdown.

“I have tried to make him let go, Uncle J, but I think he's having too much fun,” Marinette said, looking concerned. “I think I'm going to need to move him physically, can you make sure my friend here doesn't move too much?”

Dick gave another shout as Marinette stuck her fingers into the corners of the crocodile's mouth. But instead of losing said fingers, she continued to scold the creature until it reluctantly released him. The moment its mouth was wide enough, Bruce and the zombie yanked him out of the way.

“Fang, that was a mean thing to do,” Marinette said, sitting with the crocodile's head in her lap, patting it. “I'm sorry, he's very playful and when you screamed he thought you were playing along. He's harmless, really, I don't think he even ripped your costume. But, erm, perhaps we should get you a drink and a chair.”

Several minutes later, Dick was breathing normally and blushing bright red as Bruce and the zombie laughed about how successful the haunted house was. Marinette gave him a sympathetic look and patted his hand consolingly.

“I'm sorry he frightened you, Fang is very mischievous,” she said lightly. Now that he was out of the dark room and there wasn't a crocodile hanging off his arm, Dick felt like an idiot. He was in a presumably affluent man's home, he wasn't going to open himself up to a lawsuit by having something dangerous in his haunted house.

“I told you I needed someone to walk me through,” he said, but his tone wasn't quite flirtatious enough to be light hearted. But, miracle of miracles, it made her laugh even though she groaned at the same time.

“Do you ever give up?” She asked, swatting him on the arm closest to her. He shook his head and grinned, tentatively hopeful that he hadn't completely blown it. “You are unbelievable, vampire boy.”

“All good, mate?” The zombie said, looking between the pair with an eyebrow raised. Dick started when he looked up at the man and realised that he recognised him. He spluttered something incoherent, pointing at Jagged Stone and then turning with a wounded face to Bruce.

“How could you not tell me that we were going to a Jagged Stone party?” He screeched, rightfully betrayed. The betrayal cut deeper when Bruce had the audacity to laugh at him. “No, really, how did you even get invited to this?”

“You don't remember me saying that this was a party at one of my old school friend's house?” Bruce said, amused. Jagged cackled and Dick blushed again, feeling slightly mutinous.

“No, I remember you saying that we had a gala invite! You are officially the worst person I have ever met. I can't believe I had to have my arm almost bitten off before you introduced me to my rock hero.”

“I had to call it a gala on the invite or half of the people here wouldn't have shown up,” Jagged said, still smirking. “Besides, Fang would never! He's too rock n roll to hurt a kid without a reason, he's just…excitable.”

“And I would have introduced you when we arrived, but you vanished shockingly quickly,” Bruce added, still grinning. “But, just so you can't say I didn't do it; Jagged, this is my ward Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my old classmate and childhood friend Jagged Stone.”

“...your name is Dick?” Marinette said, sounding confused. He startled, staring at her blankly for a moment and running through their entire evening and conversations, wondering how on earth he had managed to forget to introduce himself.

“It's short for Richard?” He said at last, his blush returning full force. Bruce was shaking his head exasperatedly but took pity on the boy and suggested to Jagged that they go and refresh their drinks. Once they were gone, Dick turned back to her miserably. “I'm so sorry, I can't believe I didn't introduce myself.”

“It's fine,” Marinette said, grinning at him. “I didn't realise you were serious about the scaredy cat thing, I thought it was just a line.”

“Ah, well, full disclosure, it was meant to be,” he said, cringing slightly but trying to smile back at her with his usual charm. “But thanks for protecting me anyway.”

As she gave an adorable giggle, Dick felt his embarrassment melt away. And when the night ended, he left with her number.